My childhood and early girlhood were passed quietly at Revovka and the
Crimea. But I loved Revovka, and, whenever I went to stay with my uncle
at Livadia, I took with me a little earth from the place which, to me,
represented home. The great event at Revovka was the visit of my uncle
Horvat, who came from Siberia to see my grandmother once a year. He was
head of the Siberian railways, and occupied a political position which
corresponded with that of a Viceroy of Ireland. He was a typical Horvat,
tall, with deep, kind eyes, and he was also a very clever man. On the
night of his arrival I never went to bed, and I remember that we saw the
dawn together; he did not reach Revovka until 3 a.m. It was touching to
witness his meeting with my grandmother. They were entirely “en
rapport,” and he was my greatest friend as well as my much loved uncle.
I never went to school. My first tutor was a priest, but, as I hardly
knew Russian (we always spoke French at home) and he knew no French, I
made little progress; afterwards Miss Ripe, an English governess, took
me in hand, but I think she looked upon us as very much behind the
times. The old house was protected at night by a watchman, and I
regarded his intermittent coughing and his heavy tread somewhat as a
lullaby. Whenever he went to the next town by boat, the watchman
“called” my grandmother’s maid in a very curious manner. He was an
illiterate peasant, and time, as time, conveyed no meaning to him, so he
would occasionally tap on the maid’s window and tell her that such and
such a star was in the sky. By this simple calculation she was enabled
to judge how much longer it was permissible for her to remain in bed.
Winter was a delightful season at Revovka, and I always wanted to be
decorative, and drive out in the antique sledges which were painted with
trails of flowers, and magnificently gilded. The modern sledges, covered
with carpet, and piled up with bear skins, were not nearly so pretty.
English people always associate sledges with wolves, and imagine that a
winter’s drive in Russia is fraught with desperate danger. The wolf
terror is fast becoming a legend; wolves are now only found in districts
far from the haunts of men, although an old custom at Revovka ordained
that lanterns were hung outside the stables at night to scare away the
wolves! But I met a wolf unawares one evening when I was crossing the
park. I had never seen one of our national animals face to face, so I
thought that the big grey creature was a dog. I called it, and ran
towards it, desirous of its better acquaintance, but it merely regarded
me with furtive, unfriendly, green eyes, and then turned and trotted
away in the opposite direction. When I reached the house, I described my
encounter with the strange dog, but, greatly to my surprise, my story
produced general excitement, and a search-party set forth to look for
the foot-prints in the snow. These proved to be typical wolf marks,
exactly like the print of a thumb, but our visitor had, by this time,
completely disappeared.
When I was a young girl the disaffection in Russia was already well on
the way to Revolution. In 1905, when I was staying with one of my uncles
in Livadia who had charge of the Emperor’s estates at Yalta, we were not
left long in ignorance as to the methods which were employed by the
Revolutionary Agents. It is now well known that most of the seeds of
Revolution were sown at Yalta, but it was dreadful to see the boats
smothered in red flags and to hear the Marseillaise sung defiantly from
the water, since my uncle had prohibited all political meetings on land.
One day, it was discovered that the golden eagles which marked the
boundaries of the Emperor’s estate had been broken and overthrown, but
this act of vandalism was always attributed to the Jews and the more
hot-headed of the students. There was general excitement in the Crimea
at this time, and a few of the Revolutionary printing presses were
secretly set up at the Grand Duke Constantine’s Castle of Orianda, which
for some reason had fallen into decay. It had always been my ambition to
visit the ruins of Orianda, so one day I persuaded my cousins to
accompany me thither. It was a forbidden expedition, but we considered
the possible results of our disobedience would be amply compensated for
by the mysteries of the underground passages, which we at once began to
explore. As we neared the end of one of these the sound of distant
voices broke the stillness, and, terrified out of our wits, we did not
know whether to beat a retreat or to dare all and discover whence the
sound proceeded. Curiosity eventually conquered cowardice, and we crept
cautiously along until the darkness was lit up by a glow of a large
fire. Thinking that we had now reached the entrance to the infernal
regions we turned and fled precipitately, and, risking punishment,
described the whereabouts of Hell to my uncle. And Hell, in a way, it
proved to be, as it was discovered that secret printing presses existed
underground, and that most of the evil propaganda had emanated from
Orianda.
Although the Jews instigated much of the prevalent sedition, the biter
was occasionally bit, and in 1905 there was serious trouble. Many people
assert that the actual Revolution began by beating the Jews, as some of
the soldiers returning from the war became very unruly, and set about
the Jews most unmercifully.
My mother, who had married as her second husband an officer in a
regiment stationed near us, received news of the trouble just at the
moment when we were starting to drive into town. But she rather
pooh-poohed the warning, until she saw for herself that the report was
not exaggerated. We first encountered people fleeing through the fields,
and, when at last we reached civilisation, we found the town in a state
of confusion. Windows were broken, Jewish shops pillaged, and the
leaders, regardless of the protesting Hebrews, seized their goods and
distributed them broadcast to the mob. The black and white praying robes
peculiar to the Jews were in special request, as pieces of these, worn
next to the skin, were supposed to render the wearer immune from marsh
fever.
Next day, when I was walking in the Park, I found myself close to the
walled-in right of way which traversed it, and, to my surprise and
horror, I heard the passers-by giving vent to most undreamt-of
declarations. “It’s the Jews _now_,” said someone, uttering a curse,
“but wait until the next time. We have our orders: soon it will be the
turn of the landed proprietors!”
The speaker spoke the truth. Some days later fires and pillage broke out
around my home, and, from the terrace at Revovka, we could see an ever
widening circle of flame, and our peasants informed us that, most
assuredly, Revovka would suffer next. But we escaped, although the house
of Madame Tchebotaiff, a great landowner and Revolutionist, was one of
the first to be destroyed. She was afterwards sent to Siberia, a rather
ironical form of justice, I am inclined to think!
When all was calm, the Duma came into existence, in which
representatives of every class met in Parliament for the first time.
Troops were sent to punish the peasants, and many of them were flogged
by the soldiers. Our peasants were not included amongst the offenders.
The idea of whipping human beings was repellent to me, and, girl though
I was, I felt that we, as a class, were responsible for the existence of
many evils, and that it lay with us to try and remedy them. But whipping
was applied to the guilty as the most effectual and the most easily
understood antidote against rebellion: it is a barbarous punishment--in
English eyes it must seem _utterly_ so; but these whippings were as
naught compared with the savagery and super-refinement of torture
inflicted later by the whipped upon the whippers.
But my attention was soon to be diverted from rebellion and punishment.
Shortly afterwards I went with my grandmother to Petrograd, where my
marriage was arranged; in fact, I was already engaged when I was
presented at Court. My fiancé was Captain Charles Dehn, of Swedish
descent, whose ancestors had come into the northern provinces at the
time of the Crusades, and the members of whose family were mostly
generals or officers in the service of the State. Captain Dehn had taken
part in quelling the Boxer Rebellion, and at the siege of Pekin he was
the first officer to scale the walls of the Forbidden City in defence of
the embassies. For this service he received the Order of St. George (the
Russian Victoria Cross), and the Order of the Legion of Honour was
awarded him by the ambassadors of the various nations represented in
Pekin.
On his arrival at Petrograd he was presented to the Emperor, who
appointed him an officer on the “Standart,” and an officer of the Mixed
Guard, whose members were chosen from various regiments, and many of
whom were honoured by the personal friendship of the Emperor.
Captain Dehn was a great favourite with the little Tsarevitch and the
Grand Duchesses, and he used to play with them in their nurseries, his
nickname with the children being “Pekin Dehn.” Both the Emperor and the
Empress manifested the greatest interest in his engagement, and the
Empress intimated to my grandmother that she wished to make my personal
acquaintance.
My engagement was formally announced in 1907, but we waited in Petrograd
for a month before we were received by the Empress. The Grand Duchess
Anastasie was ill with diphtheria, and the Empress was nursing her at
the Alexandria Palace, Peterhof, where, until all danger of infection
had passed, she had isolated herself from the other members of the
Imperial family.
How well I remember that first meeting with one whom I was to love so
devotedly, and whose constant friendship has been one of my greatest
joys. One summer morning in July, my grandmother and I arrived at the
station at Peterhof, where my fiancé and a Court carriage were awaiting
us. I was literally trembling with terror, and I was too excited to even
notice Charles!
We duly reached the Alexandria Palace, but, as the Empress was still
nervous about infection, it had been arranged that my presentation
should take place in the Winter Garden attached to the Palace. We were
received at the Palace by the Mistress of the Household, Princess
Golitzin, who was exactly like an old picture, and whose adherence to
regime made everyone dread being guilty of the smallest lapse of
etiquette. But she was very kind and gracious to us, and I felt somehow
that my simple white gown from Bressac’s, and my rose-trimmed hat had
met with her approval. As we walked through the Park to the Winter
Garden I noticed a lady in one of the avenues, who stopped and looked at
me intently. She was “petite,” with an innocent baby face, and great
appealing eyes, and so childish-looking in fact that she seemed only fit
for boarding school. This lady was Anna Virouboff whose name was later
to become associated with that of Rasputin, and whose friendship with
the Empress has given rise to so many unwarrantable statements and
scandalous stories.
I returned her scrutiny with interest, and we passed on with the
Princess to the Winter Garden, a lovely tropical place, full of flowers
and palms. It was exactly like a Garden of Dreams, at least I thought so
until I saw the prosaically comfortable garden chairs, and noticed some
toys and a child’s dolls’-house. Then I decided that this beautiful
garden must be real!
At last, advancing slowly through the masses of greenery, came a tall
and slender figure. It was the Empress! I looked at her, admiration in
my heart and in my eyes. I had never imagined her half so fair. And I
shall never forget her beauty as I saw her on that July morning,
although the Empress of many sorrows remains with me more as a pathetic
and holy memory.
The Empress was dressed entirely in white, with a thin white veil draped
round her hat. Her complexion was delicately fair, but when she was
excited her cheeks were suffused with a faint rose flush. Her hair was
reddish gold, her eyes--those infinitely tragic eyes--were dark blue,
and her figure was as supple as a willow wand. I remember that her
pearls were magnificent, and that diamond ear-rings flashed coloured
fires whenever she moved her head. She wore a simple little ring bearing
the emblem of the Swastika, her favourite symbol, and one which has
given rise to so many conjectures, and been quoted triumphantly as proof
positive of her leanings towards the occult by those who are ignorant of
what it really meant to her.
Directly Princess Golitzin had left us alone, the Empress extended her
hand for my grandmother and me to kiss; then, with a sweet smile, and a
world of kindness in her eyes, “Sit down,” she said, and, turning to
Captain Dehn: “When is the marriage to take place?” she enquired.
My nervousness had vanished. I was no longer afraid; in fact it was the
Empress who seemed shy, but she was, I found later, always shy with
strangers, a trait peculiar to her and to her cousin, the Princess
Royal, Duchess of Fife. However, this excessive shyness was not
accounted as shyness in Petrograd, it was called German
superciliousness! and as such it has even been described by some English
writers.
The Empress talked to my grandmother for quite a long time, as she was
anxious to hear the latest news of the Grand Duchess Elizabeth; she then
chatted to my fiancé, and I noticed that she spoke Russian with a strong
English accent. She afterwards addressed me as the blushing heroine of
the morning, and she seemed quite pleased at the interest which I had
displayed in the dolls’-house.
“Where are you going to spend your honeymoon?” she said, her blue eyes
now mischievous. We told her. “Ah!... I do hope that I shall see you
again very soon. I am quite alone, I cannot see my husband or my
children, I shall be so glad when this tiresome quarantine is over, and
we can be together again.”
Our interview lasted well over half an hour. The Empress spoke French to
my grandmother and me, she made no attempt to converse in German; then
she rose to say good-bye, and we kissed hands. “I shall see you again
very soon,” she repeated. “Be sure you let me know when you return.”
I went back to Petrograd almost beside myself with happiness. Mine was
not the worldly pleasure of one who had been presented to an Empress. My
happiness had its origin in another source. I felt instinctively that I
had found a friend, someone I could love, and who, I dared hope, might
love me! I was so tired out with my emotions that, on arriving home, I
threw myself on my bed, regardless of my Bressac dress and my
rose-wreathed hat, and I slept the sleep of exhaustion until four in the
afternoon.
I was married two months later from my aunt’s house in Livadia.
The Emperor received Captain Dehn before he left for the Crimea, blessed
him, and gave him a beautiful ikon in a carved silver and gold frame.
The Empress also presented him with an ikon, and, on our wedding day, we
received a “wireless” from them, wishing us every happiness. This
“wireless,” so we heard afterwards, caused endless talk and many petty
jealousies, as “wireless,” then in its infancy, was only supposed to be
used for important official communications.
We went to the Caucasus for our honeymoon and stayed three weeks in the
mountains among the vines. It was the season of Autumn, and he had cast
his flaming many-coloured mantle over everything. The wildness and
luxuriance of that mountain region entranced me. I insisted upon being
told all the legends connected with the locality, and I believed, with
the peasants, that it was possible to hear the hoofs of the Centaurs, as
they thundered down the passes in the silence of night. Gagree was an
ideal place for a honeymoon, and I was actually sorry to return to my
beloved Revovka, although we received a right royal welcome from my
grandmother and her tenants.
Revovka was fifteen miles from the nearest railway station, but the
whole of the way to our estate was illuminated with blazing tar barrels,
and at every turn of the road we were offered bread and salt. Needless
to say, the drive was a little protracted, and the _pièce de résistance_
consisted in the two oxen which were presented to us at the journey’s
end.
My married life began under the most auspicious circumstances. Charles
had promised me that he would always remain in the Emperor’s Personal
Guard, and I possessed a subconscious intuition that my future was to be
closely connected with that of the Imperial family. This feeling did not
arise from any worldly outlook, I never had any idea of the material
benefits which might accrue to us through the Emperor’s regard for my
husband. My first meeting with the Empress had influenced me in an
undreamt-of manner. Although I felt it was ridiculous to associate any
idea of sorrow with that radiant vision of the Winter Garden, I had,
nevertheless, a strong feeling of fatality in connection with her. Time
was destined to prove that my presentiment was right.
Our first home was in the Anitchkoff Palace, the residence of the
Dowager Empress Marie, where the Guards had their quarters, but
afterwards we moved to Tsarkoe Selo. Our house was immediately opposite
the Palace, and close to the barracks. The officers of the Personal
Guard were most picturesque individuals, since each wore the uniform of
the regiment from which he had been selected. There was no distinctive
uniform; to be a member of the Guard was, in itself, an honour.
I used often to walk in the great Park of Tsarkoe Selo when my husband
was on duty. The Palace dates from the time of Catherine the Great, and
all the important receptions were held there. The Imperial family lived
in the Alexander Palace, a white building in the style of the First
Empire; the Palace had four entrances, the first was exclusively used by
Their Majesties, two others were used for receptions, and the fourth was
the entrance by which the Suite went to and fro. The Palace was entirely
surrounded by the Park, in which was some beautiful ornamental water, a
Chinese pavilion, and a bridge which connected the smaller park with
that of the more important Palace.
As a young married woman, blessed with many kind relations and friends,
it was not long before I took my place in Petrograd society. In 1907,
one year after the Japanese war, life was not gay as many families were
still in mourning, so those who looked for Court gaieties were
disappointed--none being forthcoming. The Empress felt that the war was
of too recent a date to warrant much entertaining; she was entirely
sincere in this conviction, but her attitude did not meet with general
approval. It was argued by the anti-Tsaritsa clique that an Empress of
Russia belonged to Society, and not to herself. Her duty was merely to
pose as a magnificent figure-head on the barque of pleasure--the war was
over, and the world of Society wanted its ceaseless round of empty
pleasures once again.
Petrograd Society was divided into many sets; each Grand Ducal Court had
its own particular clique, and that of the Grand Duchess Marie, wife of
the Grand Duke Vladimir, was perhaps specially joyous. The Grand Dukes,
taken as a whole, led amusing lives; they were usually very handsome
men--quite heroes of romance, many of them possessing a great admiration
for the Imperial Ballet, in which they had various fair friends.
It was an expensive existence even in 1907, when Petrograd was supposed
to be dull! People went every Sunday to the Ballet, and on Saturdays to
the Théatre Français--this, a most fashionable rendezvous, where
extremely decolleté toilettes were compensated for by an abundance of
jewels! After the play, it was customary to adjourn to the Restaurant
Cuba, or to that of L’ours, where a wonderful Roumanian orchestra
enlivened supper; nobody thought of leaving the restaurants until three
in the morning, and the officers usually remained until five!
Occasionally, when I returned home in the early hours, I contrasted the
dawn at Revovka with that of Petrograd; the same pearl, rose and silver
tints painted the sky, but the dawn in South Russia witnessed no flight
of human butterflies whose wings had been singed in the flame of
pleasure. I was young enough to enjoy life, but at times our restless
gaiety seemed to hold a hidden menace.
English was the medium of conversation in Society at Petrograd; it was
invariably spoken at Court, and, although once fashionable to have
German nurses, the fashion in 1907 was to have only English ones, and
many Russians who could not speak English spoke French with an English
accent! The great shopping centre was “Druce’s” where one met one’s
friends, and bought English soaps, perfumery and dresses. The “Druce
habit” primarily emanated from Court where everything English was in
special favour--Jewish Society and that of the “haute finance” existed
in Petrograd, but neither touched us.
The great enlivenments of the Season after the Japanese war were the
Charity Bazaars. The Grand Duchess Marie always organised one in the
Assemblée de la Noblesse, a huge building where an ultra-smart throng of
Society leaders sold all kinds of pretty and expensive trifles. The
Grand Duchess Marie (who was a German Princess) occupied the centre of
the room, and sold at her own table. She was a tall, striking-looking
woman, but not so handsome as the Grand Duchess Cyril at whose table I
occasionally assisted. All the Grand Duchesses had tables, as was the
case with the greater and lesser lights of Society. In fact the position
of one’s table was the index to one’s position in Society. The bazaars
were brilliant functions, the toilettes were wonderful, and it was quite
the usual thing to change one’s gown three times during the day. The air
was heavy with perfume, flowers were lavishly displayed, and the tired
vendors occasionally refreshed themselves with the best brands of
champagne.
The Empress had her own table at the Assemblée de la Noblesse, and I
sold at it once. She made quantities of things herself, instead of
sending haphazard orders to Paris or London. The homely intimacy of her
nature was very evident in this habit, nothing at her table was useless;
she was true to type, the type of Queen Victoria’s descendants, the
Empress shared Queen Mary of England’s love for needlework, and, like
her, crocheted many pretty “woollies” for bazaars.