Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
MEMORIES OF
THE RUSSIAN COURT
[Illustration: colophon]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO DALLAS
ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS OF RUSSIA IN HER HAPPY YEARS.]
MEMORIES OF
THE RUSSIAN COURT
BY
ANNA VIROUBOVA
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
1923
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO MY EMPRESS,
WITH LOVE AND FIDELITY ETERNAL
“When you are reproached--bless; when persecuted--be patient; when
calumniated--comfort yourself; when slandered--rejoice; this is your
road and mine.” Words of St. Seraphine.
ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA, from _Tobolsk_,
March 20, 1918
_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall
not fear. Thy rod and Thy staff shall comfort me._
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE EMPRESS OF RUSSIA IN HER HAPPY DAYS _Frontispiece_
Facing Page
THE EMPRESS DRIVING HER PONY CHAISE 8
THE EMPRESS WITH GRAND DUCHESS TATIANA IN HER
BEDROOM, TSARSKOE SELO 8
ALEXANDER SERGIEVITCH TANIEFF 9
THE WINTER PALACE, PETROGRAD 20
MILITARY REVIEW, TSARSKOE SELO 21
THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS IN A QUIET HOUR ON BOARD
THE IMPERIAL YACHT 32
THE EMPRESS DISTRIBUTING PRESENTS TO SAILORS AT THE
END OF A CRUISE 33
LIVADIA, THE NEW PALACE OF THE TSARS IN THE CRIMEA 38
A CORNER OF THE COURT OF THE PALACE OF LIVADIA 39
THE IMPERIAL CHILDREN BATHING IN THE BLACK SEA AT
LIVADIA 39
THE IMPERIAL YACHT ARRIVES AT LIVADIA, THE CRIMEA 50
THE TSAR, GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA AND TATIANA AND
MME. VIROUBOVA AT HOMBURG 51
THE EMPRESS GIVING ALEXEI A LESSON ON THE TERRACE 74
ALEXEI PLAYING IN THE SNOW AT TSARSKOE SELO 74
THE EMPRESS IN BED WITH CONVALESCENT TSAREVITCH 75
GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA AND TATIANA ON BOARD THE
“STANDERT” 78
THE TSAREVITCH WITH HIS COUSINS, CHILDREN OF GRAND
DUKE ERNEST OF HESSE 79
NICHOLAS II AND THE TSAREVITCH ON BOARD THE IMPERIAL
YACHT “STANDERT” 80
THE TSAREVITCH WITH HIS SAILOR, DEREVANKO 81
THE TSAR, TSARINA, AND ALEXEI IN THE GARDENS AT
TSARSKOE SELO 81
THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS IN OLD SLAVONIC DRESS,
JUBILEE OF 1913 98
THE INVALID EMPRESS ON THE BALCONY AT PETERHOF 99
THE GUEST ROOM IN RASPUTINE’S HOUSE IN SIBERIA 169
THE THREE CHILDREN OF RASPUTINE BEFORE THEIR HOUSE
IN SIBERIA 169
THE EMPRESS AND YOUNG GRAND DUKE DMITRI, AFTERWARDS
ONE OF RASPUTINE’S ASSASSINS 184
MINISTER OF COURT COUNT FREDERICKS, THE EMPRESS AND
TATIANA TAKING TEA IN FINNISH WOODS 185
GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA, TATIANA, ANASTASIE, AND MARIE,
PRISONERS AT TSARSKOE SELO, 1917 266
ANNA VIROUBOVA SHORTLY AFTER HER RELEASE FROM THE
FORTRESS OF PETER AND PAUL 267
LETTERS FROM NICHOLAS II TO ANNA VIROUBOVA, FROM
TOBOLSK, 1917 306
LETTERS FROM ALEXEI, TATIANA, AND MARIE, SMUGGLED
FROM SIBERIA IN 1917 307
ONE OF THE EMPRESS’S LAST LETTERS TO MME. VIROUBOVA,
WRITTEN IN OLD SLAVONIC, 1918 320
SMUGGLED LETTER FROM THE EMPRESS ON BIRCHBARK AFTER
PAPER GAVE OUT 321
THE EX-EMPEROR AND ALEXEI FEEDING TURKEYS IN THE
BARNYARD, TOBOLSK, 1918 342
THE LAST PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN OF THE EMPRESS AND HER
DAUGHTERS, OLGA AND TATIANA, SHORTLY BEFORE THE
MURDER OF THE IMPERIAL FAMILY IN SIBERIA 343
Note: With very few exceptions all these photographs were taken by
members of the Imperial Family and by Mme. Viroubova, all of whom
were experts with the camera.
MEMORIES OF
THE RUSSIAN COURT
MEMORIES OF THE RUSSIAN COURT
CHAPTER I
It is with a prayerful heart and memories deep and reverent that I begin
to write the story of my long and intimate friendship with Alexandra
Feodorovna, wife of Nicholas II, Empress of Russia, and of the tragedy
of the Revolution, which brought on her and hers such undeserved misery,
and on our unhappy country such a black night of oblivion.
But first I feel that I should explain briefly who I am, for though my
name has appeared rather prominently in most of the published accounts
of the Revolution, few of the writers have taken the trouble to sift
facts from fiction even in the comparatively unimportant matter of my
genealogy. I have seen it stated that I was born in Germany, and that my
marriage to a Russian officer was arranged to conceal my nationality. I
have also read that I was a peasant woman brought from my native Siberia
to further the ambitions of Rasputine. The truth is that I am unable to
produce an ancestor who was not born Russian. My father, Alexander
Sergievitch Tanieff, during most of his life, was a functionary of the
Russian Court, Secretary of State, and Director of the Private
_Chancellerie_ of the Emperor, an office held before him by his father
and his grandfather. My mother was a daughter of General Tolstoy,
aide-de-camp of Alexander II. One of my immediate ancestors was Field
Marshal Koutousoff, famous in the Napoleonic Wars. Another, on my
mother’s side, was Count Kontaisoff, an intimate friend of the eccentric
Tsar Paul, son of the great Catherine.
Notwithstanding my family’s hereditary connection with the Court our own
family life was simple and quiet. My father, aside from his official
duties, had no interests apart from his home and his music, for he was a
composer and a pianist of more than national fame. My earliest memories
are of home evenings, my brother Serge and my sister Alya (Alexandra)
studying their lessons under the shaded lamp, my dear mother sitting
near with her needlework, and my father at the piano working out one of
his compositions, striking the keys softly and noting down his
harmonies. I thank God for that happy childhood which gave me strength
of soul to bear the sorrows and sufferings of after years.
Six months in every year we spent in the country near Moscow on an
estate which had been in the family for nearly two hundred years. For
neighbors we had the Princes Galatzine and the Grand Duke and Grand
Duchess Serge, the last named being the older sister of the Empress. I
hardly remember when I did not know and love the Grand Duchess
Elizabeth, as she was familiarly called. As small children she petted
and spoiled us all, often inviting us to tea, the feast ending in a
grand frolic in which we were allowed to search the rooms for toys which
she had ingeniously hidden. It was at one of these children’s teas that
I first saw the Empress Alexandra. Quite unexpectedly the Tsarina was
announced and the beautiful Grand Duchess Elizabeth, leaving her small
guests, ran eagerly to greet her. The time was near the beginning of the
reign of Nicholas II and Alexandra Feodorovna, and the Tsarina was at
the very height of her youthful beauty. My childish impression of her
was of a tall, slender, graceful woman, lovely beyond description, with
a wealth of golden hair and eyes like stars, the very picture of what an
Empress should be.
For my father the young Empress soon conceived a warm liking and
confidence and she named him as vice president of the committee of
_Assistance par le Travail_. During this time we lived in winter in the
Michailovsky Palace in Petrograd, and in summer in a small villa in
Peterhof on the Baltic Sea. From conversations between my mother and
father I learned a great deal of the life of the Imperial Family. The
Empress impressed my father both by her excessive shyness and by her
unusual intelligence. She was above all a motherly woman and often
combined baby-tending with serious business affairs. With the little
Grand Duchess Olga in her arms she discussed all kinds of business with
my father, and while with one hand rocking the cradle where lay the baby
Tatiana she signed letters and papers of consequence. Sometimes while
thus engaged there would come a clear, musical whistle, like a bird
call. It was the Emperor’s special summons to his wife, and at the first
sound her cheek would turn to rose, and, regardless of everything, she
would fly to answer it. That birdlike whistle of the Emperor I became
very familiar with in later years, calling the children, signaling to
me. It had a curious, appealing, resistless quality, peculiar to
himself.
Perhaps it was a common love of music which first drew the Empress and
our family into a bond of friendship. All of us children received a
thorough musical education. From childhood we were taken regularly to
concerts and the opera, and our home, especially on Wednesday evenings,
was a rendezvous for all the musicians and composers of the capital. The
great Tschaikovsky was a friend of my father, and I remember many others
of note who were frequent guests at tea or dinner.
Apart from music we received an education rather more practical than was
the average at that time. In the Russia of my childhood a girl of good
family was supposed to acquire a few pretty accomplishments and nothing
much besides. Accomplishments I and my sister were given, but besides
music and painting, for which my sister had considerable talent, we were
well grounded in academic studies, and we finished by taking
examinations leading to teachers’ diplomas. I may say also that even in
our drawing-room accomplishments we were obliged to be thorough, and
when my father ventured to show some of our work to the Empress she
expressed warm approval. “Most Russian girls,” she said, “seem to have
nothing in their heads but officers.”
The Empress, coming from a small German Court where everyone at least
tried to occupy themselves usefully, found the idle and listless
atmosphere of Russia little to her taste. In her first enthusiasm of
power she thought to change things a little for the better. One of her
early projects was a society of handwork composed of ladies of the Court
and society circles, each one of whom should make with her own hands
three garments a year to be given to the poor. The society, I am sorry
to say, did not long flourish. The idea was too foreign to the soil.
Nevertheless the Empress persisted in creating throughout Russia
industrial centers, _maisons de travail_, where the unemployed, both men
and women, and especially unfortunate women who, through errors of
conduct, lost their positions, could find work.
Life at Court was by no means serious. In fact it was at that time very
gay. At seventeen I was presented, first to the Empress Dowager who
lived in a palace in Peterhof known as the Cottage. Extremely shy at
first, I soon accustomed myself to the many brilliant Court functions to
which my mother chaperoned my sister and myself. We danced that first
winter, I remember, at no less than twenty-two balls besides attending
many receptions, teas, and dinners. Perhaps it was partly the fatigue of
all this social dissipation which made so serious the illness with which
in the ensuing summer I was stricken. Typhus, that scourge of Russia,
struck down at the same time my brother Serge and myself. My brother’s
illness ran a normal course and he made a rapid recovery, but for three
months I lay at death’s door. After the fever succeeded many
complications, inflammation of the lungs and kidneys, and an affection
of the brain whereby I lost both speech and hearing. In the midst of my
suffering I had a vivid dream in which the saintly Father John of
Kronstadt appeared to me and told me to have courage and that all would
finally be well.
This Father John of Kronstadt, whom all true Russians reverence as a
saint, I remembered as having thrice been at our house in my early
childhood. The gentle majesty of his presence, the beauty of his benign
countenance had so deeply impressed me that now, in my desperate
illness, it seemed to me that he, more than the skilled physicians and
the devoted sisters who attended me, had power of help and healing. In
some way I managed to convey to my parents that I wanted Father John,
and they immediately telegraphed begging him to come. It was some days
before the message reached him, as he was away from home on a mission,
but as soon as he received word of our need he hastened to Peterhof. As
in a vision I sensed his coming long before he reached the house, and
when he came I greeted him without astonishment with a feeble movement
of my hand. Father John knelt down beside my bed, praying quietly, a
corner of his long stole laid over my burning head. At length he rose,
took a glass of holy water, and to the consternation of the nurses
sprinkled it freely over me and bade me sleep. Almost instantly I fell
into a deep sleep, and when I awoke next day I was so much better that
all could see that I was on the road to recovery.
In September of that year I went with my mother first to Baden and
afterwards to Naples. We lived in the same hotel with the Grand Duke and
Grand Duchess Serge who were very much amused to see me in a wig, my
long illness having rendered me temporarily almost bald. After a quiet
but happy season in southern Italy I returned to Russia quite restored
to health. The winter of 1903 I remember as a round of gaieties and
dissipations. In January of that year I received from the Empress the
diamond-studded _chiffre_ of maid of honor, which meant that, following
my marriage, I would have permanent entry to all Court functions. Not
immediately but very soon afterwards I was called to duty to the person
of the Empress, and there began then that close and intimate friendship
which I know lasted with her always and which will remain with me as
long as God permits me to live.
I would that I could paint a picture of the Empress Alexandra Feodorovna
as I knew her before the first shadow of doom and disaster fell upon
unhappy Russia. No photograph ever did her justice because it could
reproduce neither her lovely color nor her graceful movements. Tall she
was, and delicately, beautifully shaped, with exquisitely white neck and
shoulders. Her abundant hair, red gold, was so long that she could
easily sit upon it when it was unbound. Her complexion was clear and as
rosy as a little child’s. The Empress had large eyes, deep gray and very
lustrous. It was only in later life that sorrow and anxiety gave her
eyes the melancholy with which they are usually associated. In youth
they wore an expression of constant merriment which explained her family
nickname of “Sunny,” a name by the way nearly always used by the
Emperor. I began almost from the first day of our association to love
and admire her, as I have loved her ever since and always shall.
The winter of 1903 was very brilliant, the season culminating in a
famous ball in costumes of Tsar Alexis Michailovitch, who reigned in the
seventeenth century. The ball was given first in the Hermitage, the
great art gallery adjoining the Winter Palace, but so immense was its
success that it had to be twice repeated, once in the _Salle de Concert_
of the palace and again in the large ballroom of the Schermetieff
Palace. My sister and I were two of twenty young girls selected to dance
with twenty youthful cavaliers in an ancient Russian dance which
required almost as much rehearsal as a ballet. The rehearsals were quite
important society events, all the mothers attending, and the Empress
often looking on as interested as any of us.
That summer I again fell ill in our villa in Peterhof, and I remember
particularly that this was the first time the Empress ever visited our
house. She drove in a low pony chaise, coming up to my sickroom all in
white with a big white hat and in the best of spirits. Needless to say,
her unexpected visit did me a world of good, as did her second visit at
our home in the country when she left me a gift of holy water from
Saroff, a place greatly venerated by Russians. That winter with its
artless pleasures, and the pleasant summer which followed, marked the
end of an era in Russia. Immediately afterwards came the catastrophe of
the Japanese War, so needlessly entered into. This war was the beginning
of a long line of disasters which ended in the supreme disaster of 1917.
I must confess that at the time the Japanese War made no
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS DRIVING IN HER PONY CHAISE. PETERHOF, 1909.]
[Illustration:
THE EMPRESS WITH GRAND DUCHESS TATIANA IN HER BEDROOM, TSARSKOE
SELO. FAVORITE IKONS IN BACKGROUND.
]
[Illustration: ALEXANDER SERGIEVITCH TANIEFF, Director of the Tsar’s
Private Chancellerie, Father of Anna Viroubova.]
very deep impression on young girls who, like myself, faced life lightly
like happy children. We resigned ourselves to an almost complete
cessation of balls and parties, and we put aside our pretty gowns for
the sober dress of working sisters. The great salons of the Winter
Palace were turned into workrooms and there every day society flocked to
sew and knit for our soldiers and sailors fighting such incredible
distances away, as well as for the wounded in hospitals at home and
abroad. My mother, who was one of the heads of committees giving out
work to be done at home, was constantly busy, and we obediently followed
her example.
Every day the Empress came to inspect the work, often sitting down at a
table and sewing diligently with the others. This was shortly before the
birth of the Tsarevitch and I have a clear picture in my mind of the
Empress looking more than ever fine and delicate, her tall figure clad
in a loose robe of dark velvet trimmed in fur. Behind her chair,
bringing into splendid relief her bright gold hair, stood a huge negro
servant, gorgeous in scarlet trousers, gold-embroidered jacket, and
white turban. This negro, Jim, was one of four Abyssinians who stood
guard before the doors of the private apartments. They were not soldiers
and they had no functions except to open and close the doors, and to
signify by a sudden, noiseless entrance into a state apartment that one
of their Majesties was about to appear. The Abyssinians were in fact
simply one of the left-overs from the days of Catherine the Great, in
whose times dwarfs and negroes and other exotics figured as a part of
Court ceremonials. They remained not because Nicholas II or the Empress
wanted them, but because, as I shall later explain, it was practically
impossible to change any detail of Russian Court life.
The following summer the heir was born amid the wildest rejoicings all
over the Empire. I remember the Empress telling me with what
extraordinary ease the child was brought into the world. Scarcely half
an hour after the Empress had left her boudoir for her bedroom the baby
was born and it was known that, after many prayers, there was an heir to
the throne of the Romanoffs. The Emperor, in spite of the desperate
sorrow brought upon him by a disastrous war, was quite mad with joy. His
happiness and the mother’s, however, was of short duration, for almost
at once they learned that the poor child was afflicted with a dread
disease, rather rare except in royal families where it is only too
common. The victims of this malady are known in medicine as
haemophiliacs, or bleeders. Frequently they die soon after birth, and
those who survive are subject to frightful suffering, if not to sudden
death, from slight injuries to blood vessels, internal as well as
external. The whole short life of the Tsarevitch, the loveliest and most
amiable child imaginable, was a succession of agonizing illnesses due to
this congenital affliction. The sufferings of the child were more than
equaled by those of his parents, especially of his mother, who hardly
knew a day of real happiness after she realized her boy’s fate. Her
health and spirits began to decline, and she developed a chronic heart
trouble. Although the boy’s affliction was in no conceivable way her
fault, she dwelt morbidly on the fact that the disease is transmitted
through the mother and that it was common in her family. One of her
younger brothers suffered from it, also her uncle Leopold, Queen
Victoria’s youngest son, while all three sons of her sister, Princess
Henry of Prussia, were similarly afflicted. One of these boys died young
and the other two were lifelong invalids.
Everything possible, everything known to medical science, was done for
the child Alexei. The Empress nursed him herself, as indeed, with the
assistance of professional women, she had nursed all her children. Three
trained Russian nurses were in attendance, with the Empress always
superintending. She bathed the babe herself, and was with him so much
that the Court, ever censorious of her, complained that she was more of
a nurse than an Empress. The Court, of course, did not immediately
understand the serious condition of the infant heir. No parents, be
their estate high or low, are ready all at once to reveal a misfortune
such as that one. It is always human to hope that things are not as
desperate as they seem, and that in time some remedy for the illness
will be found. The Emperor and Empress guarded their secret from all
except relatives and most intimate friends, closing their eyes and their
ears to the growing unpopularity of the Empress. She was ill and she was
suffering, but to the Court she appeared merely cold, haughty, and
indifferent. From this false impression she never fully recovered even
after the explanation of her suddenly acquired silence and melancholy
became generally known.