LIFE AT TSARSKOÏE-SELO--MY PUPILS
(THE WINTER OF 1913-14)
To Rasputin was once more attributed the improvement in Alexis
Nicolaïevitch’s health a few days after the terrible attack to which I
have referred.
It will be remembered that the attack had occurred shortly after that
change in the Czarevitch’s manner of life I had thought it my duty to
advocate. I thus felt partially responsible.
I was in a very great difficulty. When I decided as I did, I had, of
course, realised the great dangers involved and thought myself strong
enough to face them. But the test of reality was so dreadful that I had
to consider whether I ought to persevere.... And yet I felt strongly
that I had no alternative.
After two months’ convalescence--the Czarevitch only recovered
slowly--the Czar and Czarina made up their minds to persevere with the
method they had adopted, notwithstanding the risks.
Dr. Botkin[12] and Dr. Derevenko were of a contrary opinion, but bowed
to the parents’ desires and bravely accepted a decision which added
considerably to the difficulties of a task which was exacting and
unpromising enough as it was. They were always on the look-out for the
possible crisis, and when the accident happened the struggle was all the
harder for them because they realised the inadequacy of the remedies at
their disposal. When, after nights of watching, they had the joy of
seeing their young patient out of dangerous, the improvement was
attributed, not to their care and efforts, but to the miraculous
intervention of Rasputin! But there was no false pride or envy about
them, for they were inspired by feelings of the deepest pity for the
tortured mother and father and the sufferings of the child who, at ten
years of age, had already had far more to bear than most men in a long
lifetime.
Our stay in the Crimea was longer than usual owing to Alexis
Nicolaïevitch’s illness, and we only returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo in
December. We then spent the whole winter of 1913-14 there.
Our life at Tsarskoïe-Selo was far more intimate than when we were in
residence at other palaces. With the exception of the maid-of-honour on
duty and the officer commanding the “composite”[13] regiment, the suite
did not live in the palace, and unless relations were visiting the
family the latter generally took their meals alone very quietly.
Lessons[14] began at nine o’clock, and there was a break from eleven to
twelve. We went out driving in a carriage, sledge, or car, and then work
was resumed until lunch at one. In the afternoon we always spent two
hours out of doors. The Grand-Duchesses and, when he was free, the Czar,
came with us, and Alexis Nicolaïevitch played with them, sliding on an
ice
[Illustration: THE CZAREVITCH WITH HIS DOG “JOY” ON THE BALCONY OF THE
ALEXANDER PALACE, TSARSKOÏE-SELO. SEPTEMBER, 1914.
{_Facing page 70._]
mountain we had made at the edge of a little artificial lake. He was
also fond of playing with his donkey Vanka, which was harnessed to a
sledge, and his dog Joy, an attractive little liver spaniel with short
legs, and long silky ears which almost touched the ground.
Vanka was a creature of quite unusual intelligence and sense of humour.
When the idea of giving Alexis Nicolaïevitch a donkey had been mooted,
all the horse-dealers in St. Petersburg had been referred to in vain.
Cinizelli’s Circus had then agreed to part with a thoroughbred animal
which had grown too old to perform any longer. Thus had Vanka come to
Court, and he seemed to be immensely attached to the young family. He
certainly was most amusing, for his repertoire of tricks was quite
inexhaustible. In the most expert manner imaginable he would turn out
your pockets in the hope of discovering delicacies. He was particularly
fond of old indiarubber balls, which he would quietly chew, closing one
eye like an old Yankee.
These two animals played a large part in the life of Alexis
Nicolaïevitch, for his amusements were few. Above all, he was very short
of playmates. The two sons of his sailor Derevenko, his ordinary
companions, were much younger than he, and had neither the education nor
the development desirable.
It is true that his cousins sometimes spent Sundays and birthdays with
him, but these visits were rare. I often pressed the Czarina to remedy
this state of things. As a result of this pressure an attempt was made,
but without result.
Of course, the disease to which the boy was a prey made the choice of
his comrades an extremely difficult matter. It was lucky that, as I have
said, his sisters liked playing with him. They brought into his life an
element of youthful merriment which would otherwise have been sorely
missed.
During our afternoon walks, the Czar, who was very fond of walking,
usually went round the park with one of his daughters, but quite
frequently he came and joined us. It was with his help that we made a
huge tower of snow which became quite an imposing fortress before long
and kept us busy several weeks.
At four o’clock we went in and resumed lessons until dinner, which was
at seven for Alexis Nicolaïevitch and at eight for the rest of the
family. We ended the day by reading one of his favourite books.
* * * * *
Alexis Nicolaïevitch was the centre of this united family, the focus of
all its hopes and affections. His sisters worshipped him and he was his
parents’ pride and joy. When he was well the palace was, as it were,
transformed. Everyone and everything seemed bathed in sunshine. Endowed
with a naturally happy disposition, he would have developed quite
regularly and successfully had he not been kept back by his infirmity.
Each of his crises meant weeks and sometimes months of the closest
attention, and when the hæmorrhage had been heavy it was followed by a
condition of general anæmia which made all hard work impossible for him,
sometimes for a considerable period. Thus the interludes between attacks
were all that were available, and, in spite of his quick brain, this
made teaching a difficult matter.
The Grand-Duchesses were charming--the picture of freshness and health.
It would have been difficult to find four sisters with characters more
dissimilar and yet so perfectly blended in an affection which did not
exclude personal independence, and, in spite of contrasting
temperaments, kept them a most united family. With the initials of their
Christian names they had formed a composite Christian name, Otma, and
under this common signature they frequently gave their presents or sent
letters written by one of them on behalf of all.
I am sure I shall be forgiven for allowing myself the pleasure of
recording some personal memories here--memories which will enable me to
recall these girls in all the bloom and spontaneous enthusiasms of their
youth. I might almost say their childhood. For these were girls who fell
victims to a dreadful fate at a time when others are blossoming into
womanhood.
The eldest, Olga Nicolaïevna, possessed a remarkably quick brain. She
had good reasoning powers as well as initiative, a very independent
manner, and a gift for swift and entertaining repartee. She gave me a
certain amount of trouble at first, but our early skirmishes were soon
succeeded by relations of frank cordiality.
She picked up everything extremely quickly, and always managed to give
an original turn to what she learned. I well remember how, in one of our
first grammar lessons, when I was explaining the formation of the verbs
and the use of the auxiliaries, she suddenly interrupted me with:
“I see, monsieur. The auxiliaries are the servants of the verbs. It’s
only poor ‘avoir’ which has to shift for itself.”
She read a good deal apart from her lessons. When she grew older, every
time I gave her a book I was very careful to indicate by notes in the
margin the passages or chapters she was to leave out. I used to give her
a summary of these. The reason I put forward was the difficulty of the
text or the fact that it was uninteresting.
An omission of mine cost me one of the most unpleasant moments in my
professional career, but, thanks to the Czar’s presence of mind, the
incident ended better than I could have hoped.
Olga Nicolaïevna was reading “Les Miserables,” and had reached the
description of the battle of Waterloo. At the beginning of the letter
she handed me a list of the words she had not understood, in accordance
with our practice. What was my astonishment to see in it the word which
is forever associated with the name of the officer who commanded the
Guard. I felt certain I had not forgotten my usual precautions. I asked
for the book to verify my marginal note, and realised my omission. To
avoid a delicate explanation I struck out the wretched word and handed
back the list to the Grand-Duchess.
She cried, “Why, you’ve struck out the word I asked papa about
yesterday!”
I could not have been more thunderstruck if the bolt had fallen at my
feet.
“What! You asked your----”
“Yes, and he asked me how I’d heard of it, and then said it was a very
strong word which must not be repeated, though in the mouth of that
general it was the finest word in the French language.”
A few hours later I met the Czar when I was out walking in the park. He
took me on one side and said in a very serious tone:
“You are teaching my daughters a very curious vocabulary, monsieur....”
I floundered in a most involved explanation. But the Czar burst out
laughing, and interrupted:
“Don’t worry, monsieur. I quite realised what happened,
[Illustration: THE CZARINA AND THE CZAREVITCH IN THE COURT OF THE PALACE
AT LIVADIA. AUTUMN, 1913.]
[Illustration: THE CZARINA SEWING IN THE GRAND-DUCHESSES’ ROOM.
{_Facing page 74._]
so I told my daughter that the word was one of the French army’s
greatest claims to fame.”
Tatiana Nicolaïevna was rather reserved, essentially well balanced, and
had a will of her own, though she was less frank and spontaneous than
her elder sister. She was not so gifted, either, but this inferiority
was compensated by more perseverance and balance. She was very pretty,
though she had not quite Olga Nicolaïevna’s charm.
If the Czarina made any difference between her children, Tatiana
Nicolaïevna was her favourite. It was not that her sisters loved their
mother any less, but Tatiana knew how to surround her with unwearying
attentions and never gave way to her own capricious impulses. Through
her good looks and her art of self-assertion she put her sister in the
shade in public, as the latter, thoughtless about herself, seemed to
take a back seat. Yet the two sisters were passionately devoted to each
other. There was only eighteen months between them, and that in itself
was a bond of union. They were called “the big pair,” while Marie
Nicolaïevna and Anastasie Nicolaïevna were still known as the “little
pair.”
Marie Nicolaïevna was a fine girl, tall for her age, and a picture of
glowing health and colour. She had large and beautiful grey eyes. Her
tastes were very simple, and with her warm heart she was kindness
itself. Her sisters took advantage somewhat of her good nature, and
called her “fat little bow-wow.” She certainly had the benevolent and
somewhat _gauche_ devotion of a dog.
Anastasie Nicolaïevna, on the other hand, was very roguish and almost a
wag. She had a very strong sense of humour, and the darts of her wit
often found sensitive spots. She was rather an _enfant terrible_, though
this fault tended to correct itself with age. She was also extremely
idle, though with the idleness of a gifted child. Her French accent was
excellent, and she acted scenes from comedy with remarkable talent. She
was so lively, and her gaiety so infectious, that several members of the
suite had fallen into the way of calling her “Sunshine,” the nickname
her mother had been given at the English Court.
In short, the whole charm, difficult though it was to define, of these
four sisters was their extreme simplicity, candour, freshness, and
instinctive kindness of heart.
Their mother, whom they adored, was, so to speak, infallible in their
eyes. Olga Nicolaïevna alone showed occasional traces of independence.
They surrounded her with every attention. Of their own initiative they
had arranged matters in such a way that they could take turns of “duty”
with their mother, keeping her company for the day. When the Czarina was
ill the result was that the daughter on duty could not go out at all.
Their relations with the Czar were delightful. He was Emperor, father,
and friend in one.
Their feelings for him were thus dictated by circumstances, passing from
religious veneration to utter frankness and the warmest affection. Was
it not he before whom the ministers, the highest dignitaries of the
Church, the grand-dukes, and even their mother bowed in reverence, he
whose fatherly heart opened so willingly to their sorrows, he who joined
so merrily in their youthful amusements, far from the eyes of the
indiscreet?
With the exception of Olga Nicolaïevna, the Grand-Duchesses were very
moderate pupils. This was largely due to the fact that, in spite of my
repeated suggestions, the Czarina would never have a French governess.
No doubt she did not wish anyone to come between herself and her
daughters. The result was that though they read French, and liked it,
they were never able to speak it fluently.[15]
The Czarina’s state of health accounts for the fact that the education
of her daughters was to some extent neglected. The illness of Alexis
Nicolaïevitch had gradually worn down her powers of resistance. At times
of crisis she spared herself nothing and displayed remarkable energy and
courage. But, once the danger had passed, Nature resumed her rights, and
for weeks she would lie on a sofa quite exhausted by the strain.
Olga Nicolaïevna did not fulfil the hopes I had set upon her. Her fine
intellect failed to find the elements necessary to its development.
Instead of making progress she began to go back. Her sisters had ever
had but little taste for learning, their gifts being of the practical
order.
By force of circumstances all four had soon learnt to be self-sufficient
and to find their natural good nature their sole resource. Very few
girls would have accommodated themselves so easily to a life such as
theirs--a life deprived of outside amusements, and with no other source
of distraction than those joys of family life which are so despised in
these days!