Six months after his marriage Alexis left his wife for another tour: from Stettin to Mecklenburg, from Mecklenburg to Abo, from Abo to Novgorod, from Novgorod to Ládoga—again interminable fatigue, interminable fears.
The dread he felt before each interview with his father developed into a nervous terror. Approaching the door of his father’s room he would mutely repeat a prayer: “Remember, O God, King David and all his humility!” He would jerk out disconnected fragments of lessons on navigation, it being beyond his power to remember the barbarous terminology of such words as: “krup-kamer, balk-vegerse, haigen-blok (anchor-stock),” and he would fumble for his amulet, the gift of his nurse, a blade of grass embedded in wax, with a paper bearing an ancient charm to soften the anger of a father:—
“On a momentous day was I born. I fenced myself with iron, and went unto my father. My parent became wrathful, began to break my bones, to pinch my body, to trample on me with his feet, and drink my blood. Bright sun, clear stars, still sea, ripe fields! Ye all stand peaceful and still. May my father throughout all his hours and days, his nights and midnights, be as quiet and still as ye!”
“Well, my son, I must say this is a first-rate fortress,” said his father with a shrug of his shoulders, looking at his son’s plan. “You have apparently learnt a great deal abroad.”
Alexis grew only more confused, and winced like a guilty schoolboy before the rod.
To escape such torture at times he used to take medicine and “feign illness.”
Terror was merging into hatred.
Just before the Pruth campaign, Peter fell seriously ill, “he did not expect to live.” When the news reached Alexis he experienced for the first time a feeling of pleasure at the possible death of his father. This joy frightened him; he banished it but could not destroy it; it hid itself at the bottom of his heart, ready to spring forth like a lurking beast.
One day at a feast when Peter, as was his wont, made his drunken guests quarrel with one another so that he might learn from their recriminations the thoughts of those around him, Alexis, also drunk, began to talk about the state of the empire, and the oppression of the people. All grew silent, even the buffoons stopped their shouting. The Tsar listened attentively. Alexis’ heart was beating with hope, what if he were heard? understood?
“Enough of this nonsense!” the Tsar stopped him suddenly with that mocking smile, so familiar and hateful to Alexis. “I perceive, my boy, that you know as much about political and civic affairs as a bear does of a hand-organ.”