Tatiana’s next youngest sister, the Grand Duchess Marie, one day caused a ripple of amusement in the same Winter Palace. She was looking out of one of the windows when a regiment of soldiers marched past, through the magnificent Winter Palace Square over which a colossal Angel of Peace broods, perched on a towering marble column. Suddenly Marie exclaimed, “Oh! I love these dear soldiers; I should like to kiss them all!”
One of the family who was standing near overheard the child’s remark and said: “Marie, nice little girls don’t kiss soldiers.”
Marie made no reply, but a little later there was a children’s party at the Palace, and among the guests were the children of the Grand Duke Constantine. One of the boys, aged twelve, had just entered in the military school where high noblemen’s sons are trained for the army—the Corps de Pages. This miniature officer arrived in his brand new uniform and as he met his cousin Marie he made to kiss her. But Marie sprang away, covering her mouth with her hand. “Go away, soldier,” she cried. “I don’t kiss soldiers—nice little girls don’t kiss soldiers.”
Her cousin was so well pleased at being taken for a real soldier that he readily forgave his dignified little cousin for declining his proffered kiss.
Tatiana and Marie have always been sweet children, and, on the whole even tempered if mischievous. Olga, however, the eldest, has never been so popular. In 1899, when Olga was four years old the Royal Family (which then included only three children), went to Moscow for a brief sojourn. While there the Empress decided to have portraits painted of the three children.
The artist who was entrusted with this commission began to take innumerable photographs of them all. This was preliminary to the sittings. The sittings proved tedious and tiresome and after the fourth or fifth sitting Grand Duchess Olga quite lost her patience and her temper, and at last exclaimed to the artist: “You are a very ugly man and I don’t like you a bit.”
To the amusement of several members of the Imperial Household the artist was much hurt by this Royal comment, and offended as well. He even ventured to resent the child’s outburst. “You are the first lady who has ever said I was ugly, and moreover, I’m not a man—I’m a gentleman,” he replied.
Ladies of the Court were always loath to talk about Olga. “She is cranky,” said one. “She is not nice,” said another. And one grand lady of honour went so far as to shrug her shoulders and say: “She is like her mother!” When I pressed this and begged her tell me more, the lady merely referred to the haughty, disdainful manner of the Empress. I think I have explained this attitude as I have understood it.
The Empress received very little sympathy and consideration from the ladies of her Court from her first coming to Russia, and she soon came to hold her head high and walk heedless through the throng. She apparently gave no effort to winning friends but accepted the atmosphere which circumstances and an obstinate Court created for her. Perhaps the consciousness of her lack of popularity wore upon her, and rasped. That wide popularity of the Dowager Empress, and her lack of cordiality toward her young successor doubtless tended to further develop the very qualities that have been her bane. At all events her disposition toward most of the people of her Court has never been happy, and their silent resentment of her coolness has driven her more and more into herself, to the consolations of religion, and her family.
One Lady-in-Waiting, for example, told me that she had been attached to the person of the Empress from time to time for a number of years. She herself is a Princess of old family and in excellent standing at Court. One day, when the Grand Duchess Olga was three years old the Princess and the child were together in one of the nursery rooms. The Princess stood with her back to one of the walls and Olga came toddling across the room as fast as her little legs would carry her. The Princess stretched out her arms, caught up the child and lightly tossed her ceilingwards, then bringing her slowly down toward her own upturned face, kissed her and set her down. At that moment the Empress entered the room. She had no sooner seen this very natural action on the part of her own Lady-in-Waiting than she exclaimed: “The most you may do is to kiss the hand of my daughter!”