In the autumn of 1909 I went for the first time to Livadia, the country
estate of the Imperial Family in the Crimea. This part of Russia, dearer
to all of the Tsars than any other, is a small peninsula, almost an
island, surrounded on the west and south by the Black Sea and on the
east by the Sea of Asov. A range of high hills protects it from the cold
winds of the north and gives it a climate so mild and bland as to be
almost sub-tropical. The Imperial estate, which occupies nearly half the
peninsula, has always been left as far as possible in its natural
condition of unbroken forests, wild mountains, and valleys. There was at
the time of which I write but one short railroad in the whole of the
Crimea, a short line running from Sevastopol, the principal port of the
Black Sea, northward to Moscow. All other journeys had to be taken by
carriage, motor cars, or on horseback.
The natural beauties of the Crimea would be difficult to exaggerate. The
mountains, dark with pines, snow-covered during most of the year, make
an imposing background for the profusion of flowering trees, shrubs and
vines, making the valleys and plains one continuous garden. The
vineyards of the Crimea are, or were previous to the Revolution, equal
to any in Italy or southern France. What they became afterwards God
knows. But certainly up to the summer of 1914, when I saw them last,
the vine-clad hills and valleys of the Crimea were an earthly Paradise,
as lovely and as peaceful as the mind can picture. From the grapes of
the Crimea were distilled the best wines in Russia, among others an
excellent champagne and a delicious sweet wine of the muscat variety.
Almost every kind of fruit flourished in the valleys, and in spring the
wealth of blossoms, pink and white, of apples, cherries, peaches,
almonds, made the whole countryside a perfumed garden, while in autumn
the masses of golden fruit were a wonder to behold. Flowers bloomed as
though they were the very soul of the fair earth. Never have I seen such
roses. They spread over every building in great vines as strong as ivy,
and they scattered their rich petals over lawns and pathways in
fragrance at times almost overpowering. There was another flower, the
glycinia, which grew on trailing vines in grapelike clusters, deep mauve
in hue, the favorite color of the Empress. This flower, too, was
intensely fragrant, as were the violets which in spring literally
carpeted the plains. Imagine these valleys and plains, with their
vineyards and orchards, their tall cypress trees and trailing roses,
sloping down to a sea as blue as the sky and as gentle as a summer day,
and you have a picture, imperfectly as I have painted it, of the country
retreat of the Romanoffs. Here of all places in Russia they were loved
and revered. The natives of the peninsula were Tartars, the men very
tall and strong and the women almost invariably handsome. They were
Mohammedans, and it was only within late years that the women had
discarded their veils. Both men and women wore very picturesque dress,
the men wearing round black fur caps and short embroidered coats over
tight white trousers. It was the fashion for the women to dye their hair
a bright red, over which they wore small caps and floating veils and
adorning themselves with a wealth of silver bangles. These Tartars were
an honest folk, absolutely loyal to the Tsar. They were wonderful
horsemen, comparing favorably with the best of the Cossacks, and their
horses, through long breeding and training, were natural pacers. To see
a cavalcade of Tartars sweep by was to imagine a race of Centaurs come
back to earth, so absolutely one was every horse and man.
[Illustration: LIVADIA, THE NEW PALACE OF THE TSARS IN THE CRIME.]
[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE COURT OF THE NEW PALACE. LIVADIA, CRIMEA]
[Illustration: THE IMPERIAL CHILDREN BATHING AT LIVADIA.
Grand Duke Alexei on Mme. Viroubova's kne. In the background a farorite
nurse.]
The palace, as I saw it in 1909, was a large, old wooden structure
surrounded by balconies, the rooms dark, damp, and unattractive. The
only really sunny and cheerful room in the whole house was the dining
room, where twice a day the suite met for luncheon and dinner. The
Emperor usually presided at these meals, but the Empress being in bad
health lunched privately with the Tsarevitch. The Empress had been for
some time a victim of the most alarming heart attacks which she bravely
concealed, not wishing the public to know her condition. Oftentimes when
I remarked the blue whiteness of her hands, her quick, gasping breaths,
she silenced me with a peremptory “Don’t say anything. People need not
know.” However, I was intensely relieved when at last she consented to
have the daily attention of a special physician, this being the devoted
Dr. Botkine, who accompanied the family in their Siberian exile, and
shared their fate, whatever that fate may have been. Dr. Botkine,
although a very able physician, was not a man of great social
prominence, and when, at the Empress’s request, I went to apprise him of
his appointment as special medical adviser to their Majesties, he
received the news with astonishment almost amounting to dismay. He began
his administration by greatly curtailing the activities of the Empress,
keeping her quietly in bed for long periods, and insisting on the use of
a rolling chair in the gardens, and a pony chaise for longer jaunts
abroad.
Life at Livadia in 1909 and in after years was simple and informal. We
walked, rode, bathed in the sea, and generally led a healthful country
life, such as the Tsar, eminently an outdoor man and a lover of nature,
enjoyed to the utmost. We roamed the woods gathering wild berries and
mushrooms which we ate at our al fresco teas, cooking the mushrooms over
little campfires of twigs and dried leaves. The Emperor and his suite
hunted a little, rode much, and played very good tennis. In this latter
sport I was often the Emperor’s partner and a very serious affair I had
to make of each game. No conversation was allowed, and we played with
all the gravity and intensity of professionals.
We had each year many visitors. In 1909 came sometimes to lunch the Emir
of Bokhara, a big, handsome Oriental in a long black coat and a white
turban glittering with diamonds and rubies. He seemed intensely
interested in the comparative simplicity of Russian royal customs, and
when he departed for his own land he distributed presents in true
Arabian Nights’ profusion, costly diamonds and rubies to their
Majesties, and to the suite orders and decorations set with jewels.
Nevertheless the souvenir of the Emir’s visit to Livadia which I most
prized was a photograph of himself for which he obligingly posed in the
gardens. This photograph and hundreds of others which I took during the
twelve years I spent with the Imperial Family I was obliged to leave
behind me when I fled, a hunted refugee, across the Russian frontier. I
have no hope of ever seeing any of them again.[1]
The 20th of October, the anniversary of the death of Alexander III, was
always remembered by a solemn religious service held in the room where
he died, the armchair in which he breathed his last being draped in
heavy black. This death chamber was not in the main palace but in a
smaller house adjoining, one which in 1909 was used as a lodging for the
suite. The last part of our stay in the Crimea that year was not very
gay. The Emperor left us for an official visit to the King of Italy, and
on the day of his departure the Empress, greatly depressed, shut herself
up in her own room refusing to see anyone, even the children. It was
always to her an intolerable burden that she and the Emperor were
obliged by etiquette to part from each other in public and to meet again
after each absence in full view of the suite and often of the staring
multitude.
This autumn was made sad also by one of the all too frequent illnesses
of the unfortunate little Tsarevitch. The sufferings of the child on
these occasions were so acute that everyone in the palace was rendered
perfectly miserable. Nothing much could be done to assuage the poor
boy’s agony, and nothing except the constant love and devotion of the
Empress gave him the slightest relief. We who could do nothing else for
him took refuge in prayer and supplication in the little church near the
palace. Mlle. Tutcheva, maid of honor to the young Grand Duchesses, read
the psalms, while the Empress, the older girls, Olga and Tatiana, two of
the Tsar’s aides, and myself assisted in the singing. In the midst of
our anxiety and distress during this illness of Alexei my father paid us
a brief visit, bringing important reports to the Emperor, and this was
at least a momentary bright hour in the sorrow of my existence. At
Christmas time the Court returned to Tsarskoe Selo, both the Empress and
the Tsarevitch by this time much improved in health.
The next time I went with their Majesties to the Crimea we found the
estate transformed and greatly beautified by the substitution of a
palace of white marble for the ancient and gloomy wooden buildings. The
new palace was the work of the eminent architect, Krasnoff, who had also
designed the palaces of the Grand Dukes Nicholas and George. In the two
years Krasnoff had indeed worked marvels, not only in the palace, which
was a gem of Italian Renaissance architecture, but in many smaller
buildings, the whole constituting a town in itself, harmonious in
material and design.
I shall never forget the day we landed in Yalta, and the glorious drive
through the bright spring sunshine to the palace. Before the carriage
rode an old Tartar of the Crimea, one of the tribe I described earlier
in this chapter. To ride before the Tsar’s carriage was an ancient
prerogative of these honest and loyal people, a prerogative which had to
be resigned when carriages gave way to motor cars. No Tartar horse could
have kept pace with, much less have preceded, a motor car of Nicholas
II, for he always insisted on driving at a terrifying speed. But as late
as 1911 he kept up the old custom of driving from Yalta to Livadia.
We drove, as I say, through the dazzling sunshine and under the fresh
green trees of springtime until the white palace, set in gardens of
blooming flowers and vines, burst on our delighted eyes. Russian fashion
we proceeded first to the church, from whence in procession we followed
the priests to the anointing and blessing of the new dwelling. The first
day I spent with the Empress superintending the hanging of pictures and
ikons, placing familiar and homely objects, photographs and souvenirs,
so necessary to make a dwelling place out of an empty house, even though
it be a royal palace. On the second floor were the private apartments of
the family, including a small salon. The apartments of the Empress were
furnished in light wood and pink chintzes and many vases and jars always
kept full of the pink and mauve flowers she loved. From the windows of
her boudoir one looked out on the wooded hills, and from the bedroom
there was an enchanting view of the sparkling sea. To the right of the
Empress’s boudoir was the Emperor’s study, furnished in green leather
with a large writing table in the center of the room. On this floor also
was the family dining room, the bedrooms of the Tsarevitch and of the
Grand Duchesses and their attendants, a large day room for the use of
the children, and a big white hall or ballroom, seldom used.
Below were the rooms of state, drawing rooms and dining rooms, all in
white, the doors and windows opening on a marble courtyard draped with
roses and vines which almost covered an antique Italian well in the
center of the court. Here the Emperor loved to walk and smoke after
luncheon, chatting with his guests or with members of the household. The
whole palace, including the rooms of state, were lightly, beautifully
furnished in white wood and flowered chintzes, giving the effect of a
hospitable summer home rather than a palace.
That autumn was marked by a season of unusual gaiety in honor of the
coming of age, at sixteen, of the Grand Duchess Olga, who received for
the occasion a beautiful diamond ring and a necklace of diamonds and
pearls. This gift of a necklace to the daughter of a Tsar when she
became of age was traditional, but the expense of it to Alexandra
Feodorovna, the mother of four daughters, was a matter of apprehension.
Powerless to change the custom, even had she wished to do so, she tried
to ease the burden on the treasury by a gradual accumulation of the
jewels. By her request the necklaces, instead of being purchased
outright when the young Grand Duchesses reached the age of sixteen, were
collected stone by stone on their birthdays and name days. Thus at the
coming-out ball of the Grand Duchess Olga she wore a necklace of
thirty-two superb jewels which had been accumulating for her from her
babyhood.
It was a very charming ball that marked the introduction to society of
the oldest daughter of the Tsar. Flushed and fair in her first long
gown, something pink and filmy and of course very smart, Olga was as
excited over her début as any other young girl. Her hair, blonde and
abundant, was worn for the first time coiled up young-lady fashion, and
she bore herself as the central figure of the festivities with a modesty
and a dignity which greatly pleased her parents. We danced in the great
state dining room on the first floor, the glass doors to the courtyard
thrown open, the music of the unseen orchestra floating in from the rose
garden like a breath of its own wondrous fragrance. It was a perfect
night, clear and warm, and the gowns and jewels of the women and the
brilliant uniforms of the men made a striking spectacle under the blaze
of the electric lights. The ball ended in a cotillion and a sumptuous
supper served on small tables in the ballroom.
This was a beginning of a series of festivities which the Grand Duchess
Olga and a little later on her sister Tatiana enjoyed to their utmost,
for they were not in the least like the conventional idea of princesses,
but simple, happy, normal young girls, loving dancing and parties and
all the frivolities which make youth bright and memorable. Besides the
dances given at Livadia that year, large functions attended by
practically everyone in the neighborhood who had Court entrée, there
were a number of very brilliant balls given in honor of Olga and Tatiana
after the family returned to Tsarskoe Selo. Two of these were given by
the Grand Dukes Peter and George and the girls enjoyed them so much
that they begged for another before Christmas. This time it was Grand
Duke Nicholas who provided a most regal entertainment, preceded by a
dinner for the suite, to which I was invited. I went because the Empress
wished it, but I went rather unwillingly knowing that the atmosphere was
not a friendly one. Their Majesties were at that time particularly
friendly with Grand Duke George and his wife who was Princess Marie of
Greece, as formerly they had been with Grand Dukes Peter and Nicholas
and their wives, the Montenegran princesses, Melitza and Stana, of whom
more must be written later on.
In relating the events of the coming of age of Olga and Tatiana I must
not forget to mention affairs of almost equal consequence which occurred
in the Crimea in that season of 1911. The climate of the Crimea was
ideal for tuberculosis patients, and from her earliest married life the
Empress had taken the deepest interest in the many hospitals and
sanatoria which nestled among the hills, some of them almost within the
confines of the Imperial estate. Before the beginning of the reign of
Nicholas II and Alexandra Feodorovna these hospitals existed in numbers
but they were not of the best modern type. Not satisfied with these
institutions the Empress out of her own private fortune built and
equipped new and improved hospitals, and one of the first duties laid on
me when I first visited the Crimea was to spend hours at a time
visiting, inspecting and reporting on the condition of buildings,
nursing and care of patients. I was particularly charged with
discovering patients who were too poor to pay for the best food and
nursing, and one of each summer’s activities when the family visited
the Crimea was a bazaar or other entertainment for the benefit of these
needy ones. Four great bazaars organized and largely managed by the
Empress I particularly remember. The first of these was held in 1911 and
the others in 1912, 1913, and 1914. For all of these bazaars the Empress
and her ladies worked very hard and from the opening day the Empress,
however precarious the condition of her health, always presided at her
own table, disposing of fine needlework, embroidery, and art objects
with energy and enthusiasm. The crowds around her booth were enormous,
the people pressing forward almost frenziedly to touch her hand, her
sleeve, her dress, enchanted to receive their purchases from the hand of
the Empress they adored, for she was adored by the real Russian people,
whatever the intriguing Court and the jealous political rivals of her
husband thought of her. Often the crowd at these bazaars would beg for a
sight of Alexei, and smiling with pleasure the Empress would lift him to
the table where the child would bow shyly but sweetly, stretching out
his hands in friendly greeting to the worshipping crowds. Indeed the
people loved all the Imperial Family then, whatever changes were made in
the minds of the many by the horrible sufferings of the War, by
propaganda, and by the mania of the Revolution. The great mass of the
Russian people loved and were loyal to their Sovereigns. No one who knew
them at all can ever forget that.
Perhaps they were more universally loved in the Crimea than elsewhere
because of the simplicity of their lives and the close touch they were
able to keep with the people of the country. We went to Livadia again
in 1912, in 1913, and last of all in the spring and summer of 1914. We
arrived in 1912 in the last week of Lent, I think the Saturday before
Palm Sunday. Already the fruit trees were in full bloom and the air was
warm with spring. Twice a day we attended service in the church, and on
Thursday of Holy Week, a very solemn day in the orthodox Russian
calendar, their Majesties took communion, previously turning from the
altar to the congregation and bowing on all sides. After this they
approached the holy images and kissed them. The Empress in her white
gown and cap looked beautiful if somewhat thin and frail, and it was
very sweet to see the little Alexei helping his mother from her knees
after each deep reverence. On Easter eve there was a procession with
candles all through the courts of the palace and on Easter Sunday for
two hours the soldiers, according to old custom, gathered to exchange
Easter kisses with the Emperor and to receive each an Easter egg.
Children from the schools came to salute in like manner the Empress. For
their Majesties it was a long and fatiguing ceremony, but they carried
it through with all graciousness, while the Imperial household looked
on.
Such was the intimate, the patriarchal relation between the Tsar and his
people, and such was the real soul of Russia before the Revolution. I
have often read, in books written by Western authors, that the Tsar and
all the Imperial Family lived in hourly terror of assassination, that
they knew themselves hated by their people and were righteously afraid
of them. Nothing could possibly be farther from the truth. Certainly
neither Nicholas II nor Alexandra Feodorovna feared their people. The
constant police supervision under which they lived annoyed them
unspeakably, and never were they happier than when practically
unattended they moved freely among the Russian people they loved. In
connection with the Empress’s care for the tuberculosis patients in the
Crimea there was one day every summer known as White Flower Day, and on
that day every member of society, unless she had a very good excuse,
went out into the towns and sold white flowers for the benefit of the
hospitals. It was a day especially delightful to the Empress and, as
they grew old enough to participate in such duties, to all the young
Grand Duchesses. The Empress and her daughters worked very hard on White
Flower Day, spending practically the whole day driving and walking,
mingling with the crowd and vending their flowers as enthusiastically as
though their fortunes depended on selling them all. Of course they
always did sell them all. The crowds surged around them eager and proud
to buy a flower from their full baskets. But the buyers were no whit
happier than the sellers, that I can say with assurance.
Of course life in the Crimea was not all simplicity and informality.
There were a great many visitors, most of them of rank too exalted to be
treated with informality. I remember in particular visits of Grand Duke
Ernest of Hesse, brother of the Empress, and his wife, Princess Eleanor.
I remember also visits of the widowed Grand Duchess Serge, who had
become a nun and was now abbess of a wonderful convent in Moscow, the
House of Mary and Martha. When she visited Livadia masses were said
daily in the palace church. I ought not, while speaking of visitors, to
omit mention of the old Prince Galitzin, a very odd person, but strongly
attached to the Tsar, to whom he presented a part of his own estate,
some distance to Livadia, and to which we made a special excursion on
the royal yacht. Another memorable excursion was to the estates of
Prince Oldenbourg on the coast of Caucasia. The sea that day was very
rough and by the time we reached our destination the Empress was so
prostrated that she could not go ashore. It was a pity because she
missed what to all the others was a remarkable spectacle, a grand
holiday of the Caucasians who, in their picturesque costumes, crowded
down to the shore to greet their Sovereigns. The whole countryside was
in festival, great bonfires burning in all the hills and on all the
meadows wild music and the most fascinating of native dances.
Such was life in the Crimea in the old, vanished days. Simple, happy,
kind, and loyal, all that was best in Russia.