He is seventeen, at the age when in olden days the Tsarevitch was proclaimed to the people, who would flock from all parts to gaze at him, as at some wonder. But on Alexis a man’s toil is imposed, too heavy for his young strength; he is perpetually travelling from town to town, buying provisions for the army, felling and despatching timber for the fleet, printing books, casting cannon, writing ukases, levying armies, searching for young deserters under penalty of death—himself only a lad relentlessly executing the law on those of his own age; he supervises everything to prevent defalcations of any kind.
He hurries from German declensions to fortifications, from garrisons to orgies; from orgies to deserters, until his brain is in a whirl. The more he attempts the more is demanded. He has neither leisure nor rest. He feels ready to drop like an over-ridden hack. And at the same time he knows that his efforts are all in vain; it is impossible for him ever to please his father.
At the same time he continues his studies, as if he were a schoolboy. “Two weeks shall be devoted to the German language, to master well the declensions, and then attention shall be given to French and arithmetic. Instruction to take place each day.”
At last his strength gave way. During the severe frost in January 1709, he was bringing to his father, then at Suma in the Ukraine, five regiments from Moscow which he had himself levied and which were destined to take part in the battle of Poltava. On the journey he caught cold, fell ill, and lay for weeks insensible. His life was despaired of.
He regained consciousness one sunny morning, early in spring. Slanting rays of sunlight flooded the room. Snow was lying outside, wet drops hung already on the icicle tips. Brooks were murmuring on their way, and from the sky the lark showered his song in melodious strains. Alexis sees his father’s face bent over him, the one so dear to him in years gone by, a face full of tenderness.
“My son, my love, do you feel better?”
Too weak to answer Alexis can but smile.
“Well, glory and thanks be to God!” exclaims his father piously. “The Lord hath shown mercy upon me and heard my prayer. Now you will soon be well!”
Alexis was told later that his father never left him during the whole of his illness. Neglecting all other work, he had spent night after night without sleep. When the patient grew worse, he ordered the celebration of mass and made a vow to erect a church in the name of “St. Alexis, the man of God.”