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Chapter Ten Becoming an Officer NOW THE LONG-AWAITED day of August 6, 1912, had finally come. This little day was awaited with impatient longing by hundreds of young Russians, counting the hours and minutes until that massive and firmly closed door—the door out “into the world”—would finally fly open before them. It was morning. On a little green meadow not far from the Preobrazhenskii camp, which on that day was solemnly celebrating its regimental holiday, the graduating cadets formed up in a horseshoe without rifles, in the order of their schools. On the right flank were the pages, girded with broad white patent-leather belts; then the pavlony, the pupils of the Paul Infantry School, famous for its regimentation; then the cadets of the Michael Artillery School; and finally the lads of the Nicholas Cavalry School. We too gathered, old acquaintances, the cavalry volunteers, formed up on the left flank under the command of Captain Nevezhin. Everyone—the pages, the cadets, and the volunteers—had come wearing simple khaki soldier’s blouses, soldier’s caps, and peakless caps with modest soldier’s cockades. All were wearing riding breeches made of durable government-issue soldier’s cloth. But if at that moment you were to rummage in the pockets of those very riding breeches—in each one you would find a pair of gold or silver shoulder straps—brand-new, glittering, real officer’s straps with little stars. In each pocket you would also find a brand-new officer’s cockade. All the faces were festively glowing and a little agitated—after all, only about an hour remained . . . a half-hour . . . When Mass was over in the camp, the tsar came to us on horseback, accompanied by a small entourage. He was riding a large dark-bay horse and was dressed in a Preobrazhenskii uniform. For the last time in our lives as simple soldiers we were given the order “Attention!” At an unhurried pace the tsar rode along the line of cadets, looking seriously into their eyes, as was his custom, and saying in a calm and even voice, “Hello, pages! . . . Hello, Michael students . . . Hello, volunteers!” And to these greetings we answered as soldiers for the last time in our lives. After finishing the greetings, the tsar rode out to the middle of the 271 green grass plot and in the same calm voice addressed us all with a fairly long speech. He spoke unhurriedly, smoothly, very distinctly, in a slightly pompous style, but without particular expressiveness. The tsar spoke of the significance of commanders in the army, of the honorable calling and mission of a Russian officer—a defender of the fatherland. He indicated that an officer’s relationship to his soldiers requires justice towards the latter. The tsar mentioned that all Russian military men without distinction should become not only good comrades to each other but brothers, and it seemed to me that he wanted to allude to the antagonism among the individual arms of the service and the units of the army. The tsar particularly emphasized the role of an officer during war in time of battle, which requires mutual assistance and support and seems to bring to the fore the principle “One for all—all for one!” Holding my breath, I listened carefully to the sound of the tsar’s voice, catching each intonation. The very fact that he was speaking for us, including for me, seemed a remarkable thing. It was a little strange that he spoke like everyone else, in the most ordinary human voice, since now, after the recent experience of the tsar’s parade, I expected from the tsar the manifestation in all respects of something unusual and exceeding the bounds of the “human.” The tsar ended with the words: “I congratulate you on your promotion . . . Good-bye, gentlemen officers!” The last words he particularly emphasized , raising his voice. He had hardly finished when we all began to shout, “Hurrah!” How we shouted! How we strained our throats! Our reincarnation had been realized. Just five minutes ago I was a soldier , but now! Was I really an officer? Was I really a person, a real person?!! The tsar left us, to the accompaniment of a frenzied and this time most sincere “Hurrah.” Many of us were in a state of ecstasy, which Captain Nevezhin brought us out of. “Well, congratulations,” he said, firmly shaking our hands, “now you may disperse.” We all had silly, happy faces and silly, embarrassed...

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