Inside the Russian Revolution

by Rheta Childe Dorr

“Another slander said that the Empress tried to Germanize the court, and that she made her children talk German to her. The children almost never spoke a word of German to her or to any one else. Of course they were taught German, with other languages, but English and Russian were the only two languages spoken in the family circle. The Empress was anxious for all her children to be good linguists, but not all of them were gifted that way. Tatiana, the second daughter, for example, declared that she never would be able to carry on a conversation in French, the easiest of all foreign tongues. But English they all spoke from their cradles.

“As for the Empress’s intrigues for a separate peace with Germany,” and here Mme. Virubova’s voice trembled with indignation, “that was the greatest nonsense and the wickedest slander of them all. From the time the war broke out until the revolution last February the Empress was tireless in her work for the Russian soldiers and their families. She fairly lived in the hospitals at Tsarskoe Selo. Immediately after breakfast every morning she began her rounds, dressed in the plain cotton frock of the Red Cross nurse. There was no duty too humble, no task too arduous for her to undertake. She stood beside the surgeons in the operating room, seeing the most dreadful amputations. She sat beside the suffering and the dying in their beds. ‘Stand near me, czaritza,’ a poor wretch would cry to her in his anguish and pain, and she would take his rough hand and soothe him, pray for him, that he might bear it for Russia. They loved her then, those men, though they turned against her afterward. We used to motor home for luncheon and then go to more hospitals. It would be 5 o’clock before we reached home, and then the Empress always sent for her children. What time did she have, will you tell me, for German intrigues?

“The home life of the royal family was happy and harmonious above any I have ever seen,” interpolated Mme. Virubova. “The Czar worshiped his wife and the children worshiped both of them. Would you believe that some of those court parasites tried to break up that happy home? Once when the Emperor was at Livadia, in the Crimea, some one sent each day a great basket of flowers to be placed on his writing table. Attached to the basket was my card. They thought they could make the Empress believe that I was carrying on an intrigue with the Emperor. As a matter of fact, the Empress asked me directly if I sent the flowers. I had not heard a word of it before, and if she had merely sent me away I should never have known the reason. Against me they plotted ceaselessly. Why? Because the Empress loved and trusted me, and I would have died for her, and they all knew it. They resented our friendship. They hated to see us sitting together hours at a time over our books. We read a great deal. It may interest you to know that we read many American books.”

“What American books did the Empress read?” I asked.

“We read Mrs. Eddy’s book, of course, and the complete works of the great American author, Miller.”

“Miller?” I interrupted. “What Miller?”

“I don’t remember his first name,” said Mme. Virubova. “But you must know who I mean. He wrote many religious and philosophical works. The Empress was very fond of them.”

I was obliged to confess that I had never heard of Miller, and Mme. Virubova looked her surprise.

“Another reason why the Empress, and of course myself, were unpopular was because the children were with us so much of the time. The Empress simply would not allow them to associate with the sons and daughters of the nobility. She wanted to keep them sweet and clean minded and good, and she knew that very few of the children of high society in Russia were fit companions for them. The daughters of our nobility are mostly frivolous, selfish, empty-headed girls, and as for the sons, they are too often debauched in early boyhood. You can imagine that the Empress’s poor opinion of them and her refusal to allow her children to know them aroused great resentment. People always think their own children perfect, you know.”