THE EMPRESS ALIX
When the Princess Alix of Hesse left Darmstadt for the Crimea in order
to be present at the death-bed of the Emperor Alexander III., there was
one paper in Germany that dared to print what was spoken of in secret
among many people, and to express some apprehension as to the fate that
awaited the young bride in that distant country whither she was speeding
in quest of an Imperial Crown.
Her marriage was not popular among her own country folk. The Protestant
feelings of the German people revolted against the change of religion to
which she would have to submit, and moreover there existed at that time
a terrible prejudice in Hesse against Russia and everything that was
Russian. The union which the Princess was about to contract was not
popular, and, rightly or wrongly, it was firmly believed that she was
being forced into it against her will; that, left to herself, she would
have preferred to end her days in the peace of the little Darmstadt
Court than to live among the splendours of St. Petersburg. It was this
feeling that she was about to be sacrificed to reasons of State which
inspired for her a pity that was freely expressed in the article already
referred to and which is quoted hereunder:--
“It is only with feelings of deep grief and pity that the German
people can follow during her journey to Russia the gracious and
beloved Princess Alix. I cannot banish from
[Illustration: ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA, TSARINA OF RUSSIA
_Photo: Boissonnas & Eggler, St. Petersburg_]
my thoughts the secret forewarning that this Princess, who wept
such bitter tears when she left Darmstadt, will have a life full of
tears and bitterness on foreign soil. One need not be a prophet to
foresee what conflict of thoughts and impressions will crowd within
the heart of the august bride during these decisive weeks: Human
law requires that a young girl follows the husband of her choice
into the unknown.
“But the German people _cannot_ consider this marriage with joy nor
with the charm of things where the heart alone is in question. The
German people cannot forget the old saying of the poet: ‘Princes
are only the slaves of their position; they must not follow the
leanings of their own hearts.’
“If we cast a glance upon the Tsar fighting against the throes of
death; upon the ‘private life’ of the bridegroom; upon the
renunciation of the evangelical faith of the Princess, a faith to
which she has belonged to this day, sincere and convinced as to its
truth--we consider that only an heroic nature can overcome all
these terrors:
“After the German people had, until the last hour, reckoned on the
rupture of this union, which cannot bring any happiness for the
bride, so far as it is possible to judge of these things in
advance, it only remains to feel ashamed that, in the country of
liberty of conscience and of convictions, one can make to political
considerations the sacrifice of one’s faith and of one’s heart.
“One would learn with a deep joy in Germany that the Princess has
found by the side of her husband real and lasting happiness. In the
meanwhile we can only indulge in wishes for her welfare, and hope
for the best in presence of this dark and uncertain future.”
Nevertheless, in spite of the wrench which she must have undergone when
parting from her country and from her family and friends, the Princess
Alix was not so sorry, after all, to be married. Her life had not been a
happy one in her home circle.
She had been left an orphan quite young, and when her father had died
she had remained with her brother, and, so to speak, had kept house for
him, spending also a good deal of her time in England with her
grandmother, Queen Victoria. This unsettled kind of life had, as was to
be expected, exercised an influence on the character of the young
Princess, who had acutely felt the subordinate position into which
events had thrust her.
When her brother, the Grand Duke of Hesse, married, she did not get on
with his consort, though the latter happened to be her own cousin, the
daughter of her uncle the Duke of Coburg.
All these circumstances had given an element of bitterness to a temper
which from nature was haughty and not pliable. Many of those
peculiarities which she developed in after life can also be ascribed to
the difficult time of her early youth. Deprived when quite a baby of a
mother’s care, there had been no elements of softness introduced into
her education, which, though carried out on strict lines, yet had not
been so well attended to as should have been the case. Strong principles
were instilled, but she was not taught that virtue must be amiable,
especially in its contact with others and in its application to the
events of existence.
The question of her marriage with the Heir to the Throne of Russia had
been mooted long before this marriage became an accomplished fact. The
Grand Duke of Hesse had even brought her on a visit to the Russian Court
when she was beginning to go out into Society, but though at the time it
was whispered that she was destined to become the bride of the
Tsarevitch, yet nothing came of this visit, which, on the contrary, left
bitter memories to the Princess Alix. She did not like the off-hand way
in which she was treated, not only by the Imperial Family but also by
St. Petersburg Society to whom she did not appeal, either by her manners
or by her personal appearance, which was not then so beautiful as it
became ultimately.
The idea of a German marriage was not popular in Russia, and it was
hoped that the future Emperor would not choose his wife from that
country. The Princess Alix was hurt at this latent animosity against
her, which she felt rather than saw, and, of course, she resented it.
When the question of her wearing the Imperial Crown of the Romanoffs
came to be seriously discussed a few years later, the idea did not
appeal to her. The brilliancy of the position did not dazzle her, and
her whole soul revolted at the thought that she would have to live in a
country which had left such unpleasant impressions on her mind.
However, the advice of Queen Victoria, who was anxious for her
granddaughter to accept the brilliant match thus offered to her, and the
fact of the strained relations existing between her and her
sister-in-law, the Grand Duchess of Hesse, with whom she was obliged to
live, combined to prevail upon her, and she finally consented to become
the bride of Nicholas Alexandrovitch.
At first it was intended to surround their nuptials with all the pomp
and festivities which usually attend such occasions. But the fatal
illness of the Emperor Alexander changed all these plans; and when the
Princess Alix arrived in Russia, alone and with the utmost speed, she
knew that she would not have to undergo the sometimes painful
apprenticeship to the position of an Empress, which normally would have
been the case, but at once would assume in her new country the position
of the first lady in the land. She felt dazed and stunned by the turn
events had taken. During the months that had elapsed since her
engagement to the Tsarevitch she had tried to infuse some affectionate
comradeship into her relations with him and to get to know him; she but
partially succeeded. Both were timid, both were embarrassed in the
position in which they found themselves placed, and both felt that
theirs was more a union of convenience than one of affection. Their
ideas were totally different, their bringing-up had been conducted on
quite different lines; but they had one point in common: an exalted
opinion of their own importance and their own capacities. This was to
constitute the best bond between them.
When the Princess Alix first reached Russia, she had the best intentions
to try to win the affections of the people who surrounded her. Her
conduct during those first trying days was perfect, but she displayed no
spontaneity in the care in which she performed what she considered to be
her duties. She did not utter one single word that could have been badly
construed; she did not overlook any of the small details of Russian
Court etiquette, and she was respectful with those relatives of her
future husband whose age and position commanded respect, whilst amiable
with the others. But she forbore to express her private opinions, and
whilst strictly polite with the people she met, she was neither frank
nor familiar. The haughtiness which she did not attempt to hide was
attributed to timidity, and, owing to the peculiarly sad circumstances
that attended her first steps in the country which was about to become
her own, the public viewed with indulgence all her actions, and were
loud in their praise of her. They repeated all the kind words she was
heard to utter; they admired the deference with which she spoke of the
Dowager Empress and the respectful attitude she assumed towards her.
When, after the funeral of Alexander III., the arrangements for the
marriage of Nicholas were discussed, and the question was broached as to
where the Emperor and his bride were to live whilst the apartments in
the Winter Palace were being got ready, the Princess Alix declared at
once that they had better stop at the Anitchkov Palace with the Empress
Mother, adding “that it was not the time when mamma ought to be left
with another empty place at her dining-table.” She cheerfully seemed to
allow her mother-in-law to keep that first place which had been hers for
so long, and in its affection and tenderness her whole demeanour towards
her was touching in the extreme.
Alas, alas! these halcyon days were not to last long. The Court mourning
for the late Tsar had not come to an end when the public began to
criticise the young Empress, and the enthusiasm of the first months
cooled down and gradually gave place to hard judgments and unpleasant
remarks. Alexandra Feodorovna had not the gift to make herself lovable
nor to inspire sympathy. She developed a harsh, cruel temper, with fits
of caprice worthy of a spoilt child. She did not like many things which
she found were usual in Russia, and she made no secret of her desire to
reform them. She contrived to offend the very people she should have
conciliated, and in consequence her actions, contrasting as they did
with those of the Dowager Empress, were severely judged and criticised.
For instance, though it is etiquette at the Russian Court for ladies to
kiss the Sovereign’s hand, Marie Feodorovna and her predecessors had
never thought of allowing them to do so, and it was only débutantes on
their presentation of whom this was required. With married ladies,
however, the Empress invariably prevented them from performing that act
of homage. But when Alexandra Feodorovna began to receive St. Petersburg
Society, she extended her hand for the traditional kiss and seemed to
impose it. She mostly granted her audiences standing and in the stiffest
manner possible, never making a distinction where she ought to have
done so. This incensed people against her, and all the dowagers who had
come out of their retirement to be presented to her upon her marriage
bitterly resented the haughty, disdainful way in which she received
them. They immediately became her enemies and never spared criticism,
which was the more unfortunate because there was much in her manner to
be criticised.
Among other unpleasant gifts the young Empress had that of calling a
spade a spade, and of giving an explanation of the reason which she
thought she had for doing such and such a thing. She determined, for
instance, to invite to her balls only ladies with unblemished
reputations, and in order to prevent any black sheep entering her
drawing-rooms she listened to every possible gossip concerning the
Society of the capital. After weighing this more or less carefully, she
had the list of invitations for the next Court ball brought to her and
scratched out with her own hand the names of all those whom she thought
fit to exclude. The result was disastrous. Only a few guests, elderly
ladies, were present. St. Petersburg was incensed, and loud in its
indignation. Indeed, the scandal assumed such proportions that at last
the Emperor decided to allow his mother to look through, as she used to
do formerly, the lists of the people invited to the Palace. The pretext
given for this action was that his wife was not yet sufficiently
acquainted with the ins and outs of the Society of the capital.
But this measure did not appease the wrath of the slighted ones; it only
added to the popularity of the Dowager Empress, and to the dislike for
her daughter-in-law, and at the next New Year’s reception at the Winter
Palace very few ladies, not obliged to do so by virtue of their official
position, were present. The young Empress was boycotted, and nothing
since has effaced that first impression which she so unfortunately
contrived to create around her person.
One must, however, say one thing. Alexandra Feodorovna has had plenty of
bad luck in her life. I shall relate one instance as an example. It is
very well known that the Empress possesses but a very imperfect
knowledge of the French language. Now French is spoken more than any
other language in St. Petersburg, and the lingual mistakes of Alexandra
Feodorovna were seized upon with avidity by her enemies and circulated
widely everywhere. One fine day a very old dowager, who by virtue of her
deceased husband’s position was one of the leaders of Society and of the
official world, decided to emerge from the retirement in which she had
lived for a great many years, and to ask for the favour of a
presentation to the young Sovereign. The latter received her standing,
as she usually did; this aroused the ire of the old lady, who was
further incensed when she saw that she was evidently expected to kiss
the hand that was by no means graciously extended to her. With such a
prelude the conversation could not be anything but stiff. At last,
seeing that all her efforts at small talk met with no success, the lady
asked the Empress whether she did not find the climate of St. Petersburg
very trying. “Yes,” replied the Sovereign, “but”--and here the phrase
must be repeated in French as it was uttered, or it would lose its
point--“_l’automne dernier j’ai pu me promener tous les jours dans le
Crime_.” The unfortunate creature had literally translated her phrase
from the German, in which the Crimea is called “_der Krim_”; but one can
imagine what laughter such an utterance, repeated all round with
alacrity, aroused, and how it was discussed and commented upon
everywhere.
On another occasion this ignorance of the French language was to lead
the Empress into trouble. One day she had to write to a certain
Ambassadress, and in doing so she made several mistakes in the spelling
of words. The recipient of the letter, who did not count kindness among
her many qualities, showed this note to several of her intimate friends,
and these, of course, carried it farther. All these things were but
trivial, and had Alexandra Feodorovna succeeded in making herself liked
they would have remained unnoticed; but under the existing circumstances
they were made the subject of every possible kind of attack. At last it
became a case of “Give a dog a bad name and hang it,” and even the
virtues of the Empress and her good qualities were turned into
opportunities to discredit her.
She was not amiable or conciliating among her immediate entourage, and
her ladies-in-waiting had to put up with a lot from her imperious temper
and her cold and disdainful manner. She did not forgive them the
slightest failing in their duties, and treated them with high disdain.
She never allowed them to sit down in her presence, even expecting them
to stand whilst reading aloud to her. They were always obliged, also, to
be ready in full dress to await her commands, no matter whether she
required their services or not.
One must be fair and say that the young Empress encountered many
difficulties in her daily life. First and foremost among them was the
subordinate position to which she found herself relegated. The Dowager
Empress was intensely popular and immensely liked, and, moreover, did
not like to play second fiddle where she had reigned for a number of
years. She thrust aside her daughter-in-law in a most unceremonious way,
and instead of drawing the latter’s attention to her mistakes she
magnified them and used them to keep hold of both authority and
position.
Being at the head of all the educational and charitable institutions in
the country, she refused to delegate the slightest part of this arduous
work to Alexandra Feodorovna, who, on her part, was eager to assert
herself in all matters relating to good works, and who, despairing of
being able to do so in an effectual manner, tried to invent means to
exercise her activity in that direction. She opened a kind of
working-room for making clothes for poor children, and began by
personally attending to the administration of this institution, calling
upon ladies belonging to the upper classes to attend the weekly reunions
of the committee, over which she presided. At first the thing took, and
the new _Ouvroir_, as it was called at the Winter Palace, became a
rendezvous for Society; but when the Court left the capital to settle
permanently at Tsarskoye Selo, Society took no further interest in the
charitable work. When Nicholas II. and his consort were crowned the
unpopularity of Alexandra Feodorovna was already a recognised fact, and
it came into evidence during the Moscow festivities, when the difference
between the reception she received and that accorded to her
mother-in-law could not but have impressed itself upon her, as it did
upon all those who were present on this occasion in the old capital. At
that moment the Empress, by a strong effort, might still have changed
the impression of dislike which she inspired, and which was aggravated
by the fact that instead of bringing into the world the much-hoped-for
son, that all Russia was expecting, she had given birth to a daughter.
The breach was further widened by her attitude when the Khodinsky
catastrophe took place. Had she shown some heart and commiseration for
the victims sentiment would have changed, but on the same day that it
occurred she attended a ball at the French Embassy, and danced as if
nothing had happened; and during the days which followed upon that
terrible episode she never once went to a hospital to visit the sick and
wounded. This apparent indifference, perhaps, arose from the fact that
she did not care to appear to imitate the Dowager Empress--whose first
impulse had been to rush to the bedside of the wounded--or perhaps,
also, she may have felt afraid of interfering with the directions given
by her mother-in-law. Nevertheless, it occasioned bitter comment among
the public, and she won for herself the reputation of being a heartless
woman.
It must not be supposed that this dislike was unknown to the Empress. On
the contrary, she was very well aware of it, and instead of inspiring in
her the wish to do something to allay it, it made her harder even than
she was by nature. She bitterly resented what she considered to be an
awful injustice, in view of the good intentions with which she knew she
had come to Russia. This feeling that she was misunderstood inspired her
with the proud resolution to have as little as possible to do with the
nation who had misjudged her so thoroughly, and whose prejudices against
her she was too disdainful even to attempt to dissipate.
Misfortune seemed to be her lot. Four times her hopes of giving an Heir
to the Crown were brought to naught as one girl after another was born
to her, adding to her blighted life the knowledge that in this respect
Russia was bitterly disappointed. Her relations with her husband were
affectionate, but not tender, and she never knew how to manage him, or
to develop by her sympathy the best side of his nature; her manner
towards him, also, was not what it ought to have been. She treated him
more like a naughty boy than like a monarch whose first subject she was.
In the early days of their marriage it was related that one evening,
when they had a few people to tea at Tsarskoye Selo, feeling tired and
desiring to withdraw, she turned towards the Emperor, and said to him in
English, a language always spoken in the Imperial Family, “Now come, my
boy; it is time for me to go to bed.” One may imagine the stupefaction
which this phrase caused among a people accustomed to all the rigidity
of etiquette which had always ruled the Court of St. Petersburg. They
could not understand how an Empress could forget herself so far in the
presence of others as to address the Tsar of All the Russias as “my
boy.”
All this appears at first sight insignificant, but in reality it sounded
the knell of the respect in which the monarch had been held to that day,
and it destroyed a great deal of his prestige, rousing at the same time
a furious indignation against Alexandra Feodorovna, among all the old
adherents of the autocratic regime, which, unknown to herself, she has
done so much to shatter.
The disasters of the Japanese War left a deep impression on the mind of
Alexandra Feodorovna, and added to the sadness of a naturally sad
disposition; she began to tremble, not only for the safety of her
Throne, but also for that of the son who at last, after many weary years
of waiting, was born to her in the midst of unparalleled disasters. On
that child she concentrated all her affections, and for him she trembled
constantly. Before he came into the world her nerves already had begun
to become affected. She had unfortunately allowed herself to be drawn
into a circle of people, among whom the Grand Duke Nicholas and his wife
were the most prominent, who were addicted to spiritualistic practices.
A medium became an important personage at Court, and succeeded in
imposing his influence even on the Emperor, who went so far as to
consult him on matters of State.
The Empress’s nerves are certainly not in a sound condition, and this
fact ought to be taken into consideration when thinking or speaking
about her. The horrors of the Revolution left a deep impression upon her
mind; she has no fatalism in her character, and lives in dread of seeing
her children and husband murdered. Her highly strung nature takes more
seriously even than they deserve certain circumstances which surround
her, and she has not enough command of herself to meet with courage
whatever fate lies before her. Not understanding that Sovereigns must
pay with their persons for the privileges of their position in the
world, she spends her time in imploring her husband to put himself and
his family into safety instead of urging him to come forward and to
confront whatever danger lies before him.
When it was said that the workmen of the capital were marching towards
the Winter Palace and wanted to see their Tsar, Alexandra Feodorovna
begged her husband to fly to Tsarskoye Selo for safety, and she has
never wanted to return to the capital since that fateful day.
Owing to her nervousness the breach between the Sovereign and his people
has become complete, and the estrangement that divides them has assumed
proportions that can only become wider and wider as time goes by. For
many people now the Emperor and Empress appear as very distant beings,
something like the Mikado of Japan was before the reforms effected in
that country raised it to the level of a European nation. In Society the
Imperial Family serves only as a subject of gossip and nothing else, and
it must be owned that never so much as at the present time has it given
reason for it.
More and more the Empress shows her dislike for the Society of St.
Petersburg, and whenever she can do it she flies away to the Crimea,
which is the one place she cares for. She has had a new palace built
there to replace the simple cottage where Alexander III. breathed his
last, and she spends months in it, far from everybody, but showing
herself more amiable than anywhere else to the few people privileged to
see her. There also she entertains in a quiet way, and has even been
known to give a dance for her daughters, which she witnessed from the
door of a room near the one in which the festivity took place. She did
not mix with her guests, but she looked at them, and this was already
spoken of as a surprising event, so little had she been seen before. The
great preoccupation of the Empress is her son; no child has ever been so
spoiled as has the little Grand Duke, and no child has ever been brought
up in a worse manner. Were he destined to live, it would be terrible to
contemplate the future of Russia under his guidance; as it is, one can
afford to pity him, and to pity his parents, for whom he represents so
much. But I shall have more to say on that subject later on.
Some people say that Alexandra Feodorovna is mad, and that her madness
takes an erotic direction, which accounts for the seclusion in which she
is kept, and which is given out to be of her own desire. I do not
believe in this rumour, which perhaps is circulated in order to account
for her vagaries and extravagances of behaviour; but what I do think is
that she is a woman very unfortunate in her life and in her friendships,
who, dissatisfied by nature, always yearns for the impossible.