On the day appointed for my first lesson a royal carriage came to take me to Alexandria Cottage, where the Czar and his family were residing. Yet in spite of the liveried coachman, the Imperial arms on the panels, and the orders with regard to my arrival which had no doubt been given, I learned to my cost that it was no easy task to enter the residence of Their Majesties. I was stopped at the park gates, and there were several minutes of discussion before I was allowed to go in. On turning a corner I soon observed two small brick buildings connected by a covered bridge. If the carriage had not stopped I should not have known I had arrived at my destination.
I was taken up to a small room, soberly furnished in the English style, on the second storey. The door opened and the Czarina came in, holding her daughters Olga and Tatiana by the hand. After a few pleasant remarks she sat down at the table and invited me to take a place opposite her. The children sat at each end.
The Czarina was still a beautiful woman at that time. She was tall and slender and carried herself superbly. But all this ceased to count the moment one looked into her eyes—those speaking, grey-blue eyes which mirrored the emotions of a sensitive soul.
Olga, the eldest of the Grand-Duchesses, was a girl of ten, very fair, and with sparkling, mischievous eyes and a slightly retroussé nose. She examined me with a look which seemed from the first moment to be searching for the weak point in my armour, but there was something so pure and frank about the child that one liked her straight off.
The second girl, Tatiana, was eight and a half. She had auburn hair and was prettier than her sister, but gave one the impression of being less transparent, frank, and spontaneous.
The lesson began. I was amazed, even embarrassed, by the very simplicity of a scene I had anticipated would be quite different. The Czarina followed everything I said very closely. I distinctly felt that I was not so much giving a lesson as undergoing an examination. The contrast between anticipation and reality quite disconcerted me. To crown my discomfort, I had had an idea that my pupils were much more advanced than they actually were. I had selected certain exercises, but they proved far too difficult. The lesson I had prepared was useless, and I had to improvise and resort to expedients. At length, to my great relief, the clock struck the hour and put an end to my ordeal.
In the weeks following the Czarina was always present at the children’s lessons, in which she took visible interest. Quite frequently, when her daughters had left us, she would discuss with me the best means and methods of teaching modern languages, and I was always struck by the shrewd good sense of her views.
Of those early days I have preserved the memory of a lesson I gave a day or two previous to the issue of the Manifesto of
