My empress; twenty-three years of intimate life with the empress of all the Russias from her marriage to the day of her exile

by Marfa Mouchanow

THE FIRST REVOLUTION

I often wondered whether the Empress had quite appreciated the magnitude of the first revolutionary movement which took place in Russia during and after the Japanese war. She had been repeatedly told that it was a mutiny of no importance, bound to be crushed by the government. The Czar as well as his ministers had purposely left her in the dark, the former because he did not wish to alarm her, and the latter because they feared that she might try, in presence of the danger which threatened the dynasty, to persuade her husband to adopt a more liberal form of administration, and to grant to Russia this Constitution for which everybody was clamouring, especially after the war had plainly proved that the autocratic régime was at an end. She could, however, sometimes hear echoes of the general dissatisfaction, and indeed the first person who pointed out to her its extent was the Empress Dowager, who knew very well all that was going on, and who had made it a point to become as well-informed as possible of all that was taking place in the Empire. For once Marie Feodorovna appealed to her daughter-in-law to open the eyes of Nicholas II as to the perils of the political situation, but she refused to do so, thinking that the request covered an intrigue of which she was to become the victim. And so time went on until Count Witte, who still enjoyed some popularity, spoke to the Emperor, and persuaded him to promulgate the famous Manifesto of the 17th October, and to call together a Representative Assembly. In a certain sense this was a victory for the Empress, for she had at that period more than once expressed her conviction that it would be to the advantage of the Russian nation to establish a constitutional form of government, as near as possible to the one which had proved so successful in England. But strange as it may appear to say so, she was at that very moment changing her opinions and rallying to those of the people who thought that every concession to the demands of the populace would bring about the ruin of the monarchy, just as the calling together of the States General in France in 1789 had brought about the fall of the Bourbons and sent Louis XVI. finally to the scaffold. She had always compared her fate to that of Marie Antoinette, and had more than once expressed to her friends her conviction that she also was destined for some horrible fate. On the day when the first Duma was opened by the Emperor in the big ballroom of the Winter Palace, she cried the whole time that she was dressing, and it was almost with a feeling of horror that she allowed her maids to place on her head the big diadem of diamonds which formed part of the Crown jewels, and to hang about her neck the many rows of pearls and precious stones which lay in readiness for her. She was dreading the future and wondering what it would bring with it.

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The Grand Staircase, Winter Palace, Petrograd

There is one incident concerning these momentous days which I must relate. When the population of St. Petersburg, headed by the notorious Gapone, repaired to the Winter Palace and asked to see the Sovereign, in order to lay their grievances before him, the Czarina was of the opinion that he ought to have received them and spoken with them. Her mother-in-law thought the same thing. But the ministers, and especially Count, then still Baron, Fredericks opposed it, and it was their advice which prevailed, instead of that of the two Empresses. To tell the truth, Nicholas was not of a courageous nature, and but too ready to listen to those who told him that he ought not to expose his person to any danger.

But in presence of this new load of calamity that threatened her and her children my mistress more than ever put her trust in God, and prayed, prayed with more fervour than she had ever done before. Several times she interceded in favour of revolutionaries who had been sentenced to death for some political crime or other. This happened particularly in the case of a woman, Sophy Konoplianinova, who had murdered General Minn, the commander of the Semenovsky regiment, who had repressed with ruthless cruelty the Moscow Rebellion. The Empress wished to have her pardoned, but the Czar would not listen to her, and all her pleadings for mercy were in vain.

Is it to be wondered that racked as she was with cruel anxieties, and bred in an atmosphere of superstition, she set her belief more than ever in spiritism and consulted fortunetellers, and monks and priests who predicted to her a future devoid of cares, and one where worries would be unknown to her? She listened to them, and with a blind faith in their many and varied predictions she proceeded to absorb herself more and more in practices of a religious devotion which finally mastered all her thoughts and left no room in them for anything else. She had fitted up in her bedroom an oratory full of sacred images, to which every day was added another icon. No Russian was ever a firmer believer in the different dogmas of the Orthodox Church than was this daughter of a German house, whose mother had been an intimate friend of the famous Strauss, and had allowed the latter to dedicate to her his life of Jesus which had caused such a profound sensation in literary, religious and philosophical circles all over the world.

The Revolution was finally mastered, and though the Duma always continued to show itself criticising and even rebellious, things began to settle down. Russia prepared to celebrate the anniversary of the Three Hundredth Year of the accession of the Romanoff dynasty to the throne, and great rejoicings were planned for the occasion. The Imperial family came to St. Petersburg for the first time since the Japanese war, and remained in the capital for four days. A solemn service of thanksgiving was celebrated in the Kazan Cathedral, to which representatives of all the classes of the Empire were invited, and the nobility of St. Petersburg gave a big ball at which the whole Imperial family was present. I remember it so well, because it was the last occasion on which the Empress appeared in full state and wore the Crown Jewels. She had chosen a white satin dress all embroidered in silver, and had consented to put on what she did but rarely—the famous necklace of diamonds together with the tiara that had belonged to the Empress Catherine. She was still beautiful, but the slight figure that had been so conspicuous in her young days, and the beautiful complexion which had been unrivalled, had disappeared. She looked a middle aged, haggard woman, racked with cares and anxieties, and though the splendid, sharp profile could never change, the mouth had altered, and its expression was almost tragic. She only remained for an hour at the ball, and retired before supper, leaving her daughters to the care of the Dowager Empress, who declared herself delighted at the thought of chaperoning them.

It was the girls’ first appearance in society, and those who saw them then will never forget how they looked. They were both dressed in pink, soft clouds of tulle, which suited them to perfection. Not regularly pretty, they had sweet faces, and such charming manners that one could not help being attracted by them. Rumours of their approaching marriages with the Crown Prince of Servia and the future heir to the Roumanian throne were afloat at the time, and added to the interest which they excited. Alas, alas, all these hopes were to prove fallacious, and St. Petersburg society, which had been so much attracted by these two Princesses, was never to see them again, at least as the daughters of a reigning Sovereign.