The Empress, like all German Princesses, had been brought up in a family atmosphere which had a great deal of the bourgeois about it. Her father had been comparatively a poor man, and his household had been conducted on most modest lines, as can be seen from the letters of the Czarina’s mother, the Grand Duchess Alice of Hesse, addressed to her own mother, Queen Victoria. Neither pomp nor magnificence had presided over the rearing of the young Princesses left motherless so soon, and it was only at Windsor and at Balmoral that Princess Alix had seen what a Sovereign’s existence meant. But on the other hand she had been very happy with her sisters and with her brother to whom she was particularly attached. For some years after their father’s death she had been practically the mistress of his household, and she had felt bitterly his marriage with their cousin, the Princess Victoria Melita of Saxe-Coburg. The latter, whose mother was a Russian Grand Duchess, had, in her own way, just as imperious a character as her sister-in-law, and soon relations between the two girls became more than strained. As is well known, the marriage of the Grand Duke of Hesse turned out a most unhappy one and ended with a divorce in which the Princess Alix sided with her brother, and allowed the latter’s wife to see that such was the case. This brought about a family quarrel, which was further accentuated by the re-marriage of Victoria Melita with her other cousin, the Grand Duke Cyril of Russia, which incensed the Empress to such a degree that she used all her influence over the Czar to persuade the latter to exile Cyril and his bride, and to deprive them of their fortune and rank at the Russian Court. This was a most unfortunate action, because it roused against the Czarina the wrath of all her relatives, who already did not like her, and who in consequence went over to swell the ranks of her enemies, alas, already too numerous.
I have always regretted that my Imperial mistress was not able to make for herself friends among her own relatives. This partiality which she always exhibited in regard to her Hessian connections was a very unfortunate one, and added certainly to her unpopularity. Had she been wise, she might easily have found a warm support in the Czar’s sister, the Grand Duchess Xenia, and the latter’s husband, whose kind feelings in regard to her would have secured for her the allegiance of all the sons of the Grand Duke Michael, the great uncle of the Czar, and the most respected member of the Romanoff family, as well as the oldest. Unfortunately she did not see the necessity for doing so, and she feared the influence undoubtedly exercised at one time over the Czar’s mind by Xenia, his favourite sister. Consequently she kept her at arm’s length, and avoided inviting her to Czarskoi Selo. The Imperial family, finding itself snubbed at every step, boycotted in its turn their Empress, with the result that the latter drifted every day a little farther from those who ought to have been her natural friends and supporters.
The Grand Duchess Vladimir, herself a German Princess and by birth a Duchess of Mecklenburg, had at one time been the one to whom Alexandra Feodorovna had been the most attracted, and a certain intimacy had even established itself between them. Then one day the Princess, when calling on her niece, had found established in her room one of the numerous nuns with whom the latter liked to surround herself and who had been presented to her by her sister Elizabeth. She had made a few remarks as to inadvisability of an Empress of Russia admitting into such close intimacy an uneducated woman, who, moreover, was probably like all Russian nuns, devoted to gossip. These remarks were very badly received and put an end to a friendship that, in spite of the many inconveniences it presented (the Grand Duchess Vladimir being an active supporter of the Kaiser and of the German party at Court), would still have been preferable to the one which continued to persist between Alexandra Feodorovna and any amount of ignorant monks and nuns whose society she grew at last to prefer to that of everybody else. This, however, was not saying much, because as time went on my mistress developed more and more this unfortunate love for solitude for which she was so often, and not unjustly, reproached. She had a great defect for a woman in her high position—that of taking life too seriously, in the sense that she would never admit that any one had the right to seek amusement or relaxation from the duties of one’s daily existence. Indeed she looked out for duties, and found some where none existed. She hated balls, and society she thoroughly despised, believing that it was composed of frivolous and ill-natured people. She did not care for innocent pleasures, not because she had any preference for others, but because she was convinced that every single hour of any man’s or woman’s existence ought to be consecrated to duty or occupation of some kind. When she was compelled to appear at a ball or State function, she did so with such a bored look that it could not fail to be noticed and of course was resented. Her greatest happiness would have been to lead an out-of-doors life, to take long walks, and to play tennis or golf as a relaxation. Even her readings were always serious ones, and such a thing as a novel was never seen in her apartments. Sometimes her sisters-in-law would urge upon her the necessity of reading such or such a book, whose publication had created some kind of stir in the world. But she invariably refused, or if she consented did so under protest, and would later on make scathing remarks as to her aversion for such kind of literature. The Czar, on the other hand, liked to peruse a good novel, and sometimes attempted to read the contents of one aloud to his wife, when she would listen with a bored look on her face, but would not, however, express in any other way her disapproval. She was very considerate for her husband, though in the early days of their marriage she had been inclined to show too much her influence and power over his mind, which was also one of the things Russian society had not forgiven her. One incident in particular had aroused the ire of the Empress Dowager, who had made no secret of her indignation against her young daughter-in-law on the subject. The Czar and his wife had accepted an invitation to dine and spend the evening at the barracks of the Hussar regiment, of which the Emperor, when heir to the throne, had been in command. Nicholas II. was enjoying himself, as he invariably did when amidst his old comrades of former times, but the Empress was far from doing so, therefore, when eleven o’clock struck, she determined she had had quite enough of it, and, calling to her husband, said loudly and distinctly in English: “Now come, my boy, it is time to go to bed!” One may imagine the horror of the assistants on hearing the autocrat of All the Russias addressed in public as “my boy” by his imprudent wife. The incident was widely commented upon and discussed, and Marie Feodorovna thought it her duty to remonstrate with her daughter-in-law on the subject, saying that she had never ventured to address Alexander III. in presence of others, let alone in an official occasion such as this one had been, otherwise than as “Sir” or “Your Majesty.” My mistress took these remonstrances in very bad part, and the relations between the two ladies did not improve after this affair.
Had Alexandra Feodorovna been surrounded by people who wished her well, they would have tried to educate her mind, and to bring to her notice the necessity of observing certain details pertaining to etiquette of which she had never been taught the necessity in her small Darmstadt, but which she could not neglect in her position as Empress of Russia. Kindness would have done wonders with her, and no one would have appreciated it more than herself, but opposition of any kind had the effect of exasperating her and of driving her to do precisely what she ought not to have done. She had the idea that as the wife of an autocratic ruler she was placed above every kind of criticism, and that no one dared to make any remark concerning her conduct or manners. Of course this was a mistaken idea, but it had so thoroughly taken hold of her mind that nothing could ever drive it away, and it has certainly contributed to the misfortunes which have assailed her later on. Alas! alas! how often have I not regretted that this sweet Princess, so attractive in many ways, could not be brought to look upon the world with other eyes than those of an enemy. If only she had believed those who sincerely loved her, how different her life might have been!
During the summer of 1898, the Grand Duchess Olga caught the scarlet fever. The English nurse who was in charge of the Imperial nursery was left with the second little girl who had been born to the Czar and Czarina, the Grand Duchess Tatiana, and the Empress took it upon herself to nurse the sick child unaided. I begged permission to share with her the care of the invalid, and it was after this that my mistress began to confide in me to a certain degree, and to speak to me about some of her many anxieties and sorrows. I can remember her so well during these days and nights sitting by the cot in which her small daughter slept, clad in a dressing gown of white flannel which I had almost compelled her to buy for the occasion, her fair head resting on her hand, absorbed in her thoughts, and with that sweet but anxious expression on her beautiful face, which already at that time had begun to settle on her features. She complained to me once that she had been reproached by her relatives for exposing herself to the danger of contagion. “As if that mattered,” she said, “even if I died, for the Emperor would always find another wife who perhaps would be luckier than I have been, and able to give him an heir. No one would miss me, with the exception perhaps of these children,” and she started weeping bitter tears. I tried to comfort her, saying that she must not talk in that way, because no woman had ever been more loved by her husband than she was by the Emperor. “Ah, my dear,” retorted the Empress, “what good does it do me to be loved by my husband when all the world is against me? It is the nation’s love I would wish to win, and how can I hope to do so, so long as I have not given an heir to Russia!” Poor woman, she really imagined that the cause of her unpopularity was the fact that she had no son!
This reminds me of the state of mind into which my poor mistress was thrown at the birth of her second daughter, Tatiana. She had been worrying the whole time of her pregnancy at the idea that she might have another girl, until at last the thought of it had become quite an obsession, and her nervous system had been absolutely shattered as a consequence. When the child came into the world there was a profound silence in the room, and the doctor informed the Czar, by a previously arranged sign, of the sex of the infant, which it was deemed necessary to conceal from the mother at first. But the Empress saw the anxious and troubled faces around her when she had recovered from the effects of the chloroform which had been administered to her, and her first words were: “My God, it is again a daughter. What will the nation say, what will the nation say?” and she burst into loud hysterics.
Nevertheless, the wee, wee maidens who came one after the other to enliven the family circle of the Czar and Czarina, though they were very badly received, became in time the objects of their parents’ most affectionate love, and were cared for just as much as if their births had not constituted a severe disappointment for their father and mother. But the fact that for something like ten years Russia had no direct heir, shook the position of Alexandra Feodorovna, who began to be considered as a person of no consequence. People looked up to the Grand Duke Michael, in whom every one saw the future Czar, and who not only was immensely popular, but whose features and character reminded one more than those of any of his other children of the late Alexander III. The Empress was quite aware of this fact, and it did not contribute to her liking for her brother-in-law. In general, she was not upon good terms with any members of the Russian Imperial family, with the exception of her sister of course, and of the latter’s husband, the Grand Duke Sergius, and she clung more than ever to her German relations, and to her brother in particular. She was always looking forward to the short sojourns which from time to time she was allowed to make in Darmstadt, where she felt more at her ease than anywhere else, with the exception of Livadia, in the Crimea, where she built for herself a kind of fairy palace, in place of the small cottage which had been found sufficient for the Empress Marie Alexandrovna, and where Alexander III. had breathed his last. The construction of this palace was also one of the things for which my mistress was reproached. People said that it was not seemly to have pulled down the house where the late Czar had died, and they had criticised the large amount of money which had been wasted, as was said, on the erection of this new residence. When this was repeated to the Empress, she became quite furious, and swore that not one of those who had thus allowed themselves to be dissatisfied with what she had done would ever enter the gates of her Crimean home. She kept her promise, and not even her mother-in-law was ever invited to look upon the new castle which Alexandra Feodorovna had built for herself on the shores of the Black Sea, and which she had made so beautiful.