The year 1912, although destined to end in the almost fatal illness of
the Tsarevitch, began happily for the Imperial Family. Peaceful and busy
were the winter and spring, the Emperor engaged as usual with the
affairs of the Empire, the Empress, as far as her health permitted,
superintending the education of her children, and all of them busy with
their books and their various tutors. Of the education and upbringing of
the children of Nicholas II and the Empress Alexandra Feodorovna it
should be said that while nothing was omitted to make them most loyal
Russians, the educational methods employed were cosmopolitan. They had
French, Swiss, and English tutors, but all their studies were under the
superintendence of a Russian, the highly cultured M. Petroff, while for
certain branches such as physics and natural science they were privately
instructed in the gymnasium of Tsarskoe Selo. The first teacher of the
Imperial children, she from whom they received their elementary
education, was Miss Schneider, familiarly called “Trina,” a native of
one of the Baltic states of the Empire. Miss Schneider first came into
service, years before the marriage of the Emperor and Empress, as
instructor in the Russian language to Elizabeth, Grand Duchess Serge.
Afterwards she taught Russian to the young Empress, and was retained at
Court as reader to her Majesty. “Trina” was rather a difficult person
in some ways, taking every advantage of her privileged position, but she
was undeniably valuable and was heart and soul in her devotion to the
family. She accompanied them to Siberia and there disappeared with them.
Perhaps the most valued of the instructors was M. Pierre Gilliard, whose
book “Thirteen Years at the Russian Court” has been published in several
languages and has been very well received. M. Gilliard, a Swiss
gentlemen of many accomplishments, came first to Tsarskoe Selo as
teacher of French to the young Grand Duchesses. Afterwards he became
tutor to the Tsarevitch. M. Gilliard lived in the palace, and enjoyed to
the fullest extent the confidence and affection of their Majesties. Mr.
Gibbs, the English tutor, was also a great favorite. Both of these men
followed the family into exile and remained faithful and devoted friends
until forcibly expelled by the Bolsheviki.
In his book M. Gilliard has recorded that he was never able to teach the
Grand Duchesses to speak a fluent French. This is true because the
languages used in the family were English and Russian, and the children
never became interested in any other languages. “Trina” was supposed to
teach them German but she had less success with that language than M.
Gilliard with French. The Emperor and Empress spoke English almost
exclusively, and so did the Empress’s brother, the Grand Duke of Hesse
and his family. Among themselves the children usually spoke Russian. The
Tsarevitch alone, thanks to his constant association with M. Gilliard,
mastered the French language.
Every detail of the education of her children was supervised by the
Empress, who often sat with them for hours together in the schoolroom.
She herself taught them sewing and needlework, her best pupil being
Tatiana, who had an extraordinary talent for all kinds of handwork. She
not only made beautiful blouses and other garments, embroideries and
crochets, but she was able on occasions to arrange her mother’s long
hair, and to dress her as well as a professional maid. Not that the
Empress required as much dressing as the ordinary woman of rank and
wealth. She had that kind of Victorian modesty that forbade any
intrusion on the privacy of her dressing room. All that her maids were
allowed to do was to dress her hair, fasten her boots, and put on her
gown and jewels. The Empress had great taste in dress and always chose
her jewels to finish rather than to ornament her costumes. “Only rubies
to-day,” she would command, or “pearls and sapphires with this gown.”
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS GIVING A LESSON TO ALEXEI ON THE TERRACE AT
LIVADIA.]
[Illustration: ALEXEI PLAYING IN THE SNOW AT TSARSKOE SELO.]
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS IN ALEXEI'S BED DURING CONVALESCENCE FROM A
SERIOUS ILLNESS.
The Empress and the children have been represented as surrounded by
German servants, but this accusation is absolutely false. The chief
woman of the household was Mme. Geringer, a Russian lady who came daily
to the palace, ordered gowns, did all necessary shopping, paid bills,
and attended to any business required by the Empress. The chief maid of
the Empress was Madeleine Zanotti, of English and Italian parentage,
whose home before she came to Tsarskoe Selo was in England. Madeleine
was a woman of middle age, very clever, and as usual with one in her
position, inclined to be tyrannical. Madeleine had charge of all the
gowns and jewels of the Empress, and as I think I have related, she was
often critical of her mistress’s indolent habits in regard to
correspondence, etc. A second maid was Tutelberg, “Toodles,” a rather
slow and quiet girl from the Baltic. She and Madeleine were mortal
enemies, but they agreed on one thing at least, and that was that they
would not wear caps and aprons. The Empress good-naturedly acquiesced
and permitted simple black gowns and ribbon bows in the hair for her
chief maids. There were three under maids, all Russians, and all
perfectly devoted to the Imperial Family. These girls, who wore the
regulation caps and white aprons, cared for the rooms of the Empress and
the children. All the maids, when the Revolution came, remained faithful
to the family, and one of them, as I shall tell later, performed the
dangerous service of smuggling letters in and out of Siberia. One girl,
Anna Demidoff, shared the fate of the family in 1918.
The Emperor had three valets, one of whom, Shalferoff, who had served
Alexander III, turned spy during the Revolution. Another, old Raziesh,
also a former servant of Alexander III, died in the service of Nicholas
II, and was replaced by Chemoduroff, a fine and very loyal man. The
third valet’s name was Katoff. All three, as their names testify, were
Russians, as were also the three men in the service of the Empress, Leo
and Kondratief, both of whom died during the early days of the
Revolution, and Volkoff, who followed the Royal exiles as far into
Siberia as he was permitted by the Provisional Government.
The children’s nurses were Russians, the head nurse being Marie
Vechniakoff. Others I remember well were Alexandra, nicknamed “Shoura,”
a great favorite with the girls, Anna and Lisa, kind, faithful girls who
spoke no word of any language except Russian. There were, of course,
hundreds of house servants, and to my knowledge most, if not all of
them, were Russians. The chef was a Frenchman, Cubat, a very great man
in his profession. Sometimes, when an especially splendid dish had been
prepared, Cubat was wont to introduce it, as it were, by standing
magnificently in the doorway, clad in immaculate white linen, until the
dish was served. Cubat became very wealthy in the Tsar’s service, and
now lives happily and luxuriously in his native France. He was, I
believe, truly loyal to the Imperial Family, which is more than can be
said for most of the servants. Their children were educated at the
expense of the Emperor, and the majority, instead of choosing useful
trades, elected to go to the universities, where they nearly all became
Revolutionists. In my father’s opinion this was due to the fact that the
Russian universities and higher schools offered little if any technical
training. Recognizing this, the Empress created in Petrograd a technical
school for boys and girls of the whole Empire. In this school the
students were trained to become teachers in many useful handicrafts, and
in addition to this normal academy the Empress established in many
governments schools where boys and girls were perfected in the beautiful
peasant arts of embroidery, dyeing, carving, and painting. I give these
details because I think it only just to offset with facts the lying
slanders of sensational writers who could not possibly have known
anything of the intimate life of the Imperial Family of Russia but who
have substituted propaganda for truth.
None of these sensational writers knew or tried to know how simple, not
to say rigorous, was the régime followed by the Imperial children. All
of them, even the delicate little Tsarevitch, slept in large, well-aired
nurseries, on hard camp beds without pillows and with the least possible
allowance of bedclothing. They had cold baths every morning and warm
ones only at night. As a consequence of this simple life their manners
were unassuming and natural without a single trace of _hauteur_.
Although in 1912 the four girls were rapidly approaching womanhood--Olga
was in her eighteenth year and Tatiana was nearly sixteen--their parents
continued to regard them as children. The two older girls were spoken of
as “the big ones,” and were given many grown-up privileges, as for
example, concerts and the theater to which the Emperor himself escorted
them. The two younger Grand Duchesses and the Tsarevitch, “the little
ones,” were still in the nursery.
In the darkness of the mystery which surrounds the fate of these
innocent children it is with poignant emotion that I recall them as they
appeared, so full of life and joy, in those distant, yet incredibly
near, days before the World War and the downfall of Imperial Russia. Of
the four girls, Olga and Marie were essentially Russian, altogether
Romanoff in their inheritance. Olga was perhaps the cleverest of them
all, her mind being so quick to grasp ideas, so absorbent of knowledge
that she learned almost without application or close study. Her chief
characteristics, I should say, were a strong will and a singularly
straightforward habit of thought and action. Admirable qualities in a
woman, these same characteristics are often trying in childhood, and
Olga as a little girl sometimes showed herself wilful and even
disobedient. She had a hot temper which, however, she early learned to
keep under control, and had she been allowed to live her natural life
she would, I believe, have become a woman of influence and distinction.
Extremely pretty, with brilliant blue eyes and a lovely complexion, Olga
resembled her father in the fineness of her features, especially in her
delicate, slightly tipped nose.
[Illustration: GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA AND TATIANA ON BOARD THE STANDERT.]
[Illustration: THE TSAREVITCH IN 1910.
Taken with His Cousins, Children of the Empress's brother, Grand Duke
Ernest of Hess.]
Marie and Anastasie were also blonde types and very attractive girls.
Marie had splendid eyes and rose-red cheeks. She was inclined to be
stout and she had rather thick lips which detracted a little from her
beauty. Marie had a naturally sweet disposition and a very good mind.
All three of these girls were more or less of the tomboy type. They had
something of the innate brusqueness of their Romanoff ancestors, which
displayed itself in a tendency to mischief. Anastasie, a sharp and
clever child, was a very monkey for jokes, some of them at times almost
too practical for the enjoyment of others. I remember once when the
family was in their Polish estate in winter the children were amusing
themselves at snowballing. The imp which sometimes seemed to possess
Anastasie led her to throw a stone rolled in a snowball straight
[Illustration: THE EMPEROR AND TSAREVITCH WALKING ON BOARD THE
_STANDERT_. Photograph by the Empress.]
[Illustration: THE TSAREVITCH IN COSSACK UNIFORM WITH HIS SAILOR,
DEREVANKO.]
[Illustration: THE TSAR, TSARINA, AND ALEXEI IN THE GARDENS OF TSARSKOE
SELO, 1911.]
at her dearly loved sister Tatiana. The missile struck the poor girl
fairly in the face with such force that she fell senseless to the
ground. The grief and horror of Anastasie lasted for many days and
permanently cured her of her worst propensities to practical jokes.
Tatiana was almost a perfect reincarnation of her mother. Taller and
slenderer than her sisters, she had the soft, refined features and the
gentle, reserved manners of her English ancestry. Kindly and sympathetic
of disposition, she displayed towards her younger sisters and her
brother such a protecting spirit that they, in fun, nicknamed her “the
governess.” Of all the Grand Duchesses Tatiana was with the people the
most popular, and I suspect in their hearts she was the most dearly
loved of her parents. Certainly she was a different type from the others
even in appearance, her hair being a rich brown and her eyes so darkly
gray that in the evening they seemed quite black. Of all the girls
Tatiana was most social in her tastes. She liked society and she longed
pathetically for friends. But friends for these high born but
unfortunate girls were very difficult to find. The Empress dreaded for
her daughters the companionship of oversophisticated young women of the
aristocracy, whose minds, even in the schoolroom, were fed with the
foolish and often vicious gossip of a decadent society. The Empress even
discouraged association with cousins and near relatives, many of whom
were unwholesomely precocious in their outlook on life.
I would not give the impression that these young daughters of the
Emperor and Empress were forced to lead dull and uneventful lives. They
were allowed to have their little preferences for this or that handsome
young officer with whom they danced, played tennis, walked, or rode.
These innocent young romances were in fact a source of amusement to
their Majesties, who enjoyed teasing the girls about any dashing officer
who seemed to attract them. The Grand Duchess Olga, sister of the
Emperor, sympathized with her nieces’ love of pleasure and often
arranged tea parties and tennis matches for them, the guests, of course,
being of their own choice. We had some quite jolly tea parties in my
little house also. In the matter of dress, so important to young and
pretty girls, the Grand Duchesses were allowed to indulge their own
tastes. Mme. Brisac, an accomplished French dressmaker, made gowns for
the Imperial Family, and through her the latest Paris models reached the
palace. The girls, however, inclined towards simple English fashions,
especially for outdoor wear. In summer they dressed almost entirely in
white. Jewels they were too young to wear except on very great
occasions. Each girl received on her twelfth birthday a slender gold
bracelet which was afterwards always worn, day and night, “for good
luck.” I have described in a previous chapter the Russian custom of
presenting each Grand Duchess, on her coming of age, with a pearl and
diamond necklace, but this was worn only at state functions or very
formal balls.
Alexei, the only son of the Emperor and Empress, a more tragic child
than the last Dauphin of France, indeed one of the most tragic figures
in history, was, apart from his terrible affliction, the loveliest and
most attractive of the whole family. Because of his delicate health
Alexei began life as a rather spoiled child. His chief nurse, Marie
Vechniakoff, a somewhat over-emotional woman, made the mistake of
indulging the child in every whim. It is easy to understand why she did
so, because nothing more heart-rending could be imagined than the little
boy’s moans and cries during his frequent illnesses. If he bumped his
head or struck a hand or foot against a chair or table the usual result
was a hideous blue swelling indicating a subcutaneous hemorrhage
frightfully painful and often enduring for days or even weeks.
At five Alexei was placed in charge of the sailor Derevanko, who for a
long term of years remained his constant body servant and companion.
Derevanko, while devoted to the boy, did not spoil him as his women
nurses had done, and the man was so patient and resourceful that he
often did wonders in alleviating the child’s pain. I can still in memory
hear the plaintive, suffering voice of Alexei begging the big sailor to
“lift my arm,” “put my leg up,” “warm my hands,” and I can see the
patient, calm-eyed man working for hours on end to give the maximum of
comfort to the little pain-racked limbs.
As Alexei grew older his parents carefully explained to him the nature
of his illness and impressed on him the necessity of avoiding falls and
blows. But Alexei was a child of active mind, loving sports and outdoor
play, and it was almost impossible for him to avoid the very things that
brought him suffering. “Can’t I have a bicycle?” he would beg his
mother. “Alexei, you know you can’t.” “Mayn’t I play tennis?” “Dear,
you know you mustn’t.” Often these hard denials of the natural play
impulse were followed by a gush of tears as the child cried out: “Why
can other boys have everything and I nothing?”
Suffering and self-denial had their effect on the character of Alexei.
Knowing what pain and sacrifice meant, he was extraordinarily
sympathetic towards other sick people. His thoughtfulness of others was
shown in his beautiful courtesy to women and girls and to his elders,
and in his interest in the troubles of servants and dependents. It was a
failing of the Emperor that even when he sympathized with the troubles
of others he was rather slow to take action, unless indeed the matter
was really serious. Alexei, on the contrary, was always for immediate
action. I remember an instance when a boy in service at the palace was
discharged for some reason which I have quite forgotten. The story
somehow reached the ears of Alexei, who immediately took sides with the
boy and gave his father no rest until the whole case was reviewed and
the culprit was forgiven and restored to duty. Alexei usually defended
all offenders, yet when the day came when his parents, in deep distress,
told him that Father Gregory, that is, Rasputine, had been killed by
members of his own family the boy’s grief was swallowed up in rage and
indignation. “Papa,” he exclaimed, “is it possible that you will not
punish them? The assassins of Stolypine were hanged.”
I ask the reader to remember that the Imperial Family firmly believed
that they owed much of Alexei’s improving health to the prayers of
Rasputine. Alexei himself believed it. Several years before Rasputine
had assured the Empress that when the boy was twelve years old he would
begin to improve and that by the time he was a man he would be entirely
well. The undeniable fact is that after the age of twelve Alexei did
begin very materially to improve. His illnesses became farther and
farther apart and before 1917 his appearance had changed marvelously for
the better. He resembled in no way the invalid sons of his mother’s
sister, Princess Henry of Prussia, who suffered from his own terrible
malady. What the best physicians of Europe had been unable to do in
their case some mysterious force had done in the case of the Tsarevitch.
His parents to whom the young boy was as their very heart’s blood
believed that the healing hand of God had wrought the cure, and that it
was in answer to the supplication of one whose spirit was able to rise
in higher flight than theirs or any other’s. They knew of course that
the boy was not yet entirely well, but they believed that he was getting
well. Alexei believed this also and it is certain that he looked forward
to a healthy, normal manhood.
Alexei, like his father, dearly loved the army and all the pageants of
military display. He had every kind of toy soldier, toy guns and
fortresses, and with these he played for hours, with his sailor
companion Derevanko, or “Dina” as the boy called him, and with the few
boy companions he was allowed. Two of these boys were sons of “Dina,”
and a third was the son of one of the family physicians, by coincidence
also named Derevanko. In the last years before the Revolution a few
carefully selected boys, cadets from the Military School, were called
to the palace to play with Alexei. These boys were warned of the danger
of any rough play, and all were extremely mindful of their
responsibility. It was because no other type of boy could be trusted to
play with Alexei that the Empress did not often invite to the palace the
children of the Grand Dukes. They were Romanoffs, brusque and rude in
their manners, thoughtless of the feelings of others, and the Empress
literally did not dare to leave them alone with her son. But because of
her caution she was bitterly assailed by her enemies who spoke
sneeringly of her preference for “low born” children over the
aristocratic children of the family.
The Emperor and Empress and all the children were passionately fond of
pets, especially dogs. The Emperor’s inseparable companion for many
years was a splendid English collie named Iman, and when in the natural
course of time this dog died the Emperor was inconsolable. After that he
had a fine kennel of collies but he never made a special pet of any dog.
The favorite dog of the Empress was a small, shaggy terrier from
Scotland. This dog’s name was Eira, and, to tell the truth, I did not
like the little animal at all. His disagreeable habit of darting from
under chairs and snapping at people’s heels was a trial to my nerves.
Nevertheless the Empress doted on him, carried him under her arm even to
the dinner table, and amused herself greatly talking to and playing with
the dour little creature. When he fell ill and had to be mercifully
killed she wept in real grief and pity. Alexei’s pets were two, a silky
little spaniel named Joy and a beautiful big gray cat, the gift of
General Voyeikoff. It was the only cat in the household and it was a
privileged animal, even being allowed to sleep on Alexei’s bed. There
were two other dogs, Tatiana’s French bull and a little King Charlie
which I contributed to the menagerie. Both of these dogs went with the
family to Siberia, and Jimmie, the King Charles spaniel, was found shot
to death in that dreadful deserted house in Ekaterinaburg.
How far, how unbelievably far away now seem those peaceful days of 1912,
when we were watching the Tsar’s daughters growing towards womanhood,
and even in our minds speculating on possible marriages for them. Their
prospects as far as marriage was concerned, I must say, were rather
vague. Foreign matches, because of religion and even more because of the
girls’ devotion to home and country, were almost out of the question,
and suitable husbands in Russia seemed to be entirely lacking. There was
a time in his boyhood when Dmitri, son of the Tsar’s uncle, Grand Duke
Paul, was a great favorite with the Imperial Family. But Dmitri as he
grew older became so dissipated that he quite cut himself off from the
prospect of an alliance with any of the Grand Duchesses. There had once
been a faint possibility of an engagement between Olga and Crown Prince
Carol of Rumania. As early as 1910 the beautiful Queen Marie and her son
visited Russia for the purpose of introducing the young people, but
nothing came of the visit. In 1914 the family made a return visit to
Rumania on the _Standert_, the Rumanian Royal family, including the old
Queen, “Carmen Sylva,” meeting the yacht at Constanza, on the Black Sea,
and making a splendid fête which lasted for three days. This time the
matter was seriously broached to Olga who, in her usual quick,
straightforward manner, declined the match. In 1916 Prince Carol again
visited the Russian Court, and now his young man’s fancy rested on
Marie. He made a formal proposal for her hand, but the Emperor,
declaring that Marie was nothing more than a schoolgirl, good-naturedly
laughed the Prince’s proposal aside.
Not all these proposals ended so merrily. One day coming as usual to
Peterhof, I found the Empress in tears. A formal proposal had just been
received from the old Grand Duchess, Marie Pavlovna, aunt of the
Emperor, for a marriage between her son Boris Vladimirovitch and Grand
Duchess Olga. This young man, Prince Boris, was much better known in
questionable circles in Paris than in the Court of Russia and the mere
suggestion of a marriage with one of her daughters was enough to reduce
the Empress to mortified tears. Of course the proposal was rejected,
greatly to the wrath of Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna, a Russian _grande
dame_ of the old school in which the debauchery of young men was
regarded as a perfectly natural phenomenon. She never forgave the
slight, as she chose to consider it, and later became one of the most
active of the circle of intriguers which, from the safety of a foreign
embassy in Petrograd, plotted the ruin of the Imperial Family and of
their country.
In the summer of 1912 the family and their immediate household,
including myself, went on another long cruise in Finnish waters. During
the cruise the yacht was visited by the Empress Dowager of whom
previously I had seen but little. I write with some hesitation about the
Empress Dowager, who is still living, and for whom I entertain all due
respect. She was, as I remember her then, a small, slender woman, not
beautiful certainly, not as attractive as her sister, Queen Alexandra of
England, but with a great deal of presence and, when she chose to exert
it, considerable personal charm. The Emperor she apparently loved less
than her other children, especially her son, Grand Duke Michail, and the
Empress I fear she loved not at all. To the children she was
affectionate but a trifle distant. I am sure that she resented the fact
that the first four children were girls, and there is little doubt that
she felt bitterly the affliction of the heir. Possibly she felt in her
secret heart that it should have been her own strong son Michail who was
the acknowledged successor of Nicholas II. I say this from my own
conjecture and observations and not from positive knowledge. Yet after
events, I think, confirmed my opinion.
The Dowager Empress after the death of Alexander III relinquished with
rather bad grace her position of reigning Empress. In fact she never did
relinquish it altogether, always taking precedence on public occasions
of Alexandra Feodorovna. Just why the Tsar consented to this I never
knew, but certain it is that always, when the Imperial Family made a
state entrance the Tsar appeared first with his mother on his arm, the
Empress following on the arm of one of the Grand Dukes. Society
generally approved this procedure, the Empress Mother enjoying all the
popularity which the Empress lacked. There were actually in Russia two
Courts, a large one represented by society and the Grand Dukes, and a
small one represented by the intimate circle of the Emperor and Empress.
In the one everything done by the Empress Mother was right and by the
shy and retiring Empress wrong. In the small Court it was exactly the
other way around, except that even in the palace a certain amount of
petty intrigue always existed.
The visit to Finnish waters by the Empress Mother in 1912 was marred by
no coldness or disharmony. When we went ashore for tennis the Emperor
admonished us all to play as well as we could, “because Mama is coming.”
We lunched aboard her yacht and she dined with us on the _Standert_. On
the 22d of July, which was her name day, as well as that of the little
Grand Duchess Marie, she spent most of the day on the Emperor’s yacht,
and after luncheon I took a photograph of her sitting with her arm
around the Emperor’s shoulders, her two little Japanese spaniels at
their feet. She made us dance for her on deck, photographing us as we
danced. After tea the children performed for her a little French playlet
which seemed to delight her. Yet that evening at dinner I could not help
noticing how her fine eyes, so kind and smiling towards most of the
company, clouded slightly whenever they were turned to the Emperor or
the Empress. Still I must record that later, passing the open door of
Alexei’s cabin, I saw the Empress Mother sitting on the edge of the
child’s bed talking gaily and peeling an apple quite like any loving
grandmother.
I do not pretend to understand the Empress Dowager or her motives, but,
as far as I can judge, her chief weakness was love of power. She carried
her insistence on precedence so far that the _chiffres_ of the maids of
honor of both Empresses bore the initials M. A. instead of A. M., which
was the proper order. She wanted to be first in everything and could not
bear to abdicate either power or influence. She never, I believe,
understood her son’s preference for a quiet, family life, or the changed
and softened manners he acquired under the influence of his wife.