CHAPTER THREE

COMING OF AGE

“If I advance, follow me. If I retreat, kill me. If I die, avenge me. It is better to be a lion for a day than a hundred years as a sheep.”

—Il Duce, Benito Mussolini

Wild country around Saint Petersburg, July 29, 1863

School, tutors, and religion, bored Prince Boris to distraction. Already at the age of twelve, he was developing a wander lust and hunger for action of any kind that was unusual for most boys his age and outright concerning for his parents—mainly, his mother. She found him more and different tutors, and he learned extremely rapidly but was never satisfied. Boris seemed to suck the educational blood of his teachers, none of whom were particularly well qualified in mathematics, horsemanship, cavalry tactics, history, or world politics which interested Boris. They seemed to have mastered the courtly graces—the minuet, the waltz, the mazurka—which were all too tame and stifling for the agile and hyperactive prepubertal prince. Even the quadrille with its complicated but active chassé, jeté assemble, and entrechats steps, and the frenetic polka, failed to keep Boris’s attention for more than a few minutes. He liked girls well enough, but the stilted atmosphere of the ballroom even made contact with those mysterious and alluring creatures not worth his time.

From Vlad, Boris learned the most prevalent of the Cossack languages—Kuban—which was the at-home and local business language of Zaporizhia in the Ukraine—the Don Cossack State–on the river Don. From formal tutors, Boris learned French, the diplomatic language, and was as fluent in it as the diplomats. He had an excellent tutor in German and could keep up with his master at telling jokes, describing technical matters and military tactics, and even in the use of slang. From the English linguistic master he added English language, Latin, and Greek, to his repertoire so that he could compete with the other nobles in reading classic, historical, and philosophical literature from the west, especially in the original languages. Latin, Greek, and the Slavic languages were difficult for him, and he could not find any real use for them. His father ordered him to be able to speak fluently with any nobleman from a foreign country who came to the house and with any soldier or servant who spoke one of the lesser languages such as Bulgarian, Croatian, Swedish, and Italian—all of which sounded like the chatter of monkeys to Boris. Thus strongly encouraged by the paterfamilias, Boris doggedly did his work albeit without enthusiasm.

What Boris did love to learn related to the out-of-doors. After considerable pestering, Prince Nikolai secured a military tactics tutor for his scion and assigned Vlad to the full-time task of teaching the boy Cossack maneuvers. Together, Vlad and the boy spent much of each day galloping around the countryside of Saint Petersburg. They explored beyond the suburbs, beyond the communal serf villages, beyond the verdant fields, and out into the wooded hills and rough valleys to test themselves and their horses. Kryzhu was the equal of every test, and Boris loved him. Donoschik never even seemed tired after running all day. Thus far during his twelfth year, the instruction in Cossack tradition was all seen from horseback, and the best part of the boy’s days were consumed in getting Kryzhu to charge, to wheel, to gallop, and to stop suddenly, to pivot, to jump, to endure the men’s mock foraging and realistic and joyful pursuit or the yelling of the most otherworldly howls, cursing like the vilest of troopers, and enthusiastically brandishing their various weapons. Most difficult of all was to stand quietly at the ready.

Vlad found large open areas and savannas where he could teach Prince Boris how to mount his horse with lightning speed from a recumbent position, how to thrust and to cut with a straight and curved saber and lance, and how to carry and how to fire his carbine and pistol at a full gallop. These were the advanced horse borne cavalry tactics usually taught to recruits who were over eighteen or more often over the age of twenty. Boris was honing his skills on horseback before the recruits and even the officers he met later even saw such remarkable feats. Vlad was proud of Boris and never ceased to sing his praises to Prince Nikolai.

Once–in late August–the paterfamilias accompanied Vlad and Boris on one of their practice runs in the countryside. Vlad had prepared by feeding his and Boris’s horses wheat for several days in advance to provide protein energy and by running them up and down hillsides full of hedgerows to jump and trees to avoid at full gallop. He secured the essential cavalry weapons—saber, lance, carbine, and pistols—for the young prince and himself. He arranged for the three of them to leave the palace before first light as he and Boris had practiced many times in the past few weeks. This was an unfair tactic designed to get the elder prince tired before the demonstration of young Boris’s Cossack skills even began in case he wanted to test the boy himself. Nikolai was a hero of the War in the Caucasus against the Avarians which resulted in the young captain being instrumental in the surrender of Imam Shamil and the annexation of North Caucasus into Russia and not a man to shrink at any military challenge.

The Princes Yusupov sat motionless on their mounts after a long morning’s set of maneuvers—all at a gallop. Vlad had quietly left their sides and disappeared from their view. Suddenly, from above and to the right of them, Vlad galloped full speed ahead towards the princes. He had the advantage of being above them on a fairly steep decline and coming at them; so, they had to look into the approaching noonday sun to find him. Prince Nikolai was entirely taken by surprise and fumbled to turn his mount to be able to face the opponent. Boris was fully ready by his and Vlad’s planning, and he wheeled Kryzhu to the left to be able to meet Vlad side on with his saber directed straight forward. Vlad’s pace was too fast for him to slow and turn to meet Boris, and the boy came within inches of colliding with the old Cossack. Boris made a carefully calculated thrust of his saber, intentionally missing Vlad by inches. Vlad participated in the bit of family theater by acting as if he had been wounded and falling off his horse and rolling to the ground. He lay in the grass giving a convincing performance of a dead man.

Prince Nikolai took a minute to realize fully what was transpiring and to get his adrenaline driven blood pressure and pulse rate to settle down. His arrival at the scene of the one-on-one combat was ludicrously late, and he began to laugh heartily when he was sure that Vlad was not injured in the least.

“Well done, my boy, very well done!” the proud father exulted.

Boris sat sternly in his saddle relishing his victory but keeping a patrician unemotional facial expression as he glanced haughtily at his puffing father. That made Nikolai laugh all the harder. He leapt from his saddle and ran to the boy.

“My young prince, you have had a true Cossack education; and you passed with flying colors. I have decided on a reward: Kryzhu is now your own horse, and I will give you four more. In addition, you shall have four serfs of your own, young men with vigor and fire. As your prowess continues, I will grant you several more over time as you earn them. As for you, Vlad–you wily old rascal–from this day forward, your debts are forgiven, you are a free man. You may stay with the family or leave as you choose. You are awarded sixteen hectares of good farm land for you and your family.”

Vlad bowed low, and said tersely, “I am in your debt, Great Prince. I choose to remain as the right arm of young Prince Boris.”

“You shall take your place as part of the family, my good man. Now, let us enjoy a great feast in the field like brothers-in-arms.”

By the age of sixteen, Prince Boris was a tall, lithe, strong, young man with his Nordic blond hair worn in a long mane. By dint of considerable fortitude, he mastered the studies insisted upon by both of his parents and by his relentless daily educator, Vlad, the Cossack. He could now fight on the ground hand-to-hand, bare handed and with knife, pistol, and short curved saber. He was fully capable of directing and taking his place in on-the-ground Cossack attacks and retreats. He could dismount and remount on the fly with mystifying agility and speed. His father announced to Boris’s mother that the day had come when he had to go away for further schooling since the family and the estate no longer held mysteries to conquer.

“If we do not corral his energies, our precocious son will get himself into trouble. There is a foment about for change in the imperial rules and policies. Perhaps there is something to be said about making the lot of the peasants and serfs better, even one day abolishing serfdom all together and building a strong empire of willing Russians—people who have different religions and ethnicity, different languages and customs, but all of whom are deep in their collective souls true Russians. That day is not now. Such talk is seditious, even though one day, it will be part of the fabric of the empire. I am determined that our son will receive a traditional conservative education. I am going to approach his godfather, Grand Duke Paul Alexandrovich, to get our fine son into the Imperial Military Academy in Saint Petersburg. Although it is my decision, will you support me in this venture?”

“Haven’t I always, my husband? And, Niki, I am in full agreement with the choice even though I will shed some tears. He is a wonderful boy, and I will miss him severely. By the way, so will any number of frӓuleins and krasivyye molodyye devushki, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Of course, I have noticed Tati. Maybe that is a good reason to get him into a world of military discipline and cold showers, and away from all those pretty young girls,” he laughed.

“It is your duty to inform him, you know,” Tatiana said, with some mischief in her smile.

Prince Nikolai drafted a carefully worded letter to the Grand Duke requesting an audience with him at the Imperial Military Academy. Grand Duke Paul’s response came by return mail.

“It will be my pleasure to receive you my friend. Will this Saturday for lunch be convenient?”

Nikolai sent an affirmative RSVP that day, and the meeting was set.

The most elaborate carriage owned by the Yusupov family—the four-seated Berline–was brought out, given a thorough cleaning, regilding, and polishing. Prince Nikolai’s best dress uniform–complete with his medals–was cleaned and pressed; his boots polished; and, at his wife’s orders, his hair and beard were trimmed in the latest fashion.

Pronounced perfect, the paterfamilias set out in his gold encrusted Berline pulled by six identical large, pure white, carriage horses. He and his servants took four days to travel to Moscow so that the Prince would not appear to be overtired, overanxious, and needy—all of which could be considered accurate descriptors. They had bracing cold showers and a hearty German breakfast and arrived refreshed at the academy gates which fronted a magnificent park. It was meant to awe and inspire Russians, and Prince Nikolai was duly impressed. It was also meant to awe and frighten opponents of the imperial army and the tzarist government. Nikolai was proud to be part of such a remarkable empire and to have the opportunity to move his scion into the highest circles of the imperial army. He had prepared for this day for sixteen years.

He left his coachmen and servants in the carriage and walked across the long stone pathway and up the twelve stairs. He paused with something that bordered on reverence as he gazed at the six gleaming white pillars of the portico set against the imperial yellow of the buildings walls.

Prince Nikolai was admitted into the hallway where the general staff offices were situated. He waited for half an hour—a highly unusual demonstration of humility for one of the foremost princes of the empire—until an infantry captain in full dress uniform marched out and announced,

“Prince Nikolai Borisovich Yusupov.”

Nikolai stood and saluted.

“Follow me, the Grand Duke is expecting you.”

The office was sumptuous with ornate imported exotic woods from around the empire, original portraits of the Romanov family, Tlingit souvenirs from the Battle of Sitka and other skirmishes during the family’s colonization of Russian Alaska. There were elegant two-hundred-year-old hand knotted carpets from the Russo-Persian and Russo-Turkish wars, victory swords from the Anglo-Russian wars and assorted battles of the Napoleonic wars, vases and statuary from the Greek War of Independence. The Grand Duke displayed his medals from the Decembrist Revolution of 1826, the Polish Insurgency of 1830-1831, the Imperial Order of Saint Alexander Nevsky, the Order of Saint Vladimir with a bow, the Order of Saint George for Military Merit, Gold Cross, a Crimean War Campaign Medal, Gold Class, and the Imperial and Royal Order of the White Eagle given by Tzar Nikolai I himself. The grand duke, therefore, held among his many titles the right to be known as Knight of the Order of the White Eagle.

There was a set of back wall glass enclosed weapons from friends and admirers in the military, courtiers, and his hunting companions. He had a dozen swords of honor accepted from defeated enemies and as awards for personal valor: an Italian hunting sword, Karabela, Szabla, and Shashka cavalry swords, a spadroon (épée anglaise–English sword), and eight ceremonial swords awarded from his far-flung commands and as gifts from foreign dignitaries with whom the grand duke had served.

The furniture in the Grand Duke’s office was awe inspiring, as it was intended to be: matching Italian neoclassical console tables, four Bergère à oreilles chairs in flamed birch with mounts of gilded bronze padded with green silk embossed with Russian Military Army Imperial Eagle Crest emblems. The chairs faced a huge rectangular desk of doré bronze and malachite green top. The Grand Duke’s gilded and blood red velvet throne chair bearing the coat of arms of Imperial Tsarist Russia faced the four chairs. On opposing walls sat two matching Louis XV style settees. In the center of the room was a glass enclosed uniform and helmet of the imperial prince.

Prince Nikolai Borisovich stood stiffly looking at the swords, pistols, and rifles in the grand duke’s collection as he waited for the royal prince to grace the room. The sheer power of the room awed him, and he was annoyed at himself for having succumbed to the blatant demonstration of imperial power.

“Ah, Niki, how good it is to see you, my friend,” the booming voice of Grand Duke Paul Alexandrovich Romanov exploded in Nikolai’s ear causing him to jump.

“Sorry to startle you. Do you like my collection?”

“It is nothing short of marvelous. You have had an illustrious career, my Prince. How proud your family must be.”

“I would hope so. Family is everything, don’t you agree?”

“Completely. In fact, that is why I came to see you.”

“Is this about my fine godson, Niki? I hope there is no problem. He hasn’t had an accident training with his wild Cossacks, has he?”

“No, no, nothing like that. He is advancing very well and seems to be completely tireless. With due humility, I can say that he is able to keep up with his Cossacks very well.”

“A drink, Niki, before business?”

“An honor, Grand Duke.”

The grand duke stepped back and pulled on the heavy tassel of a silken cord. Immediately, a lieutenant of the guard appeared, clicked the heels of his mirror shined boots, and bowed.

“Dimitri, would you fetch us some cognac, please. Pour one for yourself.”

The lieutenant made a sharp about-face and exited the room for three minutes. He reentered carrying a silver tray bearing the imperial coat of arms imprinted on its surface with three half-filled Russian cut crystal cognac snifters. Grand Duke Paul Alexandrovich shifted the Bergère à oreilles chairs; so, the three men could face each other.

“Please be seated, gentlemen,” he directed. “Nikolai Borisovich, would you sit next to me. My hearing is not what it once was—all that artillery for all of those years, you know. Dimitri Sergeiovich, please sit across from us. Your young ears won’t miss a thing.”

“I asked Dimitri to join us. He is in his first cadet year; if he performs satisfactorily; and I am sure he will, I will make a place in next year’s entering class of cadets at the Nikolai I General Staff Academy. He is a bright young man and can fill in any blanks I may leave out. Dimitri is the grandson of the leader of the Moscow Black Hundreds who have given such staunch loyalty and service to the tsarist government for all these decades—even centuries. For all of that fine family status, Dimitri has proved himself to be a fine scholar, horseman, artist, and military historian. He has lived up to his promise during his first year here.”

Prince Nikolai smiled and gave Dimitri a quick friendly salute.

“The Grand Duke is too kind,” Dimitri demurred and lowered his head for a moment.

The three men slowly sipped the fiery deep amber fifty-year-old Hennessy cognac and spent half an hour talking about world travel, the empire’s difficulties in securing the sea ports that the tzar and his court demanded, hunting, and court gossip, about which Dimitri was a veritable fount of knowledge.

After the appropriate period of small talk was completed, the grand duke gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Dimitri stood and announced that his presence was required on the parade ground. Paul Alexandrovich smiled, shook his hand; and they exchanged formal salutes.

“Now, to business, my friend,” Paul Alexandrovich said, and leaned forward to engage Nikolai Borisovich.

Prince Nikolai took in a deep breath.

“My Prince, I have come to speak to you about your promise to your godson, Prince Boris Nikolaiovich. Do you recall that day?”

“Indeed, I do. How old is the boy now?”

“Sixteen.”

“A bit young to be making application to the academy, wouldn’t you think, Niki?”

“Ordinarily I would presume so, but I have really come to you to ask what he can do to advance himself? Without boasting, I can assure you that he is quite a remarkable young man.”

“Well asked, Niki; and I will answer you in the same vein. I presume he has become a master horseman?”

“He certainly has, and he has mastered the field maneuvers and tactics of the Cossacks. You would be proud of your godson, Sir.”

“I am sure I would. Has he had a command?”

“Not officially. I have given over command of the serfs and Cossacks in our employ. He has outfitted them into a well-functioning and handsome cavalry force. They worship him, and they will follow him to their deaths if ordered.”

“As it should be. Has he seen battle, my friend. You know that every applicant to the academy must have acquitted himself in battle, especially with a position as an imperial army officer.”

“I do know that, and since he is only sixteen, and the empire has been a bit short on wars during his brief life, my son has not had the opportunity. I came hoping that you might be able to find him just the right position.”

“We always have a war someplace,” the grand duke laughed. “I’m sure those heathens–the Ottomans–will stir up their poverty-stricken minions to some violence somewhere in the near future, and it will be just the assignment for my fine godson to cut his teeth on. You know, Niki, and your beautiful wife, Countess Tatiana Alexandrovna de Ribeaupierre, must also realize, there is real risk in such adventures. I cannot make guarantees, although, I obviously can exert some influence to keep him out of the worst trouble.”

“That is a wonderful offer, my Prince; but Boris will balk at that. He will insist on being in the thick of it all and on making a genuine contribution. He will earn his rank, and he will earn any medals that come his way. He is a soldier’s soldier, and he has not even reached his majority yet.”

“All right my friend, here is what I will do. Bring him to the academy in a week, and I will get him trained enough in imperial lore and tactics to be able to hold his own. As soon as the Ottomans prove true to form, I will get him a commission as a stabbs captain and will sic him on those dogs. If he performs satisfactorily–and I am sure he will–I can make a place in next year’s entering class of cadets at the Nikolai I General Staff Academy. Keep him out of trouble until then, Niki.”

“You have my word. Thank you very much, my liege.”

Nikolai smarted from the Grand Duke’s demeaning off-hand comment that he would make Boris a mere Staff Captain and that the scion of the Yusupov family would have to earn his way up the ladder to become a Full Captain, then finally to become a Captain of the General Staff—a rank available only to members of guard regiment.

“We’ll see about that,” Nikolai said to himself as he left the Grand Duke’s office. “Being a Yusupov has its benefits and skipping ranks to Captain of the General Staff will be the least of those moves. I look forward to the day with relish when Prince Boris Yusupov receives his general officer’s stars. I have the tzar’s ear, and a hold on his purse strings. We’ll see what that kind of leverage I have to use when I need it. Staff Captain, indeed!”