From the hour of their first meeting, Princess Alix never doubted the love of her young Russian scion, whose still boyish heart she knew she had reached. Child as she was, Princess Alix already felt germinating within her beginnings of woman love, and from that time through all the following girlhood days, through her period of lovely maidenhood, she held in close memory the picture of her first wooer. That her young lover was less faithful was not so much a matter of surprise, because first of all being a man, and especially a Russian man, not to include a Prince besides, Nicholas naturally went the way of all the rest, the way of so many men, of most Russians, and of all Princes, and under the tutelage of his relatives, the Grand Dukes, and other unavoidable corrupt associates of the Court, he sowed his wild oats as part of the day’s work, and as a matter of course, sowed them furiously and very, very wildly. Nicholas’ mother, spouse of the Emperor Alexander III, herself early suggested that a mistress for the young Nicholas might be well as a choice of evils, the lesser one. Thereupon, Nicholas was taken to the Imperial Ballet, there to make his choice of a temporary love. The woman whom he chose at that time lives to-day in St. Petersburg, in a grand palace, given her by the little man who now rules the mighty Empire of Russia, built by money exacted from thousands of starving peasants throughout the length and breadth of the vast empire.
Perhaps—for a time—Nicholas forgot the little German girl, but she never forgot her Prince! Perhaps Nicholas was lacking in that blessed quality we call “loyalty.” Or it may be that he was only weak of character as most of his friends of the time would have us believe. At all events, he was not even true to his Polish dancer, and when he became infatuated with a Jewess, his Imperial father cried “Enough!” and sent his son on a tour around the world. Nicholas was accompanied on this trip by another bon vivant, his cousin Prince George of Greece. Prince George, however, was also an athlete and a man of ready wit, and when in Japan a fanatic rushed upon the Tsarevitch to kill him, Prince George raised his arm and succeeded in so diverting the stroke that Nicholas received only a glancing blow on the forehead. Thus was he spared to return to Darmstadt and renew his suit with his love of earlier days.
Royal marriages are so rarely love matches, that the world watches the few that are with admiration and hope. Too often diplomatic objections prevent the coming together of royal lovers. And so in the case with Nicholas, his father desired the union of his son with a Montenegrin princess.
Queen Victoria never really opposed the match, but she feared for the safety of her grand-daughter. The Russian throne is supposed to offer unparalleled peril to its occupants, and the health of the Princess Alix had never been rugged. Queen Victoria feared that under the great stress and strain of St. Petersburg Princess Alix would not have the strength to bear up. The Empress Frederick of Germany, an aunt of Princess Alix, was also doubtful of the wisdom of the match. Her reasons, however, were somewhat different. Empress Frederick had had many opportunities to watch the development of her sister’s daughter and she had noticed, perchance with pain, certain qualities of temperament which may have been the result of her trying circumstances in early years, together with the fact that she had been left so much alone through the early death of her mother. She was reserved and shy, therefore seeming cold of nature, and haughty of manner. Having seen far less of the great world than most royal princesses she shrank from the social whirl. The loneliness of her childhood had taught her to find resource within herself, thus habits of reading, study, and contemplation had become part of her nature. These characteristics all make for the development of a splendid, substantial woman, but they fail to bring out the qualities essential to a woman who is to preside over a brilliant court, where the sway of personality, of grace, charm and wit—all of the surface virtues—count for as much, if not more, than the deeper qualities of sound character and a disciplined mind.
Appreciating all this Empress Frederick did not encourage, even if she refrained from actively opposing the marriage.
The Polish Princess, Catherine Radziwill, chanced to be passing through Germany about this time and lingered for a few days, the guest of the Empress Frederick. One afternoon, Princess Radziwill referred to the betrothal and remarked on the happy fate which had led Nicholas to select a bride who had been imbued with the ideas of Germany and England. To her surprise the Empress gravely shook her head and remarked that it was not always safe to trust what was said by people ignorant of the true character of those they praised or blamed, according to the exigencies of the moment. When Princess Radziwill pressed the Empress further she added that “Princess Alix had a haughty disposition, and would be inclined to take more seriously than might be supposed, her position of absolute sovereign.”
She went so far as to refer to the despotic temperament of her niece, and her self-opinioned tendencies. “She is far too much convinced of her own perfection,” said the Empress, “and she will never listen to other people’s advice, besides, she has no tact, and perhaps, without knowing it, will manage to wound the feelings of the persons she ought to try and conciliate.”
Princess Radziwill remarked that it was passing strange a daughter of Princess Alice, and a grand-daughter of Queen Victoria could have such a disposition. Whereupon the Empress returned sadly: “Oh! but when do you see daughters taking after their mothers?” Then, after a short pause she continued: “It would not be possible for anyone to be like my sister.”
But Alix loved Nicholas and she would be daunted by neither the perils of a restless empire, nor the fear of physical weakness or suffering, nor the discouragements of her royal relatives. And Nicholas, with that stubbornness that has ever characterised him, set about to win over all opponents to their marriage. First he appealed to his uncle, Grand Duke Serge, who had married Alix’s sister, Elizabeth. Then he went to London and pleaded with Queen Victoria. Finally, he gained the consent of his own father, who was the last to yield. Then Nicholas went himself to Darmstadt to carry the news in person to his Princess who had now waited for this message for nine long years.
There still remained one important obstacle. And that this was a difficulty to the German Princess, is to her everlasting credit. According to the laws of Russia, the throne may never be occupied or shared by anyone not of the Greek Catholic faith. Now Princess Alix, being born in Germany and brought up in Germany, was a Protestant. From earliest childhood, she had been devoted to the Church and to her religion, and the tenets of the Greek Church were totally unfamiliar to her.
When they were presented to her there were many things that seemed so strange that for a long time she could not acknowledge her acceptance of them.
In most royal marriages, the brides change their faith as lightly as they change their gowns, and learn the priest-taught formulas that their tutors prescribe, and subscribe to the doctrines of their adopted church without fear or question. Alix demanded intimate knowledge of all the doctrines she must accept, so learned theologians and doctrinaires were dispatched to Darmstadt to give her instruction. Many are the stories told of her long arguments with these learned men over points that were not clear to her, and of her deep prying questions into the reasons for certain regulations and laws. At one time it seemed as if she could not accept certain things that these holy men were endeavouring to press upon her and more than one rumour went abroad that the royal marriage would never take place simply because of these religious difficulties. There seemed some ground for these reports, for the priest who had been her especial instructor, one Yanisheff, at one time became so despairing of his “heretical” charge, that he left Darmstadt altogether and returned to Russia.
A long letter from the Princess was received by Nicholas, and he, instead of being hurt by the way she held out on these matters, expressed himself as highly pleased. A vigorous correspondence then passed quickly between them. And in the end, it was her love that conquered. I do not think that Princess Alix has ever been what the world calls an “ambitious woman.” No one believes that the Greek priests “converted” her. But she loved Nicholas with a love that transcended all creeds and dogmas and finally, after long hesitation, her love rose to the highest point and for his sake she “accepted” the state church of the land that was to be her future home.
At the time the betrothal was definitely announced, it was anticipated that Alexander would probably continue to reign for some years, and that in the meantime the bride of the Heir Apparent would have ample time to accustom herself to Russia, and to school herself for the difficult rôle of Empress, which she would one day have to assume.
The Russian press was flooded with stories and anecdotes of the beauty, the cleverness, and the varied accomplishments of the German Princess whom Nicholas was bringing to Russia. This was to popularise her among the people. It was said that she was a rare musician, a great scholar, and even that she had taken the degree of doctor of philosophy at some university! Flaming lithographs of her were circulated by the thousand among the peasants, and in the space of a few months her name had become a household word across the Empire and the Russian people were prepared to accept her as a worthy consort to the Heir Apparent.
The betrothal was announced in April. In September of the same year, Tsar Alexander’s health began to fail rapidly and he was removed from the cold of the northern capital to the Royal estate of Livadia in the Crimea.
I have seen royal palaces and parks in every part of the world, but I have never seen a more beautiful place than Livadia. It is on the slope of the Crimean Alps, some of whose peaks tower more than three thousand feet above the glorious blue waters of the Black Sea that here lap the shores of Livadia. Yalta, lovely Yalta, a winter jewel daintily set in a wondrous setting of sea and hills, is removed from Livadia by only a spur of mountains easily and quickly crossed. And here, when all the rest of Russia lies frozen beneath semi-Arctic snows, roses and oleanders bloom, and ripe fruit hangs luscious for the pickers. Here winter suns are warm and winter evenings balmy.
I think the fairest nights I have ever seen have been in Yalta and on the road to Livadia when a December moon shone brightly over the restless water and aslant the lovely hills as in dream nights of June.
To this most beauteous spot in all Russia, Alexander III was taken. It was the monarch’s last journey. When it became evident that the end was near Nicholas sent for his bride-to-be. Probably no woman or man in modern times has had so warm a welcome prepared. The press of Europe was echoing and re-echoing the praise of the young Princess, in happy attune with the inspired press of Russia. The Emperor William himself went to meet the Princess at the Berlin railroad station and bid her Godspeed—she who was to wear an Imperial crown.
Warsaw was the first Russian city where Princess Alix paused on her journey to Livadia whither she was hastening in the expectancy of marrying prior to the death of Alexander III. At Warsaw she was met by her sister, the Grand Duchess Elizabeth, and farther along in the journey by the Heir Apparent. Her progress across the Empire was like a triumphal march despite the sadness that hovered over a nation whose ruler lay dying. Great arches of welcome were raised to her, and the populace turned out all along the way to do her honour.
We can well imagine the mingled feelings of surprise and awe which must have overwhelmed the retiring and somewhat austere German Princess, as she came in contact now for the first time with the great world, and with the homage of a vast people which from that day was to be her’s for all the rest of the days of her life. Princes and potentates, like peasants from the isolated villages of the Steppes, bent their knees in humble obeisance, while soldiers stood at salute as she passed. She knew full well that she was leaving behind her forever the simple life she had always known up until now. She knew that she was going to a death-bed scene, between ranks of gold and silver. Though her path was scattered with flowers and the plaudits of the people continuously rang in her ears, she knew what the end of the journey must be, and she must have known too, in a dim, tragic way, all that lay beyond the endraped gold, toward which she was speeding in the Crimea.
Upon arriving at Livadia Princess Alix hastened to the bedside of the moribund Emperor. The following day, in the royal chapel of Livadia she was received into the Greek Orthodox Church under the name of Alexandra Feodorovna. Her own preference was for the name Catherine, but yielding to the wishes of Nicholas, she accepted the name of his choosing. The wedding day was fixed for the following Wednesday, but the nearing end of Alexander necessitated a brief postponement—only till the end had come, and all that remained of him had been transported to St. Petersburg and laid to rest beside the remains of his father, and his father’s fathers for many generations, in the golden-spired Chapel of the grim fortress of Saints Peter and Paul on the banks of the swift flowing River Neva.
Some there are, believers in omens, who attribute many of the difficulties of her life as Tsaritsa to the name she took when she was received into the Russian Church,—Alexandra Feodorovna, after the grandmother of the Tsar, her husband. For Alexandra has long been an ill-fated name in the unhappy land of Princess Alix’s adoption.
A daughter of the Emperor Paul who was called Alexandra had a very tragic end. When she was but seventeen years of age her grandmother, Catherine II, arranged that she should marry the King of Sweden. The preparations for this royal wedding were all elaborately made and on the day set all was well, so far as the world knew. The tables were laid for the marriage banquet and the bride, all robed and ready, awaited her royal bridegroom. The guests were assembled and the priests stood by in their gorgeous mantles of gold. Suddenly His Majesty the King announced that he would not go on with the wedding! His courtiers and suite pleaded and implored him not to offer so terrible an insult to the daughter of an Emperor and to the whole Russian nation. But in vain. The King was obdurate.
The news was tardily announced to Catherine, whose wrath knew no bounds. The guests withdrew and the Swedish party quit the Winter Palace and returned to Stockholm. The humiliated Alexandra was given no further choice even after this terrible ordeal, but was speedily married willy nilly to an Austrian Grand Duke. But she really did not survive the shock of the failure of her marriage with the King of Sweden, and she died of humiliation and a broken heart—only nineteen years of age.
A daughter of Nicholas I was named Alexandra. She was early married to a step-son of Napoleon Bonaparte. But a fatal disease carried her off before she was twenty, again emphasising the traditional tragedy associated with his name.
Alexander II had a daughter Alexandra, a lovely, golden-haired child, but she succumbed to an illness in childhood.
No wonder then, that the superstitious feared for the future of Princess Alix, when she took for herself the name that has so often been borne by daughters of sorrow in Russia. But Alexandra was the name Nicholas chose for her, and that sufficed. The mourning family returned to St. Petersburg after the death of Alexander III and as soon as preparations could be made, the wedding took place—the entire Court laying aside its mourning weeds for one day. Thus edged in black, the official ceremonial life of the Tsaritsa began.
At the wedding ceremony, she did not show to advantage. She was reserved in her manner to the point of severity, and a trait was noticed on that day that has militated against her ever since. Despite her natural physical grace she does not know how to dress! Her simple German training had not taught her how to wear beautiful clothes. Possibly the wearing of lovely gowns well is an instinct born in some women. At all events on her wedding day, the Empress-bride failed to please the court.
A few days later when the young Tsar was receiving deputations from different parts of the Empire, there occurred a rupture between him and some deputies from the Province of Tver, which he has never been able to outlive, and for some unexplained reason the sentiments that he then expressed in heat, were accepted as the sentiments of the Empress as well. The Chairman of the deputation humbly offered the congratulations of the people of Tver, and ventured to add that it was their hope that the new Emperor might be pleased, in the course of his reign, to grant certain liberties to his people, perhaps even a Constitution. This hope was partly based on their faith in the young Empress, whom they expected would have liberal sympathies as a result of her life in Germany and her affiliations with England. But the Tsar burst forth into a terrible tirade against such notions, told them “to be done with these idle dreams,” and even threatened the whole deputation with banishment.
The whole country was astounded at this uncalled for outburst, and a lurking suspicion sprang up that the Tsaritsa might not be so liberal as they had hoped. And this indeed seems to have proved true, for whatever influence the Tsaritsa has exerted in Russia from that day to this, has been in the direction of Reaction and severe administration. She has always accepted the point of view of her husband. Nicholas II believes himself a God-ordained Autocrat, and the great ambition of his life is, not to hand on to his successor a happy and peaceful nation living under a constitutional monarchy, but an absolute autocracy, and Alexandra Feodorovna has supported and worked for the realisation of this ambition.
When one remembers the glorious, golden romance of this girl, one’s imagination is fired to highest heat, and one rejoices when the child who was called “Sunny,” who early battled bravely with life, was at last coming unto her own. But alas! At the very moment when it would seem that Providence had filled her cup to the full, the dark clouds began to gather, and the little German Princess, when she ceased to be Princess Alix, also ceased to be “Sunny.” Instead of entering upon a period of life rich in blessings, showered with happiness, she faced graver responsibilities, greater hardships and harder battles than she yet had known. The crudest blows of fate were yet to fall upon her.
The wedding of the Tsar and Tsaritsa was almost the only bright day of the winter of 1894 in St. Petersburg society. Mourning was resumed before even the usual wedding ceremonials were ended and few court functions were held until after the coronation, which took place the following spring. This event was looked forward to by the entire court and the most elaborate arrangements were made to make it the most magnificent and dazzling spectacle of the kind that a traditionally magnificent court had yet known, an historic occasion, notable from every point of view.
During the festivities celebrating this event, the young Empress might have been expected to have won all hearts. Instead, the popularity of the Dowager was enhanced, and the suspicions against Alexandra, which had been aroused during the wedding celebration, were deepened.
Russia, always poor, was in especially straitened circumstances the year of the coronation. Crops had failed—the winter had been severe—and peasants were starving in different parts of the Empire. Yet the coronation show cost the Government many millions of dollars. The harness worn by the horses that drew the carriage of the Empress alone cost more than one million dollars!
The German Princess, born amid frugal surroundings, simply reared, early taught to value pennies, and never affluent, on this occasion found herself in a strange setting, indeed. Her coach followed the carriage of the Dowager Empress. Eight snow-white horses adorned with red morocco trappings trimmed with exquisitely engraved gold, champed their teeth on bits of solid gold, and above their heads waved snow-white ostrich plumes; in her shining chariot sat the Empress in a silver and satin gown with an ermine cloak over her shoulders, ropes of diamonds hanging from her shoulders, and a crest of diamonds above her head. How wonderful a change from the life she had always known! Too great a change, perhaps. For even now her manner did not please the populace. The Dowager was hailed with acclamations and unprecedented enthusiasm. The Empress was received in dead silence. The situation was an impossible one. She tried to smile upon the throng, but her smiles were stony and cold, and people remarked to one another that she only “stared in disdain.” After the long and tedious coronation service, as the Emperor was painfully making his way to the Church of the Ascension, staggering under the weight of his royal robes and crown, he stumbled and fell in a long swoon—just as he has fallen ever since under the weight of responsibilities and cares he has never been strong enough to carry.
The following day the coronation festivities were interrupted by a terrible catastrophe. Some five thousand peasants were crushed or trampled to death in a stampede and panic preceding the distribution of certain simple meals, which were to have been in honour of the great event of the coronation. The calamity has never been satisfactorily explained, but there seems to have been a general lack of efficiency among those who had the distribution in charge. No sooner was word received of the disaster, than the Dowager Empress hurried to the overcrowded hospitals, administering personal comfort, and relief, and cheer to the surviving wounded. Her great activity and sympathetic devotion endeared her yet more to the people, and as long as she lives, thousands will revere her for her expressions of grief and solicitude on this occasion.
Nicholas, however, made himself conspicuous by doing nothing. On nearly every occasion during the course of his reign when he has had a signal opportunity for doing the right thing, he has acted precisely as he acted on this occasion—he has turned his back and gone off. And Alexandra Feodorovna has acted in concert with her husband. They both attended the ball at the French Embassy that same night, thus horrifying not only Russia but the civilised world.
I do not believe that the Tsaritsa is lacking in heart warmth or human sympathies, but her life is dominated by one man. Before she was an Empress she was a woman, and as a woman she loved, and as a woman she gave all to that love, and to the end of the chapter one must look for the real life of the Tsaritsa in those spheres where her personal love for this one man holds sway.
From the coronation day the Tsaritsa never regained a place in the affections of the Russian people, and having recognised this fact, and having realised the futility of usurping the place of the Dowager Empress, she simply ceased trying. The Russian people don’t dislike her, they merely do not know her.
When travelling through the interior of Russia, I constantly heard the Tsar spoken of by the peasants. Sometimes reverently, of late more often disdainfully, occasionally in the terms of the old Russian proverb: “God is in heaven and the Tsar is far off.” But I do not recall of ever hearing a peasant speak of the Empress. When I have asked about her the moujiks have invariably shrugged their shoulders in silence. They often have a bright coloured lithograph of her on the walls of their houses, and they all think the picture very beautiful. More than that, they know nor care not at all.
Once in an interior village I heard a group of peasants discussing the Tsar with a trace of old-time superstitious reverence and I asked, “What of the Empress?”
A shaggy old moujik shook his towsled head stolidly as he replied: “She is the Little Father’s woman—but what can we know of her?”
The Tsaritsa entered upon a life of unusual difficulty from the moment she crossed the Russian frontier. She realised even at the time of her wedding, and more than ever at her coronation that she was not liked at court, so she did what any sensitive soul would have done under similar circumstances—she turned from the people who criticised her, who failed to appreciate her trying, turned to those whom she loved, who loved her. How many women in our own country have been through just such experiences! Not called upon to serve as queens or empresses, but summoned to positions they never were fitted or trained to occupy. With the realisation of failure comes a terrible disappointment and sorrow, sometimes heartbreak. Good women then turn to the fruits of love and in their children seek the salvation necessary to counteract the first failure.
The Dowager Empress had never approved of the marriage of Nicholas to Princess Alix. She herself had always been exceedingly popular with the Russian people. In her affliction and bereavement the sympathy and affection of the nation went out to her. At the coronation of her son and his spouse, her warm personality so completely outshone that of her younger successor as Empress of the people, that a circle of the court immediately gathered about her. From that day to the present time the influence of the Dowager Empress and her “court party” has been more potent than that of the Tsaritsa. At times this influence has been directed openly against her rival and always to the embarrassment of the younger woman. For several years they were not even on speaking terms and to-day they rarely meet save on formal occasions when court etiquette demands the presence of them both at some particular function. The attitude of the Dowager Empress has been a source of continual pain to the Tsaritsa and besides actively militating against her, it has been one more strong influence driving her away from the usual interests and activities and more into her family life.
This estrangement between the two first women of the court has also tended more than anything else to isolate Nicholas. It has resulted in periodic ruptures between the Tsar and his mother, and it has strained his relations with his numerous relatives and important personages of the court, who have remained loyal to her.
These are some of the reasons why the life which ought to have been bright and happy has been utterly miserable, and now there are indications that a complete nervous breakdown may crown the burden of her years.
Alexandra Feodorovna, as the wife of the Emperor, was expected to be the mother of an heir to the throne of Russia. And even here long years of enduring pain and travail were before her, for four girls were born before a son came to them. When the first child was born, in November, 1895, there was disappointment throughout the Empire. But the Tsar said a splendid thing at that time: “I am glad,” said the Royal father, “that our child is a girl. Had it been a boy he would have belonged to the people, being a girl she belongs to us.”
One year and a half after the birth of the Grand Duchess Olga the second daughter was born, and she was named Tatiana. Marie followed in another two years, and Anastasie exactly two years later. More than three years then elapsed before Alexis, the son and heir, made his appearance. During these three years the aid of all kinds of soothsayers and charlatans was invoked to influence the sex of the child. An old priest of the interior who had been dead seventy years was canonised in the hope that the miracle of a boy might be worked! This is a story by itself, however, and it would be premature to tell it now.
It is wellnigh impossible for people in America to understand the disappointment and vexation of the court when girl after girl was born—four of them—before the long wanted son. The Tsaritsa fell more and more into disfavour, and the aristocracy—especially those who were the friends and followers of the Dowager—took advantage of the simple, superstitious peasants to point out to them that the Empress was not beloved in heaven or she would have borne a son.
When finally a son was born many people loudly asserted that the boy was a substitution and not the Tsaritsa’s child at all. This was a very malicious thing to say and was, of course, entirely untrue. The rumour persisted, however, and received certain credence until it was pointed out that the Dowager Empress was far too watchful, and too much at enmity with the Empress to allow any such imposition to be perpetrated.
Until the birth of the son the Tsaritsa took little part in public activity. Indeed, it was not until the war year of 1904 (which was also the year of the birth of a son) that she undertook to participate to any extent in work for the nation.
At the breaking out of the war between Russia and Japan the Tsaritsa undertook to assist the work of the Red Cross Society. I have seen several of the rooms in the Winter Palace which were turned over to the work of preparing bandages and warm clothing for the wounded soldiers in the hospitals at the front. In connection with this work the Tsaritsa was conspicuous before the people for the first time since her coronation as Empress in an undertaking properly belonging to the nation. She gathered together hundreds of young ladies of the court, organised working parties, and before long among the women of aristocratic circles it was distinctly the thing to do to belong to one of the Empress’s working groups, to prepare warm caps, and mufflers, and stockings and bandages for the army. The Empress herself worked indefatigably. And so did the two older Grand Duchesses, Olga and Tatiana. They both sewed and knit till their little fingers were stiff and sore.
The earnest spirit of patriotic pride and sacrifice exhibited by the Empress at this time was inspiration to thousands of young women in St. Petersburg and Moscow, and on the big estates of rich noblemen throughout the Empire. One group of fashionable St. Petersburg girls presented themselves in a body to the Empress with the request that they be sent to the front to serve as volunteer nurses. But the Empress replied: “You are not experienced enough for that work, nor strong enough to endure the hardships of life in Manchuria. What you may do is to serve in the hospitals of St. Petersburg, thus enabling the regular trained nurses to go to the front.” Almost without exception these young ladies acted upon this suggestion, and many of them did most excellent service, eventually becoming as useful as nurses who
had undergone the usual training in preparation for such work.
Some idea of the extent of this work may be gathered from the single fact that in the year 1904 the depot at Kharbin alone received from the Winter Palace headquarters, over which the Empress presided in person, no fewer than eleven million eight hundred articles. In addition to these things more than a million dollars in money was collected and forwarded for the purchase of surgical instruments and such other things as were sorely needed by the badly equipped Russian forces. Some seventy ambulance trains were organised, and a number of chapels and libraries.
In thanking the corps of women who had assisted her in this work the Empress said: “I am happy to know that through the efforts of the workers in my depot my most ardent desire to give relief to our dear troops has been satisfied.” And in a telegram to one of the generals commanding at the front she said: “Inform the troops in the Far East that I rejoice that it has been given me to lighten even to a slight extent the lot of the unhappy victims of a cruel war, who have so self-sacrificingly shed their blood for the honour of the Throne of Russia. United in prayer with you all I lift up to the Highest my ardent petition that He may comfort all who have suffered on the field of battle and continue to keep alive in the hearts of the valiant and heroic Russian warriors, the feeling of devotion to their duty, their oath and their love to the Fatherland.”
The Empress also organised the famous “Dog Detachment,” by which, with the help of dogs especially trained in Germany, the overlooked wounded were sought out after the tides of battle had swept the Manchurian plains and hills. Unfortunately this detachment was never given proper opportunity for activity, as the fields of battle almost invariably remained in the hands of the enemy.
Besides the Red Cross work, the most important public undertaking of the Tsaritsa has been the establishment of Labour Aid Institutions. This is really an incipient charity enterprise and is being gradually extended to different parts of the Empire.
Viewed as the charity organisation of a great nation the whole scheme is a ridiculous farce, but viewed as the work of an individual its proportions seem substantial. A complete list of these institutions practically means a complete list of the charities of the Empire, and includes temporary nurseries for babies, homes and asylums for children, lodging-houses for workless men, old people’s homes, lying-in hospitals, institutions for the insane, libraries and reading-rooms and various depots where simple work is provided for those who are able.
I visited a number of these institutions and satisfied myself that, however satisfactory a catalogue of this work might be, that the work itself had small value. It is the crudest and most careless organisation of charity I have seen anywhere in the world, and carried on on such a trifling scale as to be practically valueless. If the time ever comes when the Russian Government can take up the work thus begun it will be given a value—the value that ultimately accrues to all pioneer work.
There are more starving peasants in Russia every year than in any country of the western world. The numbers annually mount up into the millions—in 1906 there were twenty-seven millions in the famine belt. The beggars and workless, the maimed and the crippled victims of the war fill the streets of all the large cities. A lodging-house for fifty or a hundred men in a city where fifty thousand are in want is the merest drop in the bucket. The schools for girls are better equipped and better endowed than any of the other institutions embraced in this work, and this is owing to the personal interest of the Empress in girls.
This interest of the Tsaritsa’s in girls is doubtless owing to the fact that she has so many daughters of her own. Many of the schools which she has helped to start and to support have been named after her own little girls. The “Olga Children’s Homes” in St. Petersburg and Moscow were first inaugurated in 1898 and now are on a firm foundation.
In Russia, the Labour Aid Institutions are treated lightly. Even friends of the Empress speak of them as trivial. Judged by their present capacities they are trivial. They are badly managed. They offer rich opportunities for what is variously called “protection,” “patronage” and “graft”—opportunities which are fully taken advantage of, as I saw for myself in several of the places which I visited. There were elaborate offices, luxuriously fitted with selected furnishings, and small regiments of young aristocrats and noblemen (like all public servants of rank in Russia, called “chinovniks”) serving as clerks and directors. Positions of absolute sinecure carrying rich emoluments. Not one of these institutions—outside of the orphanages—would stand the test of scientific charity or philanthropy. For all this I am inclined to give the work a higher value than do the Russian people for, after all, Russia will one day be a modern nation in forms and institutions, and then all of this work will needs be developed. It will then be good to have this little experiment scattered about the country. It may prove the foundation for a work of worthy proportions. And I am glad that the Empress may claim credit for most of what has been done. There are schools and institutions of one sort or another named after each of the children, as well as after the Empress herself, and to all of these the Empress contributes annually from her private purse.
In no sense can any, or all of these enterprises be considered a great work, but they are all characteristic of the Tsaritsa. It is indicative of simple, human sympathies, it is quiet and unostentatious—almost timidly so—but the idea underlying it all is real.
The court of Nicholas II does not entertain nearly so frequently nor so lavishly as the preceding Courts of the last hundred years. This is partly owing to the temperament of the present Tsar, and the retiring characteristic of the Tsaritsa, and also because of the troubled and distraught condition of the Empire during the last several years. Several court balls each winter are required, however, and on these occasions the Tsaritsa is always a conspicuous figure. Her own enjoyment at these Royal functions may well be questioned. In the first place, there are certain aged ministers, ambassadors and potentates with whom she must dance. Doubtless these eminent worthies are frequently endowed with great dignity, but statesmanship and imposing presence do not make up for grace and ease in tripping figures to light music. And if, perchance, the Tsaritsa would waltz with a brilliant young officer, or charming courtier, all the other dancers must at once stop and clear the floor for the Empress and her favoured partner. To be thus the observed of all observers cannot be otherwise than trying to one of so modest and retiring a nature.
Years before, when the Tsaritsa was still only Princess Alix of Hesse, she had visited St. Petersburg as the guest of her sister Elizabeth, who had married the Grand Duke Sergius. During one of the dances at a certain ball given during this visit, Princess Alix slipped on the polished floor and fell. Her partner, as well as a number of young officers, sprang toward her to assist her to her feet, but the Grand Duke chanced to be near and he, too, sprang to her assistance. Instantly the embarrassed partner and other officers stepped back. The privilege of assisting the confused and blushing Princess was the prerogative of the Grand Duke because of his exalted position!
When the Tsaritsa does participate in a public function she does it with a stateliness and grace that commands respect, whatever of coldness her manner may suggest.
I had the privilege of being near to her on one of these occasions. It was the 10th day of May, 1906, in the Throne Room of the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg.
The Emperor had called together the First Duma and the members of this extraordinary body, together with the council of Empire and the entire Court, were assembled to hear the speech from the Throne. It was the first time in sixteen months that the Royal Family had visited the capital. These sixteen months had been characterised by almost continuous revolutionary activity, successive mutinies in the army and navy, general strikes and disturbances of every description. There was wide speculation as to the probable outcome of this meeting between the Tsar and the representatives of the people. “To us,” remarked one of the Ladies of Honour attached to the Empress, “to us, it is like letting the Revolution into the Palace”—this reception of the elected deputies of the people! Members of the court were fearful lest the Tsar would never return from the Throne Room. Many, if not most of the nobles present, went in fear and trembling, and went because they had been commanded by the Emperor and for no other reason.
I met one well known Prince the morning of that day and he immediately bade me congratulate him, as he had been excused from appearing at the function.
When the music of the National Anthem was heard, announcing the approach of the Royal party the atmosphere of the Throne Room became so tense that it was painful. Not one person in the room dared think what the next minute might bring forth! When the Tsar and the Grand Dukes and the Empress and the Dowager Empress and the Grand Duchesses were all assembled before the richly attired Metropolitans and high priests for the interminable preliminary blessings, the slightest sound echoed throughout the room, so still and strained was every human being in the room. The nervousness of the Tsar was apparent to all. The agitation of the Grand Dukes was laughable, especially the manifestations of their fear in their repeated and excited crossing of themselves. Even correspondents, schooled and trained to recklessness in all kinds of danger and calm to the point of being blase in the face of any situation, breathed hard and showed the terrible strain and tension of the minutes.
The Empresses alone appeared in full command of every nerve and muscle. I looked upon the Tsaritsa in silent admiration. The picture of her strong, immovable figure is imaged forever upon my memory. The fluttering of a glove or a handkerchief from the balcony to the floor would surely have upset the entire assemblage in spite of its magnificent show of military symbols, buttons, medals and gold and silver trappings. The thought came to me there, and I have recalled it many times since, had such an untoward incident occurred the Tsaritsa alone, or at least, the Empresses alone, would have stood stolid. The exquisite poise and complete possession of the Tsaritsa commanded absolute admiration. Cold and indifferent she may be toward the people of her court, but on an occasion like this she certainly acquits herself with rare credit. At all times a magnificent woman to look upon, tall, statuesque, imposing, imperial, she never appeared to better advantage than on this occasion.
With her, somewhat back in the procession were the four older children of the Tsar and Tsaritsa—Olga, Tatiana, Marie and Anastasie. These little girls bear the title of Grand Duchess, and in them has the life of the Tsaritsa long been centred. Presently I shall have a number of stories to tell of their nursery days. As we go on we shall learn how completely the life and time of the Tsaritsa have been taken up with her children and their home and family life.
Easter is one of the greatest fêtes of the year in Russia. The long Lenten fast is usually kept rigorously by all classes over whom the church maintains dominion, and even by many who have ceased to reverence Orthodoxy, but in whom the instinct of traditional observance remains.
On Easter Eve there is a tremendously solemn service in all of the churches in the land. At the stroke of midnight priests and choir burst forth in loud hallelujahs and all the people shout “Christ is Risen!” “Christ is Risen!” and greet one another with a holy kiss. Everybody kisses everybody else in sight regardless of previous acquaintance. I remember standing bolt upright in a fearful press in St. Isaac’s Cathedral one Easter Eve for two mortal hours in the middle of the night, the atmosphere hot and fetid till even men swooned and all wearied unspeakably.
On Easter morning presents are exchanged and masters and mistresses greet all the servants of their households with the holy kiss. The Tsar and Tsaritsa observe this custom as religiously as the humblest of their subjects, and every palace maid and stable boy is greeted in this way. Long before the hour when the Emperor and Empress are to receive the household, there is great excitement below stairs where all the servants busily scrub their honest faces with soap and water till they shine like great apples in preparation for the kiss of their imperial master and mistress. The Tsar kisses every man in the palace, even to the soldiers on duty, and the Empress every maid servant. On one occasion the Tsaritsa remarked that she “sometimes thought the Emperor had rather the better of it because of the new leather that the soldiers wear on that day, and which smells so nice!”
In view of the fact that court observance would naturally expect the Tsaritsa to play the rôle of Empress, rather than of mother and wife as her life work, it is the more extraordinary that this mighty Queen (in point of power and opportunity) has chosen the quieter life of the home.
In addition to the private fortune of the Tsar, an immense income accrues from the gold and precious stone mines of Siberia which are worked by convicts for the private purse of the Emperor and from the vast timber holdings that he controls; besides all this, the Government officially grants him a “salary” of nearly five million dollars a year, which is paid to him in monthly instalments of four hundred thousand dollars each.
The Tsaritsa, as head of the Royal Household, is mistress of nearly thirty thousand servants, scattered in many palaces and residences throughout the Empire. It is not likely that this vast retinue is any particular care to her, for the army of servants, just like the army of soldiers, is divided into groups and officered by various functionaries. In fact, it is likely that the two armies are not dissimilar in the minds of the Tsar and Tsaritsa. Every wish of the Tsar’s is a command to the army and has only to be uttered to an aide to be executed. So the word of the Tsaritsa spoken to a lady-in-waiting is all sufficient to be carried out by any or all of her servant host.
There are fifty thousand head of cattle in the Royal pastures, and five thousand horses in the Royal stables. Over all these the Tsaritsa is supreme—as the wife and consort of the Tsar,—and one hundred and forty million subjects besides!
The point of her whole life as Empress is that when Princess Alix married Nicholas she gave herself and all of her activity to Nicholas—not to the Russian nation.
Every act of hers has been one of personal devotion. If Princess Alix had been ambitious as many women in court circles are, or if she had never loved so intensely and so blindly, the world looking back upon her career as it does to-day, might have deemed her a better Empress. As it happened, circumstances throughout her life have all driven her back from the public role and more into the circle of the family. Thus it comes about that the chronicler of her life must pass lightly over her life as Empress and dwell at length upon those sides of her character which the words wife and mother indicate. In other words, her entire life has been one long romance. A life of devotion to her husband and to her children, and this at the expense of her duties as Empress.
As the years have passed the disposition of the child once called “Sunny” has altered and changed, and the lines of wistful pathos which have settled round her still lovely face are doubtless indications of the drops of gall that have tainted her cup of life’s happiness. For all these mellowing lines the Tsaritsa wears an expression that in many lights is of that unusual other-worldly beauty, so seldom seen in the great world of to-day, but common to so many of the women whose portraits have been left us by the world artists of the Middle Ages. It is an expression that appears and ripens only under soul development, and as we see it in the Tsaritsa we do not find it difficult to understand and trace, for a considerable part of her life has been given over to religious thought and contemplation, and not to the study of theological doctrines and controversies only, but to the deeper truths of spiritualism and mysticism, truths whose elusiveness holds them for ever remote to all save the few, and whose realities are measured only by the standards of the eternal verities. This brings us to one of the most extraordinary, and at the same time one of the fascinating sides of the life of the Tsaritsa.
An interesting trait of the forebears of Princess Alix was their belief in ghosts. Presently we shall see that Princess Alix, even after she became Tsaritsa, gave much of her time to the study of the mystics and has always had spiritualistic tendencies and beliefs in the supernatural. Most of the Dukes of Hesse are credited with similar superstitions.
Duke George II, who lived in the seventeenth century, is said to have seen the ghost of his dead brother Wilhelm on one occasion. Before the death of Wilhelm there had been a quarrel between the two brothers. The ghost chastened and severely reproached Duke George for his bitterness and hatred. The incident made such an impression upon him that as long as he lived, he could not shake off the spell of the weird experience.
Another Duke of Hesse, a William, had a life-long terror of ghosts and always slept in a brilliantly lighted room. A story is on record of this man that he once returned to one of his hunting lodges at night, when suddenly all of the lights went out, a great wind magically arose, doors slammed, windows shook—and presto!—the lights as suddenly reappeared, but all of the soldiers of the guard had mysteriously vanished and the entire lodge was dismantled. Long before this the lodge was reputed “haunted,” so that when the Duke was there the soldiers of the guard were changed every thirty minutes and the whole establishment kept well lighted.
Just prior to the birth of the fifth child to the Empress, a phase of temperament developed, which attracted the attention and comment of the world. From early girlhood, the Princess Alix had manifested an interest in things philosophical and theological. Back in her old home at Darmstadt, the Royal betrothal had once nearly been broken owing to the religious scruples of the bride-to-be. Princess Alix could not convince herself or be convinced that she was right in renouncing the Protestant faith of her mother and adopting that of the Greek Catholic Church. Finally, her love for Nicholas overcame her scruples of conscience and she forced herself to accept the doctrines of the State Church of Russia. Priests who had been assigned to tutor her, to this day relate their experiences and difficulties in meeting the arguments and answering the questions brought up by the Princess: the familiarity which she exhibited with German theological writings and philosophical theories confused them. In Russia, as Empress, she continued to encourage her interest in religious doctrines and theories. The friends of her own choosing were generally men and women with whom she could discuss vital religious problems. Surrounded as she was by an atmosphere perennially surcharged with the sense of impending tragedy, she not unnaturally, developed pronounced morbid tendencies. From time to time, she believed that she caught the glint of certain gleams of spiritual truths in the distance and these she pursued with that fatal persistence which so often leads people, especially women of temperamental or melancholy tendencies to ultimately accept various “isms.” The Tsaritsa became more and more markedly spiritualistic. By nature and by training, she was retiring and preferred the splendid isolation of the court in her home circle to the more brilliant opportunities offered her by her supreme social position. These tendencies toward retirement, encouraged as they were by the Court which did not take kindly to her nor exhibit at any time the cordiality and friendliness generally accorded Queens, she came to live more and more in the realms of the spiritual. She carried her intellectual interests far beyond the things we know and over into the borderland of Faith and Belief. To those who knew her well, it was not a matter of special surprise when, after the birth of three children and no heir to the throne, the Tsaritsa turned an open ear to various men who claimed supernatural control over things physical.
Prior to the birth of Anastasie, the aid of eminent medical and scientific men was sought to influence, if possible, the sex of the next child, but all to no avail. (What pangs of bitterness must sometimes have come to her mother heart when she remembered the two boys whose father was also the father of her daughters,—two sons who could never be recognised by their own father and who were destined forever to be exiled to a foreign land because of the blot on their ’scutcheon! What piercing irony of fate for the father who must sometimes have remembered his outcast sons upon whom he had bestowed the bastard mark while the birth of a legitimate son and heir was so long deferred!)
When science failed, religion and spiritualism were appealed to. Rumours were rife of various charlatans imported from one place or another to practise their magic. Of these, the one who came to be the most widely known was called Philippe. Philippe first joined the royal entourage at Livadia. Later, he was brought to Moscow and St. Petersburg, and for several years, he is said to have exercised great influence not only over the Empress but over the Tsar as well. The Tsar has ever been an impressionable man and though he has displayed all the stubbornness of a weak nature, he has frequently been under the domination of others. Just as he was willing to lend a ready ear to Pobiedonostzeff and to his uncle, the Grand Duke Sergius, so also was he willing to listen to charlatans who came to him well recommended. It was under the Reactionary Grand-ducal party that Philippe was brought to Russia. In course of time, this man came to be known as “the Tsar’s magician.” An atmosphere of profound mystery always surrounded Philippe, although of the extent of his domination, there never was any question. From all that I can gather, this man’s name was Philippe Landard. Landard is supposed to have been the son of a shepherd and that he was born in a small village situated high among the French Alps. When quite a boy, his father would regularly take him to the local abattoir, and on one of these visits, he made the acquaintance of a butcher who took the boy into his employ. Landard possessed imagination even as a child, as is evinced by the fact that his contract with the slaughter-house prompted him with the desire to become a surgeon. With this hope in view, he attended evening classes and night lectures in the medical school at Lyons. Handicapped, however, by lack of money and presumably not endowed with keenest intelligence, he never succeeded in passing the examinations necessary to admit him to practice. What he did succeed in doing, however, was to discover and develop certain magnetic powers which he undoubtedly had,—powers of personality which he cultivated remarkably. He turned this power especially in the direction of healing. He practised auto-suggestion and by the judicious use of massage, frequently succeeded in convincing people that his healing powers were literally real. Ultimately, he was able to establish himself as a thaumaturgist or practising healer in the Rue Tape d’Or at Lyons where he acquired considerable local notoriety which presently spread all over France among people who believed in his art. At least twice, he is said to have been arrested and charged by the police as an illegal practitioner. This led him to be more discreet in his methods and he refrained from ever writing a prescription or committing himself in writing on any point. The leader of the French School of Occultism became interested in him and through him, he met Dr. George von Langsdorff of Freyburg. Dr. von Langsdorff had been brought to Russia by the Grand Duke Constantine Nicholevitch and presented to the Emperor Alexander II who had actually commissioned him to sense out and unravel Nihilist conspiracies. Dr. von Langsdorff, whether through the connivance of the political police or not we do not know, succeeded in foretelling certain plots which actually materialised. He attained considerable notoriety in connection with the blowing up of the dining-room of the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg in 1880. Dr. von Langsdorff evinced considerable interest in Landard but unlike von Langsdorff and other members of the French School of Occultism, Landard ascribed his supernatural powers, both in matters of healing and prophesy, to divine influence, that is to say, whereas the French practitioners were avowedly irreligious and proclaimed themselves Freethinkers, Landard cultivated the spiritual element and professed himself a religious man.
Through von Langsdorff, Landard was brought into contact with certain members of the Russian colony of royalties who annually visit the Riviera. It was upon their invitation that Philippe visited Nice and while there was fortunate enough to win the favour of the Grand Duke Alexis. This was accomplished through curing the Grand Duke of a painful attack of rheumatism of the knee by his “laying on of the hands” method and magnetism. The Grand Duke Alexis passed Philippe on to the Grand Duchess Vladimir, who in turn brought him to Russia and was instrumental in having him put in touch with Tsar Nicholas II. From all accounts, Philippe was a man of courage, personality, of winning and sympathetic manner. The Tsar frankly liked him and before long, Philippe was established as a more or less permanent member of the Royal Household. The Emperor consulted Philippe on all kinds of personal questions and later sought his counsel in regard to the weightiest questions of state. It has even been said that during the winter of 1902-3, the influence of Philippe had grown so supreme, that a determined protest was submitted to the Tsar by the members of his council and ministers, including Conte Witte. Philippe was retired for a time from practice, but was still retained as a member of the Royal household and, privately, Nicholas continued to listen to the spiritualistic haverings of this man. From time to time, Landard also appeared to effect cures upon various members of the Royal household and of the court. These things naturally tended to strengthen his position and to enhance his prestige. The result of these manifestations of power upon Emperor Nicholas was to confirm his confidence in Philippe’s supernatural connections. In him, Nicholas thought he had found another, if not the actual reincarnation of Joan of Arc. Nicholas seems to have had little difficulty in persuading the Empress to trust in the potency of Philippe’s power in regard to influencing the sex of their next child. At all events, the next child proved to be a son. Philippe claimed much of the credit for this, but it is evident that the entire credit was not accorded him by the Royal Family inasmuch as a certain parish priest in the Province of Tambov was later given credit for exerting a like influence. The priest had been dead many years, but his tomb had been made a kind of shrine by the moujiks and it had been annually visited by barren women who claimed to have found in the shrine the secret of fruitfulness and also the spirit of influencing the sex of unborn children.
The effect of Philippe’s ministrations upon the Tsaritsa let her still deeper within the portals of the Spirit World. To conclude the story of Philippe, it is said that he became intoxicated with the power and confidence bestowed in him by the Royal Family and that he overshot himself at the time of the Russo-Japanese war. He is supposed to have been largely instrumental in persuading Nicholas to take the attitude that he did which brought about the war and throughout the long, disastrous campaign was continually prophesying a turn in the tide which never came. Landard is said to have represented to the Emperor that he had been selected by Divine Inspiration to assure the Emperor that the war in Manchuria would inaugurate a new and great era of Russian glory that would forever overshadow the Yellow Peril which at that time was popularly feared to be menacing Europe. When disaster followed disaster, members of the Court and Royal Household lost faith in Philippe and finally the Tsar himself ordered him to leave Russia within forty-eight hours. This banishment proved a great blow to Landard, who, heart broken and covered with disgrace, returned to his own native villa of St. Julian d’Arbresle where he died the following year from a complication of internal disorders.
Despite the downfall of Philippe, the faith of the Empress was not shaken in the least in things mystic and spiritual and there is ample evidence that this inherent characteristic has in reality become a veritable second nature.
Miss Margaret Eager, an Irish lady of good education, was called to Russia in the year 1899 to serve in the capacity of Nursery Governess to the Royal Family. Miss Eager is very much of a Celt. She has a profound belief in the philosophy of mysticism and indeed she herself seems to be possessed of certain supernatural powers, second sight, visions and dreams that come true. Miss Eager related to me various occurrences in the Royal Family concerning strange and seemingly mystical manifestations. Miss Eager herself, believes firmly in the reality of the spiritualistic sense of the Empress.
When the Grand Duchess Olga was three years old, she was taken ill with a gastric attack from which she did not fully recover for two or three weeks, the attack itself, in its severe form, keeping the Royal child in bed three or four days. The first time Miss Eager left the bedside of the sick child for a breath of fresh air, she went for a walk along the quays of the Neva. Upon her return, as she entered the room, little Olga looked up and said, “An old lady was here!” “What old lady?” she asked. “An old lady who wears a blue dress,” the child replied. Miss Eager was frankly puzzled because the Court was in mourning at that time and there was no one wearing a blue dress. “Surely, you mean blue. What kind of blue?” questioned Miss Eager. “It was not like Mamma’s,” and the child paused. Miss Eager thought perhaps one of the maids had had a visitor and so they were all questioned, but nobody knew of any visitor during Miss Eager’s absence, and so the matter for the moment was dropped and dismissed by Miss Eager as a possible vagary of the child’s imagination. A few days later, Miss Eager was sitting on the floor with the Royal children in a certain room in the Royal Palace playing at building castles of cards. Suddenly, Olga looked up and exclaimed, “There is the old lady in blue!” “Where? Where?” said Miss Eager and the other children. “There! she came through the bedroom door; she is standing at the door now!” Miss Eager quickly caught up the child and ran through the bedroom into the room beyond and into yet another room, but she could find no one nor could she hear any footsteps. “Well,” said Olga to Miss Eager, “you must be very stupid because the old lady was there.” Two days later, the Empress directed Miss Eager to take the child to the Chapel in the Winter Palace and there, in the hall on the way to the chapel, are two life-sized portraits of the Emperor Alexander II and his wife. Looking at the picture of Alexander II’s wife, Olga said, “Why, that is the lady I saw in the blue dress and see, her dress is not the dress Mamma wears.” The identification was made by the Grand Duchess with the utmost assurance.
Now, this incident by itself would have no significance, but Miss Eager relates in connection with it other incidents which give it interesting if fantastic value. Miss Eager, during her long stay in the Royal Household, always slept with the nursery. One night, she maintains, she distinctly heard a voice coming from directly beneath her bed. The voice was far off and weird and was as of one weeping bitterly and making terrible complaints and the language used was French. The story she was relating was one of extreme intimacy. Miss Eager says that she sat up in bed to try to locate from whence the sounds were coming, but no sooner had she raised herself upright than the voice ceased. Upon laying her head on the pillow again, the voice resumed and the complaints were of her husband’s unfaithfulness. While Miss Eager was still meditating the extraordinary experience, the Empress as was her wont, entered the room and Miss Eager asked her what room was directly beneath the room they were then in. The Empress replied, “Merely storerooms.” Miss Eager then said to the Empress, “But there is some poor woman there and suffering from the most terrible affliction.” The Empress replied, “What are you saying?” Whereupon, Miss Eager related what she had just experienced. The Empress then asked if the words were spoken in English. “No,” replied Miss Eager, “It is French; at first I thought it might be the cook, but that is impossible because the French spoken was very pure and elegant.” The Empress then said that if Miss Eager thought there was any one below, she had better get out of bed and listen at the floor, which she did, but could hear nothing. The Empress then told her to get back into bed and go to sleep. Immediately her head touched the pillow, the voice was again audible to her. Suddenly the Empress said, “Tell me, does it remind you of anything you have ever heard before? Do you know anything of the story of this room before it was done up for my little ones?” Miss Eager replied that she knew that the wife of Alexander II slept in this room and then she recalled having heard that this woman was very unhappy because of her husband’s numerous peccadilloes with other women. She recalled, also, that the Princess Dolgoruki was Alexander II’s mistress. His wife, who used this room over a long period of time, used nightly to bury her face in her pillow and cry aloud. After she recalled these things, the Empress said, “Yes, but before she died, she went to the Dolgoruki and told her of her unhappiness, using the very selfsame words that you have just repeated to me as having heard while on your pillow.” The Empress thereupon told Miss Eager that she was sleeping on the very bed which Alexander II’s wife had used and upon which she died. The next day, the Empress herself, insisted that the entire furnishings of the room be changed and that a new bed be installed. It is said that Alexander II, after the death of his wife, wanted to marry the Princess Dolgoruki, which indeed, he may have done morganatically. Miss Eager was deeply impressed by this experience and in the mind of the Empress there was no question or shadow of doubt whatever.
Another incident related by Miss Eager in connection with the Empress occurred in the Palace at Peterhof. One night, according to her custom, the Empress entered Miss Eager’s room. Miss Eager relates that she awoke to find herself being shaken by Her Majesty who was crying, “Awake! awake! come back!” and when Miss Eager came to her senses, she realised that she was crying bitterly. “What is it? What is it?” exclaimed the Empress. “I have been here five minutes shaking you and you would not wake up; what is the matter?” Miss Eager replied that she must have had a nightmare. The Empress insisted upon knowing what Miss Eager had seen in her unhappy dream, whereupon, the nursery governess related that in her dream, she appeared to be in a town of some far distant country—a southern land. The streets were badly lighted; many of them were narrow and the people round about her who filled the streets, were dark and swarthy. Traversing these streets, she presently came to a great building before which a crowd had collected. As she stood and wondered what interest held the people, an open carriage drove up. The thought flashed through her mind, “Royalty must be expected; who can it be?” Just then, out of the building came an elderly gentleman whom Miss Eager did not recognise, but he was followed closely by a man in uniform. After the man got into the carriage, there was the glint of flashing steel and immediately the oldish man dropped back apparently lifeless. At once, all was turned into a mad dream and Miss Eager found herself trying to crush the Empress and the Royal Princesses under the seat of the carriage. Whereupon, the Empress laughed and said, “You can see for yourself, that it was only a dream, for you could not shove me under the seat of the carriage even if you could succeed in putting the children there.” When the Empress had gone Miss Eager once more drifted off into sleep. In the morning when she awoke, she was tired and nervous as if after some long journey. When Mary, the nurse, came in, she said, “Why, Miss Eager, what is the matter with you this morning?” and Miss Eager told her that in the night she had had a terrible dream in which she had seen a man in a carriage murdered. At breakfast time, when she saw the Empress, she said, “Have you had any more nightmares?” and then turning to the Emperor, who had just entered the room, Her Majesty directed Miss Eager to relate to him the hideous dream of the night before. Whereupon, Miss Eager related the unhappy scenes of her nightmare. The Tsar listened with the utmost attention and when Miss Eager had finished speaking, he said, “Miss Eager, I hope that you won’t be very much frightened because what you saw in your dream last night was an incident which occurred in a town of Northern Italy where His Majesty, King Humbert, was assassinated at precisely the hour that the Empress entered your room and in that manner that you describe in your dream.” Miss Eager, like a flash, remembered the picture she had seen of the late King of Italy and it was the man whom she had seen enter the carriage followed by the officer in uniform! As the Tsar told her this, he held in his hand a telegram which had just been received detailing the news of this assassination.
On one occasion, the Empress told Miss Eager that all her life she had been much interested in the spiritual world, but that she had come to the conclusion that it was wrong to meddle with such things because if there was anything in it, it must come from the devil.
Early one evening, the Empress entered the nursery and told the children that she was going to dinner and would probably be very late, consequently would not come in to see them on her return, as was her wont. There was going to be a séance after the dinner. The next day, Miss Eager took occasion to ask Her Majesty if she had enjoyed the séance. The Tsaritsa proceeded to tell her all about a clairvoyant called Philippe but with a note of bitterness in her recital, for she said that Philippe had mesmerised her husband and made him do exactly what he told him. The Empress steadfastly refused to see Philippe after that. Just what occurred at this séance, the Empress never did say, at least to Miss Eager, but it was quite clear to her that Her Majesty had been unfavourably impressed and that she would have nothing more to do with the mysterious Frenchman. Considerable pressure was brought to bear upon the Empress by various ladies of the Court to persuade her to go once more to Philippe, but she never would do it.