Death
After the assassination of his brother Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich of Russia in February 1905 and his retirement in disgrace from the navy in June that same year, Alexei Alexandrovich spent most of his time in a Paris house which he had bought in 1897. At his house in Avenue Gabriel he kept open door for writers, painters, actors and especially actresses. He had always been less interested in the armed services than in art and fashion, and he had long since been recognized as a connoisseur of the social, artistic and literary life of Paris. His massive frame was a familiar sight at restaurants and theaters, particularly on first nights. His last public appearance, a week before his death, was at the dress rehearsal of a new play at the vaudeville. Decades of comfort and good living eventually took their toll on the Grand Duke's health. He died of pneumonia in Paris on 27 November (14 November O.S.) 1908. His death was said to have devastated Tsar Nicholas II, his nephew, who reportedly claimed Alexei as his favourite uncle. In 2006 the diary of Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich was found in the Russian National Library along with Yussupov funds. The journal, written in English, begins in 1862 and ends in 1907. It has not been published yet.
Read more about this topic: Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich Of Russia
Famous quotes containing the word death:
“When death has you by the throat, you don’t mince words.”
—Friedrich Dürrenmatt (1921–1990)
“... probably all of the women in this book are working to make part of the same quilt to keep us from freezing to death in a world that grows harsher and bleaker—where male is the norm and the ideal human being is hard, violent and cold: a macho rock. Every woman who makes of her living something strong and good is sharing bread with us.”
—Marge Piercy (b. 1936)
“For in the word death
There is nothing to grasp; nothing to catch or claim;
Nothing to adapt the skill of the heart to, skill
In surviving, for death it cannot survive,
Only resign the irrecoverable keys.
The wave falters and drowns. The coulter of joy
Breaks. The harrow of death
Depends. And there are thrown up waves.”
—Philip Larkin (1922–1986)