THE CORONATION
The christening of the Grand Duchess Olga Nicolaievna was solemnised
with great pomp at Czarskoi Selo, after which the Court moved to St.
Petersburg, and the young Empress took possession of her new apartments
in the Winter Palace. These had been gorgeously fitted up with
magnificent silk hangings manufactured in Lyons, and copied from those
which adorn the rooms occupied by Marie Antoinette in the Royal Palace
of Fontainebleau in France. This had been a surprise of the Czar to his
wife, but the latter, instead of being pleased, was superstitiously
affected by this remembrance of the unfortunate Queen of France. It has
never yet been told that when the Empress was quite a child in London
an old gipsy woman whom she had met when walking with her sisters in
Richmond Park, had prophesied misfortune to her and to her sister
Elizabeth, saying that they would both marry in a distant country,
where nothing but tears and sorrow awaited them. This fact, which she
had never forgotten, had more to do than one imagined with that weight
of sadness which seemed to be always pressing on Alexandra Feodorovna,
though of course she avoided mentioning it.
Nevertheless she tried to shake off the premonitions with which her
soul became filled, when she saw the rooms which had been prepared
for her, and she applied herself to give them that touch of intimacy
which she invariably communicated to all the places where she lived.
Big palms were brought in, and put in different corners, and a few
valuable pictures were hung on the walls. But the Empress did not care
for paintings, and when she was asked whether she would not have a few
of those in the Ermitage collection brought to her, as was done in the
case of her husband’s grandmother, the Empress Marie Alexandrovna,
she refused, saying that she did not care to deprive the public of
the sight of them. In general, art did not appeal to her, but she
read a good deal, and played on the piano with considerable pleasure,
without, however, having the talent for music which distinguished her
eldest daughter, the Grand Duchess Olga, who became quite an artist
later on. It was the Empress’ custom before she began to play to take
off her rings, of which she possessed some beautiful specimens, and
to throw them on the piece of furniture nearest at hand, forgetting
afterwards where she had put them. This sometimes caused considerable
annoyance, as they could not always be found immediately, and a frantic
search was made all over the Palace, until at last they turned up in
some impossible place or other. Among these rings was one containing
a beautiful pink diamond, the Empress’ engagement ring, which she
preferred to all others, and which she constantly wore. Nevertheless
she could not, even in the case of this favourite jewel, divest
herself of the curious habit of taking it off her finger now and then,
and playing with it, as a child might have done, sometimes quite
unconscious that she was so doing.
The Empress’ piano was a splendid instrument by Erard, and had been a
wedding present from her mother-in-law. She preferred it to all the
others that she possessed, and when the Court settled at Czarskoi Selo
definitely, not returning to the Winter Palace more than for a few
hours, she had it removed there, and played on it up to the time she
was sent into that Siberian exile whence perhaps she will never return.
The baptism of the Grand Duchess Olga was the signal for Court
festivities to be resumed after the period of mourning for Alexander
III. was over. Balls were again given in the Winter Palace, though
its young mistress did not much care for dancing, but they were of
shorter duration, and not half so lively as those of past times. For
one thing the Empress was herself nursing her little daughter, much
to the indignation of her relatives, who considered that it was not
a befitting thing to do in her position, and she liked to retire
early. At all these receptions she was lovely in appearance, and was
gorgeously dressed, perhaps too gorgeously, and she certainly made a
splendid apparition when she entered a ballroom. But people thought her
dull, and found her devoid of that kind of conversation which goes by
the name of “small talk.” She was far too frank to hide her feelings,
and could not bring herself to show herself amused whilst in reality
she felt bored. This was noticed, and of course resented. People expect
one to be interested in their doings and sayings, and an Empress who
hardly ever smiled did not tally with their estimate of what she ought
to have been, so that with one thing and another, the winter season,
generally so brilliant in St. Petersburg, and to which one had looked
forward eagerly after the sad one which had preceded it, did not prove
the success that was expected. Alexandra Feodorovna was fast becoming
unpopular, simply because she would not lower herself to the level of
those who criticised her so openly and so persistently.
Already in those early days there existed a party against her, which
never missed an opportunity to compare her with her mother-in-law,
and this not to her advantage. The Dowager had been immensely liked,
partly because she had always made it a point to appear to like every
one she knew or met. She had not perhaps been more talkative than her
daughter-in-law, but she had smiled sweetly and nodded kindly to all
her acquaintances, and she had never noticed the shortcomings of her
neighbour. Alexandra Feodorovna, on the contrary, was inclined to be
satirical, and had a keen sense of humour, that was not destined to add
to the pleasures of her existence. She drew most clever caricatures,
and was fond of showing them. One day she produced a wonderfully clever
sketch of the Czar, sitting in a baby chair, whilst his mother was
scolding him for refusing to take a plate of soup she was handing to
him. The drawing passed from hand to hand, and did not contribute
towards establishing harmonious relations between the two Empresses,
whilst the public was scandalised to see the Czar made fun of by his
own wife, who ought to have been the first person to show him respect
and deference. All these were but small things, but they constituted
the drop of water which ends by wearing away the hardest rock. Many
times I wished to warn my mistress of the criticisms to which she
willingly lent herself by her manners and conduct, but I never dared;
and those who could have done so, like her Mistress of the Robes and
her ladies in waiting, did not sufficiently consider her interests to
bring to her observation these small matters, which in reality were
important ones, in regard to her future comfort and happiness.
What with one thing and another, the unpopularity of the young
Sovereign was already an established fact when the Coronation took
place at Moscow. It appeared quite plainly on the day she made her
public entry into the ancient city, when the crowds greeted her with
absolute silence, whilst they vociferously cheered the Dowager
Empress. Alexandra felt this deeply, and when she was alone in her
rooms she wept profusely over this manifestation of the displeasure
of the nation in regard to her person. It was the first time that I
had seen her giving way to grief of any kind, and it affected me very
much, especially in view of what was to follow. I had already learnt
to love this sweet, gentle lady, who seemed to be pursued with such
persistent bad luck, and whose actions were misunderstood by the very
people who ought to have appreciated the real motives which guided
her. The Empress had a high sense of duty, but a mistaken idea of what
it consisted. She was far too desirous of winning the approval of her
subjects to set herself to do it in the right way, and besides, she had
no one to point out to her the various idiosyncrasies of the Russian
nation and of Russian society. She did not wish to go against what she
considered to be the national feelings of the people over whom she
reigned, and yet she contrived to wound these feelings at almost every
step she took.
[Illustration: _Paul Thompson_
THRONE ROOM IN THE KREMLIN AT MOSCOW]
A terrible example of this occurred during this same Coronation I am
talking about. Every one knows the sad accident which was to mar it,
and which offered an analogy with the one that occurred in Paris
during the wedding festivities of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette.
Thanks to the negligence and carelessness of those who ought to have
known better, a popular festival which was one of the distinctive
features of the whole pageant of the Coronation, ended in dire
disaster, and something like twenty thousand people were crushed to
death on the Khodinka Field near Moscow. That same night a ball was
to take place at the French Embassy. The Ambassador, the Count de
Montebello, sent one of his attachés to the Master of the Ceremonies,
asking whether he was to postpone it in view of the catastrophe which
had taken place in the morning. This official who, with others, had
applied himself to keep the Czar in ignorance of the magnitude of
the disaster, took it upon himself to reply that there was no reason
for this change in the programme, and the Court accordingly repaired
to the French Embassy. The young Empress, who had heard from one of
her ladies the truth as to what had taken place, was most unhappy at
the necessity of appearing in public on the day when such a terrible
calamity had overtaken so many people, but she felt afraid to say
what she thought, out of dread that one might think she had seized
hold of the first pretext she could find in order to avoid showing
herself at the Montebellos. It was already at that time suspected
that her sympathies were with the Germans, and she was quite aware of
the opinion concerning them and herself. She did not wish to give any
further ground for this belief and thus did not follow the instincts
of her heart, which would have carried her to the different hospitals
where the victims of the morning had been taken. So with sorrow in her
soul, and anxiety in her mind, she went to that fatal ball and danced
the whole night, though her thoughts were absent from the gay scene of
which she was such an unwilling participator.
On her return to the Kremlin she dropped into an easy-chair beside her
bed and burst into loud sobs, not heeding my presence or that of her
other maids. Not caring for them to witness this explosion of sorrow,
I sent them away, and tried to comfort my mistress to the best of my
ability, entreating her to control herself, and not to distress the
Emperor with the sight of her grief. But Alexandra Feodorovna kept
weeping until at last I induced her to repair to the nursery, where
the sight of her little girl sleeping in her cot brought back her
composure.
And this was the woman who was represented to be cold and unfeeling,
and who was reproached for her utter indifference in presence of a
catastrophe of unusual magnitude! Had she but listened to the cry of
her own heart, and not always lived in dread of making mistakes and of
going against the sympathies of her surroundings, she would certainly
have fared much better, and most probably would have been far more
liked.
The Coronation was far from the success that had been expected, and the
Court returned to Peterhof with a feeling of relief that it was over.
A few quiet weeks followed, perhaps the happiest in the whole life of
Alexandra Feodorovna, who started then to organise what afterwards
turned out to be quite an institution—sewing classes at which she
presided, where ladies of society made garments for the poor which
were distributed to the latter at Christmas, something like Queen
Mary of England’s Needlework Guild. This was her first venture in the
charitable line, and for some time it proved a successful one, because
many ladies entered into the spirit of it, unfortunately out of
interested motives, and because they expected that it would bring them
to the Sovereign’s notice and thus contribute to the success of their
worldly career. But here again the Empress did not realise what lay at
the bottom of the willingness with which her appeal was responded to,
and she did not show any special favour to the women who had entered
into its spirit. These were very soon disgusted at what they called
Imperial ingratitude, and at last the sewing classes of Czarskoi Selo
came to an end, at least so far as the fashionable world was concerned,
because they continued to be frequented by the wives and daughters of
the small tradesmen of the Imperial borough, eager to be brought into
personal contact with their Czar’s wife, and with this new element they
prospered and contrived to do a great deal of good. Later on, during
the Japanese war, they were transported to the Winter Palace in St.
Petersburg, where they remained installed until the Revolution, the
present war having given them a new stimulant.
It was during the weeks which immediately followed upon the Coronation
that the plans for a series of visits abroad to the different capitals
of Europe were at last settled. It was also then that it was finally
decided these visits should include one to the President of the French
Republic, an event which, as can be imagined, gave rise to many an
animated discussion, and which caused much ink to be spilt in the
chanceries and newspaper offices of the whole world, particularly of
Europe. The Empress looked forward with apprehension to this journey,
but nevertheless prepared herself for it with unusual care. I had never
before seen her so interested in regard to the clothes she was to wear,
and she sent minute directions to Worth of rue de la Paix fame, who was
to be entrusted with the task of making the gowns required for this
momentous occasion. Much against her will, however, it was decided
that some of the Crown jewels were to be taken along, as it was deemed
necessary to display unusual splendour during this trip. This did not
please the Empress, in view of the disputes which had arisen between
her and her mother-in-law in regard to these same jewels, but she was
not allowed to interfere, and both the historic necklace and the tiara
of Catherine II. were duly packed and taken. Events proved that the
instinct of Alexandra Feodorovna had been a true one, because St.
Petersburg society bitterly reproached her for this infraction of the
old Romanoff traditions, which required that the Crown diamonds should
not be taken out of Russia, and even the Imperial family criticised
this innovation in ancient customs, and made her responsible for it.
In reality it was the then Foreign Minister, Prince Lobanoff, who had
insisted on the Empress appearing in London, Paris and Vienna, in the
full pomp of her Imperial position, and who had raised this question
with which Alexandra Feodorovna herself had had nothing to do, beyond
submitting to the arrangements which others had made on her behalf. It
is thus that history is written.