The Empress insisted upon her son being brought up, like his sisters, in a perfectly natural way. There was no ceremonial in the daily life of the Tsarevitch: he was merely a son, and a brother to his family, although it was sometimes quaint to see him assume “grown up” airs. One day, when he was indulging in a romp with the Grand Duchesses, he was told that some officers of his regiment had arrived at the Palace and begged permission to be received by him.
The Tsarevitch instantly ceased his game, and, calling his sisters, he said very gravely: “Now, girls, run away. I am busy. Someone has just called to see me on business.”
He adored his mother, and her passionate devotion to him is world-known, although, like many other things, this devotion has been used as a weapon against her. To the Empress, the Tsarevitch represented the direct result of prayer, the Divine condescension of God, the crowning joy of her marriage. Surely, if she manifested undue anxiety over him, she only did what all mothers have done, and will do until the end of time. There was certainly some subtle sympathy between mother and son: she was all that was lovely and beloved to him, and I especially remember one typical instance of this devotion:
My husband and I had been dining with the Imperial Family, and after dinner the Emperor suggested that we should accompany them to the Tsarevitch’s bedroom, as the Empress always went thither to bid him good night and hear him say his prayers. It was a pretty sight to watch the child and his mother, and listen to his simple prayers, but, when the Empress rose to go, we suddenly found ourselves in complete darkness—the Tsarevitch had switched off the electric light over his bed!
“Why have you done this, Baby?” asked the Empress. “Oh,” answered the child, “it’s only light for me, Mama, when you are here. It’s always quite dark when you have gone.”
He loved his father, and the Emperor’s great wish in the “happy days” was to undertake his son’s education himself: this, for many reasons, was impossible, and Mr. Gibbs and M. Gilliard were his first tutors. Later, under very different conditions, the Emperor was enabled to carry out his wish. In the gloomy house at Tobolsk, he taught the Tsarevitch, and in the squalor and misery of Ekaterinburg the lessons still continued; but perhaps the greatest lesson learnt by the Tsarevitch and the other members of the unfortunate family was that of Faith: for faith sustained them, and strengthened them at a time when riches and friends had fled and they found themselves betrayed by the very country which had been all in all to them.
The Tsarevitch had various playmates—all sorts and conditions of boys shared his games: there were the two sons of his sailor-servant, two peasant boys with whom he was on friendly and affectionate terms, and my “Titi,” who ran about with him, upsetting everything, and thoroughly enjoying himself. The Heir to the Throne was as courteous as his sisters. One day the Empress and I were sitting in the mauve boudoir, when we heard the excited voices of the Tsarevitch and Titi in the next room.
“I believe they’re quarrelling,” said the Empress, and she went to the door and listened to what the children were saying. Then she turned to me laughing. “Why they’re not quarrelling, Lili. Alexis is insisting that Titi shall come into the mauve room first, and the good Titi won’t hear of it!”
If the Tsarevitch had any peculiarities, I think the most striking was a decided penchant for hoarding. Many descendants of the Coburgs have been unusually thrifty, and perhaps the Tsarevitch inherited this trait. While thrifty he was really a most generous child, although he hoarded his things to such an extent that the Emperor often teased him unmercifully. During the sugar shortage he saved his allowance of sugar, which he gravely distributed among his friends. He was fond of animals, and his spaniel, “Joy,” has happily found a home in England: his chief pet at Tsarkoe was an ugly sandy and white kitten, which he once brought from G.H.Q. This kitten he christened Zoubrovka, and bestowed a collar and a bell on it as a signal mark of affection. “Zoubrovka” was no respecter of palaces, and he used to wage war with the Grand Duchess Tatiana’s bulldog “Artipo,” and light-heartedly overthrow all the family photographs in the Tsaritsa’s boudoir. But “Zoubrovka” was a privileged kitten, and I have often wondered what became of him when the Imperial Family were taken to Tobolsk.
All the children were fond of animals. The Grand Duchess Tatiana’s pet was a bulldog called “Artipo,” who slept in her bedroom, much to the annoyance of the Grand Duchess Olga, who disliked its propensity for snoring. The Grand Duchess Marie favoured a Siamese cat, and, the year before the Revolution, Anna Virouboff gave a little Pekinese dog to the Grand Duchess Anastasie.