She described the dull Palace, its strict regime, her father’s intermittent kindness, and how much she had looked forward to her visits to Windsor. I think that the intimacy with her grandmother unconsciously brought out the Early Victorian strain in the Empress’s character. She undoubtedly possessed this strain, as in many ways she was a typical Victorian; she shared her grandmother’s love of law and order, her faithful adherence to family duty, her dislike of modernity, and she also possessed the “homeliness” of the Coburgs, which annoyed Society so much. The Russian aristocracy could not understand why on all the earth their Empress knitted scarves and shawls as presents for her friends, or gave them dress-lengths. Their conception of an Imperial gift was totally different, and they were oblivious of the love which had been crocheted into the despised scarf or the useful shawl—but the Empress, with her Victorian ideas as to the value of friendship, would not, or could not, see that she was a failure in this sense. The Empress was in many ways as thrifty as her grandmother, but she did not share the miserly proclivities of her uncle, the late Duke of Saxe-Coburg. Her father was not a wealthy man, in fact life at Darmstadt was occasionally a question of ways and means. The Empress had been taught to be careful. She was careful.
“When I was engaged, Lili, I showed my grandmother some of the jewels which the Emperor had given me. What do you think she said?”
“I cannot imagine, Madame.”
“Well ... she looked at my diamonds and remarked: ‘Now, Alix, don’t get too proud!’ The Queen was a tiny creature, and she wore such long trains ... but she was very forceful.” Then, reminiscently, “My sister Elizabeth and I always loved the little houses in England ... dear little houses set in their pretty gardens. You’ll see them one day, but I never shall.”
Queen Victoria had instilled in the mind of her granddaughter the entire duties of a Hausfrau. In her persistent regard for these Martha-like cares, the Empress was entirely German and entirely English—certainly not Russian. I have mentioned her horror when she arrived at Petrograd and discovered that the servants were unaware of the use of blacklead. This was an actual worry to the Empress.
“I wanted my grates blackleaded every day,” she said. “They were in a very bad condition, so I called one of my maids and told her to do the grate, only to discover that it was not within her province. Eventually a man-servant was sent for, but imagine, Lili, I had actually to show him how to blacklead a grate myself.”
This practical side of the Empress was entirely distasteful to the entourage—they laughed at it equally as much as they criticised her friendships with people whom they did not consider in any way worthy of the friendship of an Empress of Russia. I and Anna came under the category of the unworthy, for, although we were well born, we were not of the “sang azur” of certain noble ladies who were desirous of admittance into the charmed circle. The Empress was accused of not being true to class, but on one point she was inflexible; she allowed no interference with her friendships. I sometimes wondered why she preferred “homely” friends to the more brilliant variety—I ventured to ask her this question, and she told me that she was, as I knew, painfully shy, and that strangers were almost repellent to her.
“I don’t mind whether a person is rich or poor. Once my friend, always my friend.”
Yes, her loyalty was indeed worthy of the name of a friend, but she put friendship and its claims before material considerations. As a woman she was right, as an Empress perhaps she was wrong.
The aristocracy never tried to understand the real Tsaritsa. Their pride was up in arms against her—she found no favour in their eyes. I remember an incident which went to prove this, and which was widely discussed at the time.