Their maneuvers before the czar could go on for an hour or two, or six, or eight, until the horses were exhausted or their riders dead. No matter, the corps would continue to practice until it achieved the unity of divine Russian cohesion. But to do that perfectly with absolute precision was nearly impossible on this hilly, unfamiliar terrain full of bumps and holes.

One of the drills was the formation of an immense “8,” done at a gallop. At the intersection of the 8 were two low walls that the cadets coming from both directions had to jump. The challenge lay in jumping the wall in synchronicity with the rider arriving from the opposite direction, all while maintaining speed. The problem no one had taken into account was the dust. The earth had already been hammered by thousands of hooves, and hundreds of riders charging across the dry ground had stirred up a great deal of sand. Jamal Eddin, Sacha, and Buxhöwden could scarcely make out the rumps of the horses in front of them, and the obstacles loomed, gigantic, before their eyes at the last moment. Worse still, it was impossible to judge the remaining distance before the rider to the right or the left would crouch low in the saddle to clear the obstacle a few seconds before them or after.

With horses colliding in midflight, head-on crashes, thrashing horses, and trampled riders, a considerable number of men and beasts were lost that day.

The brutality of the falls and the gravity of the accidents did not prevent Grand Duke Mikhaïl Pavlovitch from galloping up to the leader to bark in his face, “In your fourth squadron, first platoon, the first cadet’s curb chain has not been cleaned. Disciplinary action for the entire corps!”

The leader galloped down to the cadet in question. And there it was, to Buxhöwden’s horror—a spot of rust on the horse’s bit.

As a result, all the cadets would be forbidden to leave camp for a month. And Buxhöwden would be under arrest until further orders. But what did it matter to be punished, as long as the entire corps was in it together? They were there to live and die together. And the grand duke, with his eagle eye and his demanding nature, inspired more admiration than fear. Nothing counted but solidarity among comrades and admiration for their leaders. And love for the czar, of course.


Covered with dust, staggering with fatigue at the end of this long day, Jamal Eddin took the path along the river to return to camp. He had stayed at the stables longer than the others, and evening had begun to fall.

As he walked among the first rows of white tents, headed toward the lane where he and his companions were billeted, he had the sudden impression that he had seen this place before.

Puzzled, he stopped and looked around.

There was no doubt about it, he knew this place—the cordoned-off alleys, the tents like whitecaps as far as the eye could see. Of course. The camp at Akulgo.

The image was from long ago. From high up on the ramparts, he had gazed out over a sea of men, horses, mules, and cannons that spilled over the banks of the Andi Koysu. The light of the setting sun had played off the bayonets of the troops bivouacked along the river, just as it did here at the river of Krasnoye Sielo. The glinting blades had caught the sun’s rays in a forest of steel. Just as they did this evening. He had heard the shouts of greeting to the latecomers around the campfire. Just as he heard them this evening.

He suddenly realized that he had already lived through this scene, but on the other bank, the other side of the river.

He had stepped through the mirror. He had changed sides.

He was moved by his discovery, but not sorry. On the contrary, now he knew where the Most Merciful had placed him in the game of reflections and appearances. His place on the chessboard of destiny seemed clear, and he knew it was natural and just, because it had been designated by God.

He strode forward again, gaily reciting the last verse of Pushkin’s “Bacchanalian Song”:

That day may dawn

And the night perish.

 Between Saint Petersburg and Warsaw 1849–1852

The exhilaration that Jamal Eddin had felt the first time he waltzed around a dance floor and galloped across the training grounds was repeated—and just as intensely felt—many times in the years that followed. Be they balls at the Winter Palace, receptions at La Potemkina’s, suppers at the barracks, parades, or hunts, Jamal Eddin was present for them all. And although he neither drank nor smoked nor gambled, his comrades always welcomed him as a boon companion they knew they could count on for high spirits and a little mischief. He finished his studies with execrable marks in the two subjects that counted for the czar: an average of six in routine drills, including the sacrosanct goose step, and four in discipline.

These mitigated failures did not prevent him from being named to his legal guardian’s regiment, the Uhlan Lancers of His Imperial Highness the Grand Duke Mikhaïl Pavlovitch, the strictest of the generals. He entered as an officer of the seventh division of the Vladimirsky Lancers and was immediately posted to Poland, to help protect the Russian border.

The miracle of his integration into a prestigious regiment despite his mediocre grades and the haste of his departure for Warsaw were both a consequence of the bellicose atmosphere that had sprung up in 1849.

That winter, the fall of King Louis-Philippe of France had been rapidly followed by the Hungarian revolt against the Emperor Franz-Joseph. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of the uprising, Austria had asked for the czar’s help, and he had seized the occasion to invade Hungary. His army crushed the rebels and reestablished order throughout the country. The need for recruits among students old enough for military service increased considerably.

The emperor’s choice of post for Jamal Eddin suited his skills perfectly. He was now part of the light cavalry, prized for its capacity to move rapidly. Tall, slender, dark-haired, and elegant, he fit the typical Uhlan physical type as well.

The first steps of Jamal Eddin’s military career were exceptionally brilliant. Though Russia’s lightning victory in Hungary scarcely lent the Uhlans of Poland the opportunity to distinguish themselves, Jamal Eddin’s superiors were quick to recognize in him the qualities of an outstanding officer: bravery, authority, and a sense of honor. While Buxhöwden was still a junker and Milyutin a cornet, Jamal Eddin was promoted to lieutenant. It was quite an achievement, a record even, for officers of Montagnard origin had to show uncommon diligence to advance in rank. His military talents were not his only advantage; his popularity, the affection and respect of his men, and the friendship of his comrades also contributed to his rapid advance.

Moreover, it happened that the lancers’ fearsome commanding officer, Grand Duke Mikhaïl Pavlovitch, was felled by a fatal heart attack in Warsaw and subsequently replaced by his nephew, Grand Duke Mikhaïl Nicolaïevitch, Jamal Eddin’s former comrade in the Cadet Corps. The small group of friends that had so often gathered at Count Kiselyev’s home were together once again. Only His Highness Nicky, now a colonel of the guard, was absent. But Nicky had other matters to attend to or, more precisely, other skirts to chase in Petersburg, with his fellow lancers. Since Anna, the eldest Georgian princess, had married, the following year he had fallen for Varenka, who had replaced her sister as the czarina’s reader. But Varenka had then followed in her sister’s footsteps.

In May 1851, she married a Georgian prince, General Elico Orbeliani, who had been the imam Shamil’s hostage a decade before.

And so Nicky moved on to the third Georgian princess, Gayana. She was an easier target than her sisters and soon succumbed to his advances. Both families were scandalized to learn that she had become his official mistress, and the subject of Nicholas Nicolaïevitch’s liaison with one of the little Georgian princesses dominated court gossip for some time.

“That’s it, it’s done,” La Potemkina wrote to Jamal Eddin with her habitual elegance in a letter announcing the marriage of one and the fall of the other. The knowledge that he had definitively lost Varenka saddened Jamal Eddin, but he had not seen the love of his childhood since he had joined the army. He had long known that her marriage was inevitable.

During those two years, he had been involved with other women and had other affairs. At Kovno, where the Uhlans were stationed, he had become the favorite in a circle of several married women who competed in their efforts to seduce him with an onslaught of charm. The handsome, mysterious, elusive Jamal Eddin was indeed considered a catch.

The orgies and visits to the brothels that his fellow officers enjoyed did not tempt him, but he enjoyed the fact that he was attractive to women. No woman ever left him feeling indifferent. He gave in to their advances readily and without fuss, but neither his friends nor his mistresses could count his conquests. Although he formed an emotional attachment to a few, he could not imagine a more serious relationship with any of them.

The former cadets remembered those years of inaction at Kovno as a carefree existence of concerts at the châteaus of the aristocracy, regimental dinners, and balls at the viceroy’s palace. It was la belle vie for the czar’s officers in Poland.

In the eyes of all, Jamal Eddin was now perfectly integrated and assimilated—more Russian than a Russian.


The soldier Jamal Eddin Shamil’s official acceptance into the occupation army had initially posed a problem for the seventh division military administration: what were they to inscribe on his passport?