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Title: Royal Romances of To-day
Author: Durland, Kellogg
Language: English
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ROYAL ROMANCES OF TO-DAY
[Illustration: THE TSARITSA.]
ROYAL ROMANCES
OF TO-DAY
BY
KELLOGG DURLAND
AUTHOR OF
“THE RED REIGN,” “AMONG THE FIFE MINERS,”
ETC., ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY
1911
COPYRIGHT, 1911,
BY DUFFIELD AND COMPANY
TO
H. E. THE MARQUIS OF VILLALOBAR
A SLIGHT TOKEN OF A HIGH APPRECIATION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
FOREWORD ix
PART I. QUEEN VICTORIA EUGENIE OF SPAIN
CHAPTER PAGE
I AN ISLAND PRINCESS 3
II GIRLHOOD 7
III COURTSHIP 15
IV A ROYAL WEDDING 24
V A BAPTISM OF BLOOD 36
VI WINNING A NATION’S LOVE 40
VII DON ALFONSO XIII 49
VIII A KING’S LIFE 54
IX COURAGE AND KINGSHIP 67
X THE PRINCE OF ASTURIAS 75
XI THE ROYAL NURSERY OF SPAIN 86
XII THE PRINCES AT PLAY 96
PART II. THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA
FEODOROVNA OF RUSSIA
I “SUNNY” 107
II COURTSHIP AND A JOURNEY TO THE NORTHLAND 114
III ASSUMING THE BURDEN 124
IV MOTHERHOOD AND QUEENSHIP 134
V SPIRIT WHISPERINGS 149
VI FAMILY LIFE AT THE RUSSIAN COURT 169
VII THE GRAND DUCHESS OLGA 185
VIII TATIANA, MARIE AND ANASTASIE 193
IX THE TSAREVITCH 204
X THE END OF THE ROAD 210
PART III. QUEEN ELENA OF ITALY
I A MOUNTAIN PRINCESS 219
II THE ROMANCE 229
III VICTOR EMMANUEL 234
IV A ROYAL HONEYMOON 240
V ELENA THE MOTHER 249
VI SIMPLICITY OF THE ITALIAN COURT 256
VII THE HEROISM OF QUEEN ELENA 261
VIII ELENA THE QUEEN 267
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Tsaritsa _Frontispiece_
PAGE
The Queen of Spain 12
“The End Crowns the Work” 26
The Procession of Bull Fighters 44
Don Alfonso and His Heir 60
The Prince of Asturias 78
The Court of the Virgins at Seville 90
The Tsaritsa Is Honorary Colonel of the Uhlans of the Guard 118
The Five Children of the Tsaritsa 136
The Winter Palace, the Scene of “Bloody Sunday” 178
The Tsar and Tsaritsa at the Head of a Reviewing Party 212
Princess Milena of Montenegro, the Mother of Queen Elena 222
The Queen of Italy 232
Four Generations: The Prince of Piedmont, His Father
the King, the Dowager Queen Margherita, and her
Mother, the Duchess of Genoa 244
The Royal Children of Italy 252
Snapshots by Queen Elena: The King and Her Children 272
_“Your task is difficult,” remarked a friend to whom I had just
explained that I was writing the lives of the Empress of Russia, the
Queen of Spain, and the Queen of Italy. “Your task is difficult, because
these are three good Queens, and good Queens, like all good women, have
no history.” Now that I have told the stories of these three good
Queens, I wonder if my friend will not grant that they have been worth
the telling?_
FOREWORD
In the year 1907, the Woman’s Home Companion commissioned me to go to
Russia to write the story of the early days, courtship and marriage of
her whom the world knows to-day as the “Tsaritsa.” The following year,
the same periodical sent me to Italy to write a similar account of the
life of Queen Elena; and in 1910 I was once more sent abroad, this time
to Spain, to learn all about Queen Victoria Eugenie.
The chapters printed in the magazine articles constitute only a part of
the material which I gathered on these three trips, and consequently the
stories herewith presented are to my best knowledge and belief the most
complete records of these three Queens, which have yet been gathered and
published. It was necessary for me to rely almost entirely upon members
of the several Courts of St. Petersburg, Madrid and Rome for my
biographical data. In each capital I spent many months, cultivating the
acquaintance of all who were in a position to give me this material,
especially members of the entourages of these several sovereigns.
Accuracy was always my prime aim and the greatest care has been taken to
corroborate impressions and to check up each particle of information
which has been utilised. I have every confidence that the details
herewith presented may be relied upon by future biographers and
historians. Readableness has in no instance led me to sacrifice, or in
any way to exaggerate or alter literal facts.
I have endeavoured to present the stories of these three Queens mainly
from the standpoint of the heart interest which attaches to the romances
which have characterised each of their marriages.
I should be most ungracious if I were to omit expressing my cordial
appreciation of the valued co-operation which I received in St.
Petersburg from Harold Williams, Esq., from Miss Margaret Eager, for six
years Nursery Governess to the Royal Family of Russia; and in Rome from
Doctor Guido Pardo, whose energy, industry and wide knowledge of men and
affairs in Italy were all placed so generously at my disposal; and in
Madrid from El Señor Don Emilio M. de Torres, confidential Secretary to
His Majesty King Alfonso XIII, and El Señor Don Pablo de Churruca of the
Spanish Diplomatic Service.
The justification for the publication of this work in more or less
permanent form lies in my belief in the verity and authenticity of every
last detail, all of which were gathered at such considerable expenditure
of time and labour. Material so carefully gathered and verified should
be of certain service to future writers.
PART I
QUEEN VICTORIA EUGENIE OF SPAIN
CHAPTER I
AN ISLAND PRINCESS
Once upon a time, not so many years ago, there lived on a lovely island
of the sea, a beautiful, golden-haired, blue-eyed Princess. The mother
of this Princess was kind and good to everybody on the island and all
who knew her loved her. The father of the princess was a soldier, a
warrior who led men to battle, and who sailed over distant seas to fight
for the honour and glory of his country. The grandmother of the little
Princess was a great Queen, known and revered by the whole world, for
she enjoyed a long life and a long reign. The little Princess was born
in the fiftieth year of the reign of the good old Queen and so the
little Princess was called “the Jubilee baby.”
The Jubilee baby became the favourite grandchild of the old Queen who
loved to have the young Princess with her, and so it happened that the
training of the Princess was largely at the knees of the great
Queen,--and her nursery days were spent on the steps of a throne.
When the Princess was eight years old, her soldier father was sent to a
foreign land to fight in a cruel war. The ship that carried him and the
soldiers who left their homes with him, stopped for a few days at the
port of a friendly country and the officers, including the father of the
Princess, got off the ship to visit the strange country. It was a
pleasant land, a land of sunshine and flowers, where even in midwinter,
the fragrance of roses and orange blossoms filled the air. The island
home of the Princess was cold in winter, and harsh winds swept in from
the sea. The Prince, seeing all the beauty of the new land, would have
liked to linger in the balmy atmosphere where birds were as merry at
Christmas as in his own land at Easter. But he was on a stern journey,
fulfilling a great and responsible duty. The ship was about to start on
to its destination--the land of discord and strife where war was being
waged, and human lives were being sacrificed--where blood was running
and suffering and sorrow came with each day’s sun; the ship was about to
start on, and the Prince, thinking of the country whither he was going,
and of the land which he now was glimpsing like a beautiful dream,
thought also of the home he had left and his fair-haired, darling
daughter, her three baby brothers, and their mother whom he loved very
dearly. Then he sat down and wrote a letter to the little Princess. It
was the first time he had ever written a letter to her, because she was
still a wee girl and had never left his side. In this letter he told her
how beautiful was the land that he then was visiting, and he went on to
say to her: “Always be a good girl, and love your mother. If you do
this, when you grow up and are big, you too, will travel, and you will
come to this beautiful country. You will see for yourself that you will
like it and how happy you will be here.”
The little Princess was very pleased when she received this letter from
her father of whom she was extremely proud, and being the only one she
had from him treasured it like a relic. She never dreamed how
wonderfully prophetic were the simple words he wrote.
One short month later the Prince was dead. The shadow of this loss
deeply darkened the life of the little Princess and all her family, and
indeed the whole country mourned. A few years passed and the little
Princess grew up and was ever and always more beautiful and lovely of
character, as well as of face and form. When she was eighteen, there
came to visit her country the young ruler of the very land her father
had visited on his last journey--the land which he told her she would
one day visit and where she would be happy. The King of this land, as it
happened, was then only nineteen years old, and in quest of a Princess
to share his throne. When he saw the Princess of this story, he fell
instantly in love with her, and she with him--and after a wooing and
courtship they were married. So after all, the Princess did go to the
land her father told her she would one day see, and now the “Jubilee
Baby” is the Queen of that country, and the people there have become as
devoted to her as she is to them--and she is very, very happy.
Does this read like a pretty fairy tale, written for children? Possibly.
But it isn’t; at least, if it is a story and pretty, it is every word
true, for “the Jubilee Baby” was Queen Victoria’s thirty-second
grandchild, the daughter of Princess Beatrice and Prince Henry of
Battenberg. The Isle of Wight of Southern England was the home of the
Battenbergs and Princess Victoria Eugenie Julia Ena--or Princess Ena, as
she was generally called--was Queen Victoria’s favourite grandchild.
When Princess Ena was eight years old, her father, Prince Henry, went
off to the Ashanti campaign in Africa and when his ship was detained a
few days at Gibraltar, he ran up to Seville, from where he wrote the
letter--the only letter he ever wrote to his little daughter--telling
her that one day she would come to Spain and be happy. This letter was
written in November and in December, Prince Henry died of a fever
contracted in the deadly climate of that part of the African coast. Ten
years later, King Alfonso XIII went to England, met Princess Ena and
within the twelve month, they were married and now she is Queen Eugenie
of Spain!
CHAPTER II
GIRLHOOD
Princess Victoria Eugenie Julia Ena was born October 24, 1887. She
enjoyed the distinction of being the first royal baby born in Scotland
for precisely two hundred and eighty-seven years. Through her girlhood
she was much with her grandmother, Queen Victoria of England, and she
also enjoyed the particular interest of her godmother, the Empress
Eugenie of France, who later on was largely instrumental in bringing
about the meeting between the young King of Spain and her godchild which
resulted in her elevation to a throne.
Princess Ena was the only daughter in a family of four children, and her
childhood was spent much in the company of her brothers, whose studies
and play she shared. Before she was twelve years old she had learned to
ride like a boy, to manage a boat and had acquired considerable skill
with the fishing rod. After the death of her father, Prince Henry of
Battenberg, Princess Ena assisted her mother in the administration of
the Isle of Wight, which was the particular bailiwick of her family.
Doubtless the early lessons of administration which she learned at this
time was the kind of preparation for the administrative duties of
Queen, which, after her marriage, were to devolve upon her.
She received an education befitting a Princess of Great Britain. When
still very young she had acquired a knowledge of French and German, and
this practice in mastering new languages proved of great value later
when she came to take up Spanish--a rich and full-throated tongue in
which she became fluent within a few months.
Princess Ena also showed a decided talent for music and she is not only
a ready, skilful pianist, but she also composes music.
Her young life was happy. She was the favourite, not only of Queen
Victoria and Empress Eugenie, but of all the Royal family in England.
There was no touch of the hard and sordid in those years. She dwelt in
the midst of wholesome, happy people and always in beautiful places. The
Isle of Wight, her home, is a sweet, tranquil haven, remote from the
frequented paths of the world, far from the hurry and noise and dirt of
modern England. In Spring and Summer it is like a great garden with
abiding places set therein.
Balmoral in Scotland, where she was born and where she frequently lived,
especially when her grandmother, Queen Victoria, was in residence in
Scotland, is one of the most glorious spots in Britain. The magnificent
Royal Park is widely encircled by the rugged mountains of that
Northland. The river Dee, famed in song and story, runs close to hand.
This Northland is more mountainous and stern than Ayr or Dumfries, the
land of Bobbie Burns, and as instinct with tradition of the fighting
Jacobite times as the Border country--the land of Scott--or Loch Leven
with its memories of Queen Mary. Princess Ena revelled in the stirring
past as she breathed the strong air of the Cairngorms, growing
physically strong and sturdy, innocent of the Destiny which was to shape
her life and make her a Mother of Kings.
One winter Princess Henry of Battenberg went to Egypt, taking with her
her four children. This proved a memorable year to Princess Ena, for she
became familiar with new surroundings and acquainted with ancient
civilisations, in which she evinced a remarkable interest. Here, too,
the Princess had her first experience away from royal precincts, as the
winter was mostly spent in the Cataract Hotel at Aswan. It was the wish
of Princess Henry that she and her children be treated precisely as the
other guests of the hotel were treated, and the Princess Ena came to
know many people who were of a world far removed from her own.
Many stories are told in Egypt to-day of the laughing golden-haired
English Princess who was never so weary as to cease from fun and
mischief, and many a prank instigated by her and her brothers is
recalled. Her brightness and abounding good nature were widely
appreciated and the memory she has left there is sweet and good.
Christmas Day in a foreign land is always dull and dreary, and English
people, perhaps, miss home on this day above all others in the year.
The manager of the Cataract Hotel--Herr Steiger--being anxious to lift
in some measure the pall of gloom which hung over his guests that
Christmas planned a little surprise which he sprang at the dinner hour.
Toward the close of the meal the lights in the dining salon were
suddenly extinguished and a band of picturesque Orientals entered the
room bearing lighted tapers and trays of gifts. Their fantastic garb of
white bournous, red fez and white turbans looked weirdly strange against
the darkness and as the file approached the table where sat the royal
party a burst of loud applause came spontaneously from the guests at the
other tables. No sooner had the first defile circled round the royal
table than other similar groups entered the room and ranged around the
other tables. In a moment of silence the Princess Ena was heard to
exclaim: “Oh! how nice of Herr Steiger to have given this pleasure to
everyone and not only to us!”
This charming consideration for others is a characteristic of her nature
which has deepened with years and has proved one of the qualities which
so quickly endeared her to the people of her adopted land.
At the age of eighteen Princess Ena had her formal “coming out” into
Society. The event took place at the Infirmary Ball at Ryde, and
immediately after she was presented at Windsor and entered upon a gay
season in London. It was toward the end of this very first season that
she met for the first time the impetuous and dashing young man who at
first sight of her surrendered his heart and in record time led her up
the steps of a throne to share with him the ermine of sovereignty.
In their meeting and courtship lies a tale of pure romance. No story of
any “castle in Spain” runs more delightfully, and no tale of the storied
Alhambra quickens the pulse beats faster.
Don Alfonso XIII of Spain, who was literally born a king, his father
having died several months before his birth, at the early age of 28, was
still in his teens when his court and ministers began to drop thinly
veiled hints concerning a possible alliance for the young sovereign. The
King from earliest boyhood had showed that he had a mind and
determination of his own, and whenever the matter of his marriage was
broached he would make reply: “I shall marry a princess who takes my
fancy, and nobody else. I want to love my wife.” A noble and worthy
ambition surely, especially for a king!
The Emperor of Germany had long hoped to arrange a match between the
King of Spain and a German princess, while several princesses in other
countries of Europe nourished secret hopes that they might one day sit
on the Spanish throne. Political exigencies, however, demanded an
English princess if a suitable and acceptable one could be found for the
youthful monarch.
During the spring of Don Alfonso’s twentieth year, the very year of
Princess Ena’s coming out, he went with a regal suite to London.
Wiseacres had picked Princess Patricia of Connaught as the probable
choice of the dashing young sovereign. Indeed the whispers of Mayfair
drawing-rooms had the match entirely arranged long before the King
arrived in London.
June in London is often a delightful and beautiful month--a month of
awakening surprises, when the trees and flowers come quickly into bloom
and blossom through the spring haze. The June week chosen for the visit
of the Spanish King, however, proved a disappointing exception, for mist
and drizzling rain characterised the period of his stay, but all the
rain and dampness of Britain, if concentrated in London, would not have
marred the indefatigable energy of this strenuous young man, who not
only participated in all the festivities arranged for him by the
committees of the Court and Municipality, but also managed to do much
extra sight-seeing and, most important of all, to make up his mind which
princess should be the next Queen of Spain--his bride.
Despite the gossips who already had Princess Patricia the affianced
bride of the young King, when these two met it was evident that neither
attracted the other. Far too often in the history of nations personal
attraction has not been a dominating influence in royal marriages. If
reasons of state have demanded the marriage the individuals
[Illustration: THE QUEEN OF SPAIN.]
have sunk their own feelings, surrendered their personal happiness--and
lived on, perpetual victims of the political demands of their respective
states. But Don Alfonso XIII had no desire to martyr himself in this
way. No more the Princess Patricia.
The late King Edward had arranged dinners, dances and fêtes in
Buckingham Palace in honour of the King of Spain. There were gathered
the very flower of the youth of Britain. Don Alfonso was seen to be
instantly struck by the sight of a certain golden-haired girl whom he
saw flitting here and there across the rooms.
“Who is she?” he finally inquired.
“Princess Ena of Battenberg,” was the reply.
The two were presented. They talked together and were visibly interested
in each other. They met again and each day so long as the King remained
in London.
A few months later, King Alfonso confessed that the first moment he saw
Princess Ena, he determined that she was the one who must share the
responsibilities of his Kingdom with him, and that if his suit were not
accepted by the Princess, or if any reasons of State intervened to
prevent the marriage, his country would go without a queen so long as he
lived. Fortunately, no reasons of State developed to hinder the marriage
and the one obstacle raised by the Church was overcome when the Princess
declared her readiness to accept the Roman Catholic Faith, for King
Alfonso is known as His Most Catholic Majesty, and church influence,
though waning, is still strong in Spain.
The marriage was favoured and encouraged by King Edward, that gracious
and genial Uncle of Europe, and his sanction was sufficiently strong to
bring about what was to King Alfonso and to Spain an exceedingly
desirable union. No public announcement of the betrothal was made for
six months after the visit to England, but rumour carried abroad the
suspicions which were later confirmed.
CHAPTER III
COURTSHIP
Much curiosity was exhibited upon the return of King Alfonso to Madrid
on the part of his courtiers. Many times and often intimates of the King
pressed him indirectly in regard to this great secret, but Don Alfonso
preserved a careful silence. Shortly after this visit, the King bought a
racing yacht, and, upon its arrival, gave a launching party to inspect
his new possession. As yet the yacht had not been named, and the King
invited his guests to suggest an appropriate name. Someone suggested
that it be named after himself, but the King shook his head at this;
then one bolder than the rest slyly suggested that the name of the
future Queen of Spain would be appropriate. “Excellent,” said his
Majesty, “and now you will please inform me what is the name of the
lady?” “Ah, sir,” replied the other, “on that momentous point we are as
yet without information.” “Nevertheless,” said the King, “it is a good
suggestion,” and forthwith sent instructions that the new yacht be named
“Queen X.” The Spanish newspapers quoted the story of the King’s little
joke and concluded who the real Queen was to be from the fact that the
words were printed in English, a conclusion that was very soon
confirmed.
Towards the close of January, following the visit to London, a
Chamberlain of the King’s arrived at Biarritz in southern France, near
to the border of Spain, and two days later the King, travelling
incognito, left his capital for the same frontier, and it immediately
became an open secret that the time of the public betrothal was at hand.
The day following the King’s arrival he joined the party of Princess
Frederica of Hanover and Prince Alexander of Battenberg, Princess Henry
of Battenberg--and Princess Ena. That very afternoon King Alfonso and
his future Queen were publicly seen together for the first time in a
motor drive along the frontier. The Press of the world was unanimous in
its approval of the match, and for the most part stating that it was
really a marriage of affection, reasons of State happily harmonising
with the impulses of the royal hearts. The courtship which followed was
very boy and girl-like according to all intimate accounts. Little gifts
were exchanged and the two were constantly in each other’s company,
dodging as much as possible public gaze. They strolled many miles
together alone and unattended through the parks and woods and, on more
than one tree carved interlaced hearts and each other’s initials just
like lovers the whole world over.
One day the happy lovers were seen to proceed to a carefully selected
spot where two round holes had been freshly dug out of the earth. A
gardener stood nearby, apparently awaiting their coming, for in his arms
he carried two small fir plants.
“This one is mine,” exclaimed the King, eagerly taking one.
“And this one is mine,” rejoined the Princess.
Each having taken a plant they set about planting them.
“We must plant the trees side by side,” said the King, “so that they may
always remind us of these never-to-be-forgotten days.”
The plants were set in place and each taking a spade they began to cover
the roots with earth.
The Princess finished her task first, and dropping her spade stood
watching the King, laughing merrily all the while. At last the King,
pausing for a moment, said:
“There is no doubt about it, I am very awkward! I must put in a month
with the engineers!”
That day King Alfonso handed Princess Ena a beautiful heart set with
diamonds and rubies, one of the earliest gifts to his bride-to-be.
One day they sped off into the country in the King’s motor car.
Alighting just outside of the little village of Cambo they entered the
village on foot. Passing a shop where postcards were on sale they went
in and selected several of the picture cards to send to King Edward and
Queen Maria Cristina, the Queen Mother of Spain. The village shop-keeper
did not recognise his distinguished customers and began to question them
if they knew when the King and Princess would come to Cambo, which they
had not yet visited. King Alfonso and his fiancée, inwardly smiling,
made an evasive reply indicating that they knew nothing about the Royal
arrangements. After they had gone out the shopkeeper was apprised of the
identity of his recent customers and his surprise resulted in his
complete bewilderment.
On Friday, the 27th of January, the Princess crossed into Spain for the
first time. She and the King were accompanied by her mother, the Marquis
of Viana and the Marquis of Villalobar; the party motored over the
International Bridge which marks and connects the borders of the two
countries and, as the Princess alighted on Spanish soil, the Marquis of
Villalobar remarked to the Princess: “Señora we have set foot on Spanish
territory,” to which the Princess gave answer: “I am delighted that this
moment has arrived; it fills me with joy and never shall I forget the
first day on which I trod the soil of Spain.” The English party then
proceeded to the Palace of Miramar at San Sebastian, where they were the
guests of the Queen Mother.
A San Sebastian newspaper, commenting upon the appearance of Princess
Victoria Eugenie said: “She is very beautiful, very elegant, very
sympathetic.” These three characteristics indeed are the predominant
features of her character. She has beauty, an aristocratic carriage, and
her nature is deeply sympathetic.
This first visit of Princess Ena to Spain was necessarily of brief
duration and, pending the arrangements of State for the marriage, the
King was obliged to return to Madrid while his fiancée proceeded to
Paris, there to prepare her trousseau. Don Alfonso designated his own
Chamberlain--the Marquis of Villalobar--to accompany her to the French
capital and there to wait attendance upon her. Simultaneously with her
arrival in Paris, Don Alfonso remembered that the Princess had no
automobile in France, so he telegraphed to his Chamberlain to hire one
immediately for his fiancée’s use. The Chamberlain telegraphed back to
the King that there was not a car to be hired in Paris good enough for
the Princess, whereupon Don Alfonso wired instructions for a Panhard car
to be purchased and sent the next morning to the hotel where the
Princess was staying.
The King went at this time to pay an official visit to his province of
Valencia and wrote to the Princess of the beautiful oranges growing
there, at which the Princess manifested a desire to have some. One
morning, the Marquis of Villalobar received a telegram from the King
advising him that he was sending a few oranges for the Princess by a
certain train and directing him to meet the train at the station and
convey the fruit directly to the Princess. The telegram did not state
the quantity of oranges which were being sent, and the Marquis was at a
loss to know whether it would be a basketful of fruit which could be
conveyed in a cab, or a truck load. Upon the arrival of the train, the
astonished Chamberlain beheld the largest orange tree he had ever seen,
the branches bowed with ripe fruit!
While the necessary preparations were in progress for the Royal Wedding,
King Alfonso visited his betrothed at her home in the Isle of Wight.
This visit, which lasted three weeks, was regarded as strictly private
and during these three weeks the Royal wooing progressed under idyllic
conditions. It was a period of country walks and drives, simple picnic
parties, private entertainment and family dinner parties. During this
visit at Osborne Cottage, the King and Princess planted a tree in
commemoration of their betrothal, and during this time also His Majesty
took his first lessons in the ancient Scottish game of golf, at which he
later became most proficient. Their seclusion was only intruded upon by
the most necessary of formal functions--a visit of respect by the
Spanish Ambassador to London, by the Commander of the Royal Yacht
Squadron, and certain other dignitaries whom etiquette obliged to wait
upon the King. Don Alfonso lived up to his reputation of being the
surest shot in Spain when on one day the Isle of Wight Gun Club held an
exhibition shoot, the first prize of which was won by the visiting
sovereign, who broke eight clay birds out of ten in a high wind.
Toward the close of the visit the Royal party proceeded to London for a
short stay at Buckingham Palace. During the few days spent in London,
Don Alfonso and his fiancée shopped together publicly in the streets of
London, attended several theatrical performances and visited Madame
Tussaud’s wax works where were brand new wax models of himself and his
wife to be. On the 4th of May Don Alfonso returned to his own country.
On Thursday, the 24th of the same month, Princess Victoria Eugenie set
out for the land where she was henceforth to live as Queen.
She travelled from England via Dover and Calais. A friend who met her on
her landing upon French soil remarked how sad she seemed, whereupon she
replied: “It is nothing--I cannot help feeling moved when I think that I
am leaving the country where I have spent so many happy days, to go
toward the unknown.” That night she slept not at all. Her emotions held
full sway. She passed over in sweet reverie the scenes of her sheltered
girlhood in the Island home and in the charming Highlands of Scotland;
and then she fondly remembered the letter her father wrote her years and
years before, the only letter she had ever had from him whom she had
loved so dearly, in which he had told her that one day she would come to
the fair land where he was tarrying for a night--and that she would be
happy there.
When first I saw Princess Ena--several years later, when she was Queen
Victoria Eugenie--she had this same wistful, sorrowful expression. As I
gazed into her calm eyes I instantly appreciated the great depth of
feeling and beauty of nature which lay beneath the tranquil expression
of her lovely features. I had been with Señor Torres, the able and
amiable confidential secretary of the King, in the Royal Palace at
Madrid. As I left him and tried to thread my way quite alone through the
intricate maze of palace halls toward the court, I came suddenly and
unexpectedly upon the King and Queen. Her Majesty was in deep black, for
it was but a day or two after the death of her beloved Uncle King Edward
VII of England. Her usually bright face and rosy cheeks were ashen
white, and her countenance bore a saddened look which commanded
sympathy. Her fair hair was soft and golden against her mourning garb
and despite her grief there was dignity and majesty in her carriage.
Perhaps the lines which shadowed her pale face had not come solely with
her latest suffering, for in the interim of years--few as they
were--more than one sore trial had been hers. Indeed, during the few
short days that elapsed between her crossing the frontier of Spain and
her reception into the Royal Palace as bride and Queen there occurred
her baptism of blood which was to try her beyond anything she had yet
endured and which was to test to the uttermost the qualities which above
all others are essential to queenship.
Princess Ena came to her throne through tragic and dramatic scenes, and
the spirit which she manifested in the midst of trying and harrowing
circumstances convinced the Spanish people for good and all that their
King had not erred in wooing the golden-haired Princess from the little
Isle just off the coast of Southern England. She proved at once that she
is of the stuff of which great queens are made--and that she is indeed a
born mother of kings.
CHAPTER IV
A ROYAL WEDDING
The train which carried Princess Ena across France toward her unknown
Destiny approached the Spanish frontier at dawn. On the platform of the
first station within the borders of Spain paced the awaiting
bridegroom,--eager, impatient, anxious. He smoked cigarette after
cigarette as the minutes went by, pausing ever and anon to peer into the
gloom which still lingered of the passing night as if to catch the first
sight of the coming train. When at last it arrived and the Princess had
alighted, her very first act was one which made an appeal to the Spanish
people. Turning almost directly from the group of ministers, generals
and courtiers who were there to greet her, she stepped toward the Mayor
of the little village who was surrounded by a group of peasant
delegates, and extending her hand for him to kiss, she graciously
accepted the bouquet which he handed to her. This man was a field
labourer--a peasant--and his comrades were all of the soil. Thus the
first homage which she received and acknowledged was that which came
directly from the people.
The evening of the day of her arrival at Madrid she seized a splendid
opportunity. In the town of Badajoz, the capital of the Province of
Estremadura, was a man condemned to death and whose sentence was to have
been carried out the day following the arrival of the bride-elect. On
the evening of her arrival in Spain, the people of the town,
representatives of all classes, telegraphed to the Princess an earnest
petition beseeching her to exercise her influence with the King for him
to exercise his prerogative of Royal clemency and pardon the condemned
man. The Princess went immediately to the King and told him that almost
the first message she had received upon her arrival in Spain was this
petition asking her to save the life of a man. This wedding present, she
said, would please her more than any gift she might receive. King
Alfonso instantly granted her request and the Royal pardon was
despatched by telegraph, arriving at Badajoz less than one hour before
the sentence was to have been carried out. Upon receipt of the news, all
the bells of the town were set ringing and there was a scene of
extraordinary demonstration; the whole community gathering in the
streets crying: “Long live Queen Victoria Eugenie.”
Thursday the 31st of May, 1906, had been appointed for the wedding. The
day broke bright and clear in Madrid, a glorious sun tempered by a
cooling breeze shone throughout the day and with not a cloud in the sky.
The King arrived at the Palace of the Pardo just outside of Madrid where
the Princess and her suite had remained during the few days preceding
the wedding, in a motor car at 6.30 in the morning; he appeared in the
uniform of an Admiral. The first act of the day was an attendance at
Mass in company with his bride-elect. Shortly after 8 o’clock the couple
were driven in an electric brougham straight to the Ministry of Marine
where the Princess donned her bridal robes. In this she was assisted by
ladies-in-waiting, who had come in her suite from London, the last touch
being added by Queen Maria Cristina who placed upon the head of the
Princess the bridal veil. This veil was of Alençon lace and was the very
one worn by herself at the time of her marriage to King Alfonso XII.
This veil is being carefully preserved by Queen Victoria, who says that
at the marriage of her first daughter she hopes to place it upon her
head.
In Spain it is customary for the bridegroom to present his bride with
her wedding gown; this is a universal custom common in all ranks of
society. Don Alfonso, aided by his Royal Mother, had had prepared one of
the most elaborate and exquisitely embroidered gowns ever seen at the
Spanish Court Forty of the most expert Spanish women were engaged for
fifty-six days in making this wonderful creation. Or, to put it another
way, one woman, working constantly every day of the year, Sundays
excepted, would have required almost precisely seven years to the task!
The material was of the richest white satin and cloth of silver, cut in
the style of dress known as Louis XVI. The dress
[Illustration: “To the Marquis of Villalobar.]
was bordered with dull silver, slightly burnished and shaded at
intervals and trimmed with exquisite rose-point lace, which was
festooned over a background of cloth of silver. The lace flounce was
eighteen inches in width and the whole gown was relieved with loops of
orange blossoms.
The wedding took place in the Church of San Jeronimo, which is on the
far side of the city from the Royal Palace. The church is not large, but
there are no large churches in Madrid, Madrid being one of the most
modern of all continental capitals, and big churches of the cathedral
order are mostly relics of the Middle Ages. The selection of St.
Jeronimo for the event was made in order that the bridal procession
should of necessity pass across practically the entire city, thus
affording the largest number of people an opportunity to view the
spectacle.
The marriage service conformed to every last detail with the etiquette
and rites of the Roman Catholic Church in Spain. The Archbishop of
Toledo, Cardinal Sancha, was assisted by Dr. Brindle, Bishop of
Nottingham, who had come from England especially for this occasion.
The bridal procession advanced very slowly, receiving the homage of the
distinguished congregation section by section, the Spanish legislators,
the courtiers, Ambassadors, the Special Missions, and the foreign
Princes saluting in turn. Preceded by a crucifix, while the band
continued playing the National Anthem, the King and his bride advanced
and took their places before the altar. After kneeling for a short
period, King Alfonso rose, and passing behind the Princess approached
his mother, who was on the bride’s left, and knelt and kissed her hand.
Queen Cristina, bending over, affectionately embraced her son who
thereupon returned to his _prie-dieu_ before the altar. Following the
bridegroom’s example Princess Victoria Eugenie descended the altar steps
and passed down the nave to where her mother stood beside the Duchess of
Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, and warmly embraced her. The Princess then
returned to the altar and the religious ceremony began.
Cardinal Sancha, arrayed in his Pontifical robes and having on either
side the assisting bishops, gave his archiepiscopal crozier to the
Master of Ceremonies, and addressed King Alfonso and his bride as
follows:
“High and Mighty Senor Don Alfonso XIII, of Bourbon and Austria,
Catholic King of Spain, I demand of your Majesty, as I also demand of
your Royal Highness Victoria Eugenie Julia Ena Maria Cristina, Princess
of Battenberg, to say if you know of any impediment against the
celebration of this marriage, or against the validity or legality; That
is to say, if there exists between your Majesty and your Royal Highness
any impediment either of consanguinity, affinity, or spiritual
relationship; if you have made a vow of chastity or of religion; and,
finally, if there is any other impediment, your Majesty and your Royal
Highness shall declare it. And the same I demand of all those here
present. For the second and the third time I require that if there exist
any impediment whatsoever you shall freely make it known.”
Having concluded these questions, the Cardinal paused for a while, and
then, turning to the Princess, said:
“Victoria Eugenie Julia Ena Maria Cristina, Princess of Battenberg, does
your Royal Highness desire to have Don Alfonso XIII, of Bourbon and
Austria, Catholic King of Spain, for your lawful spouse and husband by
words _de presente_, as is ordained by the Holy Catholic Apostolic and
Roman Church?”
This was a very solemn moment, and not a whisper broke the almost
painful silence. All eyes were turned toward the Princess who replied,
in a clear voice:
“Yes, I do desire him.” (Si, quiero.)
His Eminence then said:
“Does your Royal Highness consent to be the lawful spouse and wife of
the high and mighty Señor Don Alfonso XIII, of Bourbon and Austria,
Catholic King of Spain?”
Looking at His Majesty, Princess Victoria Eugenie replied, in clear
tones:
“Yes, I consent.” (Si, otorgo.)
Continuing, Cardinal Sancha asked:
“Does your Royal Highness accept the said Señor Don Alfonso XIII, of
Bourbon and Austria, King of Spain, for your lawful spouse and
husband?”
With even stronger emphasis, the Princess replied:
“Yes, I accept him.” (Si, recibo.)
Cardinal Sancha thereupon asked the three questions, in identical terms
of King Alfonso. His Majesty, with his eyes fixed upon his bride, and in
a strong and clear voice, which was distinctly heard in every part of
the church, answered to the several questions, “I desire,” “I consent,”
and “I accept.”
At this moment, Princess Ena betrayed emotion and glanced toward the
place where her mother sat. Queen Maria Cristina was scarcely able to
restrain her tears and looked alternately from the King to his bride and
from the bride to her son. King Alfonso, who was perfectly calm, gave
his hand to the Princess according to the directions of the Master of
the Ceremonies, and while the Royal couple had their hands joined,
Cardinal Sancha took his archiepiscopal staff and said:
“And I, on the part of Almighty God and of the Holy Apostles, Peter and
Paul, and of the Holy Mother Church, do join in matrimony your Majesty,
Don Alfonso XIII, of Bourbon and Austria, Catholic King of Spain, to
your Royal Highness, Victoria Eugenie Julia Ena Maria Cristina, Princess
of Battenberg, and I confirm this Sacrament of matrimony in the name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.--AMEN.”
Then the Bridal Mass began, the King and Queen kneeling, and as the
swell of music filled the church and died away, a faintly tinkling bell
announced the Elevation of the Host. All knelt with heads bowed low--the
most impressive moment of great silence broken only by the clinking of
swords and the hum of distant voices outside the church. Mass over, the
Royal bride and bridegroom proceeded to the daïs. A little lower down
the Queen-Mother, in her beautiful robes and splendid jewels, stood
beside her Chair of State, while kneeling on either side were the
heralds, in their gorgeous uniforms. Princess Victoria Eugenie, now
Queen of Spain, lovely, young, dignified and looking “every inch a
Queen,” standing beside the youthful and most charming King-Bridegroom,
whose face was beaming with proud happiness, all made a picture,
touching, beautiful and never to be forgotten by any of those present.
Then came a most picturesque and ideal scene. The newly-married Royal
pair proceeded arm-in-arm to the spot nearby where formerly a grand old
monastery had stood, and where there still remains a ruined cloister,
and here the register was signed, the King having chosen this spot a few
days before the wedding. One corner of the cloister had been screened
off with magnificent tapestries of world-wide renown, on which were
depicted scenes from Don Quixote; on a wide table, covered with crimson
cloth, stood the necessary implements--a silver inkstand, pens, and the
books in which the signatures were to be entered. The procession of
Royal personages who followed the bride and bridegroom in pairs through
the quaint old cloister was led by the Prince of Wales, who conducted
the Queen-Mother; then came the Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria
with the Princess of Wales, followed by the other Royalties in order of
rank.
On the return of the procession to the church, the assemblage dispersed
according to Spanish Court etiquette, in order of precedence, commencing
with the lowest, each couple advancing to the daïs, where they bowed and
curtsied to the King and Queen, who were seated in their Chairs of
State. The Prince and Princess of Wales were the last of the Royal
guests to go. The Queen-Mother then rose, and, advancing to the front of
the daïs, made a reverence to her son and his bride, both of whom rose
simultaneously and returned the salutation. Last of all the Royal
personages, the King and Queen passed down the nave under the baldaquin
and the gorgeous scene melted away.
Just before midday, the sound of saluting cannon announced to all that
the King and Queen had left the church, and the procession started for
the palace in the following order:
THE BRONZE LANDAU
The Kings of Arms.
STATE CARRIAGE
Miss Cochrane
Lord and Lady William Cecil
Gentlemen-in-Waiting on Her Majesty the Queen.
STATE CARRIAGE
Her Majesty Queen Maria Cristina’s
Mistress of the Robes
The First Huntsman
Gentlemen-of-the-Chamber-in-Waiting on
His Majesty the King.
SEMI-GALA CARRIAGE
Mistress of the Robes of the Palace
Grand Chamberlain of Queen Maria Cristina.
STATE CARRIAGE
Superior Chief of the Palace
Grand Chamberlain of their Majesties
Commandant-General of the Halberdiers.
SEMI-GALA CARRIAGE
Princes Leopold and Maurice of Battenberg
STATE CARRIAGE
Princess Marie of Battenberg
(Princess of Erbach-Schönberg)
Prince Alexander of Teck
Prince Alexander of Battenberg.
CARRIAGE
The Infante Don Alfonso of Orleans
Princes Rainer and Philip of Bourbon.
SEMI-GALA CARRIAGE
The Infantas Doña Paz and Doña Eulalia.
STATE CARRIAGE
The Infantas Doña Maria Teresa and Doña
Maria Isabel
The Infante Don Fernando of Bavaria and Prince
Gennaro of Bourbon.
GALA CARRIAGE
Princess Frederica of Hanover
Princess Alexander of Teck.
COACH OF THE DUCAL CROWN
The Duchess of Saxe-Coburg
Princess Beatrice of Saxe-Coburg
Prince Henry of Prussia.
THE AMARANTH COACH
Prince Eugene of Sweden
Crown Prince of Monaco
Princes Louis Ferdinand and Alfonso of Bavaria.
THE CIPHER COACH
The Duke and Duchess of Genoa
Prince Albert of Prussia
Prince Andrew of Greece.
THE TORTOISE-SHELL COACH
Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria
Crown Prince of Portugal
Prince Albert of Belgium
The Grand Duke Vladimir of Russia.
GALA CARRIAGE
The Prince and Princess of Wales.
THE MAHOGANY COACH
Her Majesty the Queen, Doña Maria Cristina
Princess Henry of Battenberg
The Infante Don Carlos
The Infante Don Alfonso (Heir-presumptive).
THE COACH OF GOLD PANELS
(Unoccupied)
THE CROWN COACH
Their Majesties the KING and QUEEN.
The spectacle along the route of the return journey was one of
indescribable rejoicing and excitement. The Pageant was magnificent, and
the procession took nearly an hour to pass. The batteries of artillery
thundered out a royal salute, trumpets blared, the bells of the churches
pealed forth, and the populace raised a mighty roar of acclamation.
Coach after coach passed along the route--each to be greeted with cheers
by the delighted crowds. The beautiful “mahogany coach,” in which were
seated Queen Cristina, Princess Henry of Battenberg, Don Carlos, and his
son Don Alfonso, came in for a specially warm greeting. That containing
the Prince and Princess of Wales was also received with shouts of
welcome. At last came that which most of all the multitude had assembled
to see, and to greet with demonstrations of the greatest enthusiasm--the
coach of the Royal Crown drawn by eight superb horses, with nodding
white plumes, and containing the Royal couple. That the young King and
his beautiful bride were immensely popular there could be no doubt. One
had only to hear the hearty and repeated cries of “Viva el Rey!” “Viva
la Reina!” to know that the young couple had won the hearts of the
people and all Spain was rejoicing at their wedding.
CHAPTER V
A BAPTISM OF BLOOD
The last street to be traversed was the Calle Mayor. All the world
remembers how, as the end of the street was almost reached, a huge
bouquet in which was hidden a small iron casket was tossed from a
balcony, striking immediately in front of the royal carriage. With a
tremendous roar, the casket exploded, killing more than thirty persons
and wounding over one hundred, besides killing and maiming a number of
horses. People in front of the royal carriage were killed, and behind
the carriage, and even on the balconies above the street. I have seen
the effect of many bombs--in Russia and the Caucasus--but never have I
seen the results of a bomb as extensive as this one. Great chunks were
literally gouged out of huge granite blocks in nearby buildings, and
people on the balconies at a distance where safety would seem absolute
met instant death. To this day the traces of this bomb are to be seen in
the Calle Mayor, to my thinking one of the most curious and interesting
sights in all Madrid.
The smoke had not cleared when the King, taking the head of his bride
and Queen between both his hands, kissed her tenderly.
“Are you wounded?” he anxiously asked.
“No, no, I am not hurt. I swear it,” she replied.
The King threw open the carriage door and as he stepped out, calmly
saluted a flag which happened to be fluttering near by. Then he assisted
the Queen, whose beautiful wedding gown became smirched with blood.
According to an ancient Spanish custom a so-called “carriage of respect”
was immediately behind the royal coach, a carriage which apparently was
originally designed for any emergency. The King called for this carriage
and after seeing the Queen comfortably seated he turned to his equerries
and in a clear voice said: “Very slowly to the Palace.”
Arrived at the Palace, the King sprang lightly to the ground, and,
having given his hand to the Queen, their Majesties ascended the flight
of steps with ceremonious deportment, as if nothing untoward had
occurred. The King saluted all the Princes in accordance with the
demands of etiquette; and when one of the Royal guests asked him if he
remembered that this was the anniversary of the attempt in the Rue de
Rohan, in Paris, he replied with inimitable spirit, “Yes, I remember,
and I notice that the bomb has grown.”
As soon as the King had arrived in the Palace he asked for exact
information as to the number of victims. He received the reply, “It is
not yet possible to know; we only know that there are many dead and many
wounded.” Then the King passed his hand across his forehead, and, as if
the words came from the bottom of his heart, said slowly, “Now I feel
what it is to be King; and I feel it because if I were not King I might
have had the consolation of tears in the presence of so much blood and
so many victims.” His words were echoed in the heart of his young Queen
who was, indeed, coming into her queenship under stress and trial.
The next morning the King and his bride, evading the court guard, swept
out of the Palace gates in a motor car and slowly traversed the main
streets of the city without escort or guard. Every inch of the way their
Majesties were frantically cheered by the populace who appreciated their
courage and considerateness in thus proving to the world at large that
they had suffered no injury. Queen Victoria as she was henceforth to be
known, acknowledged the salutations by bowing continuously to right and
to left and constantly waving her handkerchief in greeting to the
people.
The members of the Royal Household were beside themselves with fear when
they saw the King and Queen, in an automobile, pass out of the Palace
gates into the city absolutely unarmed and unescorted. But the King was
wise that day. He threw both himself and his Queen-bride on to the
honour of the people. As the car moved through the crowded
thoroughfares, the people were first stunned with amazement and then
bewilderment gave place to a delirium of joyous enthusiasm. Eager hands
grasped the car to pull and push it. Women fought desperately to get
close to the brave couple, and the Queen’s dress was actually torn to
shreds by the multitude who sought to kiss the hem of her garment. When
they returned to the Palace, it was 1 o’clock in the afternoon. Thus
began the Queenship of the little English Princess who heretofore had
led a quiet, sheltered life in her island home and among the Scottish
braes and moors and in the tranquil atmosphere of the Court of St.
James.
Queen Victoria at this time may have recalled the lines of George
Meredith:
“We see in mould the Rose unfold,
The Soul through blood and tears.”
Verily the soul of Princess Ena was tempered by fire and brought to its
fulness through blood and tears on the day when she became at once a
wife and a Queen.
CHAPTER VI
WINNING A NATION’S LOVE
Don Alfonso took his bride at once from the Royal Palace at Madrid to
the Palace of La Granja (the Grange or farm-house) behind the Guadarrama
Mountains, in Castile, for their honeymoon. This palace is situated on a
slightly pinnacled hill four thousand feet above the level of the sea, a
veritable “Castle in the Air.” La Granja is surrounded by lovely woods,
a garden which includes some three hundred and sixty acres, probably the
finest in Spain, and even Versailles cannot boast of more numerous or
lovelier fountains than this charming country residence. The laying out
of the gardens alone cost eight millions of dollars. It is easy to
understand why King Alfonso selected this spot for the honeymoon; it is
the one spot in Spain, above all others, where royal lovers might hope
to find seclusion amidst bowers of foliage musical with birds, and where
they might hope to wipe from their recollection the vivid memories of
the tragic scene of their wedding day.
Spain is one of the richest of countries in regard to the number of its
palaces. Until the reign of Philip II, the Kings of Spain did not
maintain any one permanent Royal residence, but journeyed from region
to region, maintaining a Palace in practically every district of the
country, and, as a result of this custom much of the history of Spain is
to be found and embodied and crystallised in the various Castles which
are inherited by the Royal family of to-day. There is the Alcazar at
Seville, which is associated with Pedro the Cruel. There is the Retiro,
built to divert the attention of Philip IV from the decay and
backsliding of his country; the Escorial in which the gloomy and
melancholy Philip II has perpetuated his own memory in stone; and La
Granja, which marks the bitterness and humiliation of Cristina before
Garca and his rude soldiery; and Miramar at San Sebastian, in which a
widowed Queen secluded herself to mourn the loss of her kingly spouse!
Time was indeed when, within comparatively easy distance of Madrid,
there were no less than thirty-five Royal residences; to-day only five
of these, however, are still kept up, but throughout the rest of the
country are many other Palaces.
It would be indeed a delightful task to write an entire book on the
palaces of the Kings of Spain. El Pardo, Aranjuez, Miramar, El Escorial,
El Alcazar and the Royal Palace of Madrid, but even then it would indeed
be difficult to describe in words the beauty and the wondrous maze and
labyrinths of woodland and garden; the galleries of tapestry and
painting; the statutes; the armory; the varied treasures which they all
contain. George Borrow, who early made familiar to the English-speaking
world the wondrous beauties and treasure houses of all Spain, waxed most
eloquent over the palace of Alcazar at Seville. “Cold, cold must be the
heart,” exclaimed Borrow at the Alcazar, “which can remain insensible to
the beauties of this magic scene. Often have I shed tears of rapture
whilst I beheld it and listened to the thrush and the nightingale piping
forth their melodious songs in the woods and inhaled the breeze laden
with the perfume of the thousand orange gardens of Seville.” La Granja,
however, remains the favourite abiding place of all the present Royal
family, hallowed by the sweet memories of honeymoon days.
Each summer the Royal family have returned to La Granja for two months.
Here as nowhere else the Queen leads a life of charming simplicity, a
life almost like that she was accustomed to in England. Here the King
and Queen have but little company. They walk and ride and drive
together. The King is a keen sportsman and while he shoots, the Queen
goes a-fishing. Trout are abundant in the streams that come dashing down
from the higher mountains and she is adept at landing the speckled
beauties--only she will not bait her own hooks!
A golf course has been laid out and at this game the Queen excels her
royal spouse. As a matter of fact polo is more to the King’s taste and
to La Granja he always takes the best of his string of forty polo
ponies. Here it may be truly said the King and Queen are idyllically
happy. Free from the ceremony of political and social circles they are
the boy and girl sweethearts once more. They go through country lanes
hand in hand and follow woodland paths unescorted. As La Granja was
their haven of quiet after their turbulent wedding day, so has it since
been their harbour of peace and happiness away from the harassing cares
of sovereignty.
Queen Victoria Eugenie had been only a few days in the country which was
henceforth to be her own, when she had made great progress in the
winning of the nation. Her sympathy for the condemned man, her poise and
self-command in the face of shock and danger had all a tremendous
influence in prejudicing people in her favour. If possible, a yet more
difficult task now confronted her; for she faced the daily scrutiny of
court and people.
One of the earliest duties which she had to perform was to attend a bull
fight. The Spanish people could never give absolute allegiance to a
sovereign who did not in some measure share their joy and enthusiasm in
this national and tradition-honoured sport. So to a bull fight went the
Queen. Simple English girl that she was, with fine sensibilities and
delicate feelings, we can well appreciate her horror at it all. When the
moment had arrived for the signal to be given from the Royal Box for the
fight to begin all eyes were turned expectantly toward the King, but it
was the young Queen who fluttered the white scarf. When the crowd saw
this, they rose like one man, frantically cheering their Queen. It was
distinctly a popular thing to do.
Ordinarily, six bulls are despatched at a single fight, but before
death, each bull generally kills one to three horses besides horribly
goring others and sometimes injuring one or more of the men. That a bull
fight is not a pleasant thing to watch, I know, for I have seen several.
At one which I attended on the Day of Ascension (bull fights are always
held on Sundays and religious fête days) the killing of the six bulls
was accompanied by the outright killing of eleven horses and the maiming
of four others, while one man was tossed high in the air by a bull and
two others hurt by their horses falling on them. The fourteen thousand
spectators were delirious with delight and called it “a good bull
fight.”
The young Queen remained in the Royal Box throughout the _correda_ and
thus concluded her initiation into Queenship.
The year following the marriage sped to a happy close. The Queen grew
increasingly popular. As the months went on, the shock of the wedding
day drifted into a hideous memory, and the hearty enthusiasm of the
Spanish people melted the somewhat austere bearing which was native to
her and she began to return the cordial greetings of the people
everywhere she went. Nowhere on earth--not
[Illustration: THE PROCESSION OF BULL FIGHTERS.]
even in France--are beautiful women more appreciated than in Spain, and
Queen Victoria is lovely to look upon. She is tall and of majestic
bearing. She has an abundance of golden hair which she wears in long
rich braids wound about the back of her head and generally loosely
dressed in front. She has eyes of a singularly clear blue and quite as
sharp and twinkling as are the King’s snapping brown eyes,--and his are
famous.
“Such exquisite colouring!” is an exclamation frequently heard
concerning her. At nineteen she combined all the freshness of youth with
the dignity of maturity, and to-day, though she is three times a mother,
she retains the high colour characteristic of English women, and set
against a clear white skin. The first time I saw her close, her cheeks
reminded me of charming porcelain--if it were not trite, I would say a
bit of Dresden.
With all her instinctive charm she has a genius for dressing well. In
this, again, she easily and naturally excels her sister Queens.
When first she went to San Sebastian, the fashionable mid-summer
watering resort of Spain on the west coast near the northern border, she
appeared like a modern Gainsborough duchess. Her stylishly cut gowns
worn with grace and perfect naturalness were offset by great hats which
were much in vogue at that time and which resemble the picturesque
Gainsboroughs. She is a woman who can carry any amount of tasteful
dressing, but her own preference seems to be toward simplicity.
A more elegant woman one rarely sees anywhere in the world. The eye of
the Spanish people, quick and sensitive to taste and beauty instantly
caught all these details, and even if her nature, disposition and
character were not as they are, she would still be idolised for her
beauty alone.
At Seville, in the south of Spain, where beauty is worshipped even more
than in the north the people went mad over her on her very first ride
through the streets--from the railroad station to the Alcazar, as the
ancient Moorish palace there is called. Throughout southern
Spain--Andalusia--there is a Moorish strain noticeable in the people.
The women are of the swarthy type, with large lustrous eyes, hair of
ebony, and deep passionate natures that one senses almost tangibly. As
with most people of this type and character, the opposite type makes a
tremendous appeal to them. The golden beauty of the fair young Queen
took Seville by storm. To this day, and probably for all time, she is
and will be known in the south as the “Idol of Andalusia.”
One small detail which pleased the Andalusian people greatly was her
donning the _mantilla_ on appropriate occasions. The _mantilla_ is a
lace scarf, sometimes white and sometimes black, which is worn over the
head by women in place of a hat Any lace scarf, however, is not a
_mantilla_, and there are certain precise ways of wearing this
typically Spanish headdress. To be exact, there are thirteen different
ways of adjusting it, each way adapted to a particular occasion. For
example, the Sevillano will wear a black _mantilla_ low over her head at
a funeral, and a white _mantilla_ high over her head,--the elevation
being accomplished by the aid of a huge amber comb,--at a bull fight or
in a slightly different arrangement for a wedding. The art of adjusting
the _mantilla_ is almost as difficult to acquire as the use of castanets
or some of the Andalusian dance steps. It is seldom that one not of
Spanish blood can wear a _mantilla_ becomingly at all, but on Queen
Victoria Eugenie it looks quite natural. A peculiar thing about
Andalusian women is that they are so altogether charming in the
_mantilla_ that not one in a thousand can wear any kind of a dress hat,
even one strictly _à la mode_ and direct from Paris. The women of
Southern Spain and the _mantilla_ seem peculiarly adapted to go
together. The cost of a _mantilla_ by the way is as much as of the most
fashionable Paris hats. Ordinary ones frequently cost from thirty to
fifty dollars, and specially good ones as much as one hundred dollars.
In Seville Queen Victoria Eugenie was as quick to catch the warmth of
spirit as the Sevillanos were to appreciate her beauty and now, after
five years she looks forward to her annual visit to the ancient Moorish
city as to no other city in the kingdom.
A custom which prevails in Andalusia and which nearly always results in
extreme embarrassment to foreign ladies, is the passing of remarks out
loud by passers-by, of a wholly personal nature. When an Andalusian sees
a beautiful woman he is filled with joy and gladness and he wants her to
know the pleasure she has given him by the flash of her eye or the
loveliness of her face or form--so he spontaneously exclaims: “What
beauty!” “How sympathetic.” “Those eyes!” “Such hair!” or whatnot. The
women of that country, from the lowliest right up to the wives of the
most exclusive grandees, expect this appreciation and miss it when they
fail to catch what strangers may say of them.
Queen Victoria had had this all explained to her so that she was
prepared for direct remarks of this nature. Once she laughed outright as
an enthusiastic Andalusian cried out: “You are not only Queen of Spain;
you are the Queen of Beautiful Women.”
In her visits to Seville, the Queen is ever and always reminded of her
dearly beloved father, for the one letter which she had from him was
written from Seville, the letter in which he had told her that one day
she would come to this lovely land and be very happy. This is a happy
memory, despite the tinge of sadness, and in Seville, she says she is
always most happy.
CHAPTER VII
DON ALFONSO XIII
What manner of man is the young King whom the Island Princess married?
Don Alfonso XIII is unique among the kings of the earth, inasmuch as he
was practically born a king. His father, Alfonso XII, died five months
before he was born. The widowed Queen, his mother, became the Regent of
the Throne, but the little Alfonso XIII knew, from the time he knew
anything, that he was a ruler already, where most kings have spent years
of preparation for kingship while heirs-apparent.
He was born May 17, 1886. He received the tenderest care and attention
from his mother; her favourite pet name for him while he was a baby was
“Puby.” From the time of his birth he appeared delicate, which
occasioned the greatest solicitude for his physical well-being.
He has always manifested the greatest love for his mother. From earliest
childhood he entertained for her a supreme regard and affection, and
frequently when he was inclined to be headstrong and oppose the wishes
of his governesses the Queen Regent--as she was called until Alfonso
reached the age of sixteen--would be called to make him obey. Her
methods were all her own, her coercion only that of love.
One winter morning Alfonso was reluctant to take his usual cold bath and
stubbornly remained in bed. His nurses made appeal after appeal to him,
but his Majesty remained obdurate. Finally, in despair, the nurse went
to his mother the Queen Regent.
“You must take your bath, Baby,” said the Queen, coming to his bedside.
The baby king gave no answer.
“If I tell you to do it, you will--won’t you?”
Again no response.
“Very well, then,” continued the Queen, “I will not ask you again, but I
shall go to my room and cry because you will not obey me. Do you wish
that?”
“No, no, mamma,” cried the young Alfonso, and flinging aside the bed
clothes he sprang from the bed and took his cold plunge.
King Alfonso was brought up in this atmosphere of love and affection and
it is doubtless owing to this that his own nature is so warm and lovable
to-day.
When he was four years old, he fell very ill. His anxious mother watched
constantly by his bedside. One day, he turned his little face toward
where she was sitting and said: “Are you not very tired, mother mine? Do
you love me so very much? Do go to bed. You must be so tired. I think I
ought to send you away.”
Not until he was seven years of age did he begin any regular course of
studies and then he began with only one hour a day. In a short time,
however, he had learned to read and write easily. Much of his boyhood
was spent at the beautiful Miramar palace. After he had learned to read
and write, the study of geography and history came next and a little
later French and Latin. From all accounts, the boy Alfonso was quite as
full of mischief and capers as are most small boys.
One of his Chamberlains relates the story that, when he was eight years
old, streams of water were one day seen running down the corridor from
the bathroom of the Royal Palace. The door of the apartment was securely
fastened and the little fellow refused admission to any one until
finally the Queen herself was sent for, and, when she demanded
admittance, found her Royal son enjoying what he called “A Naval Battle
in High Seas,” the ships being logs which he had collected from various
wood baskets and his high seas, the overflowing bathtub.
Queen Cristina found Alfonso a little backward in acquiring German, and
as none of the text-books then used in Spain seemed adapted to his use,
she went to the trouble of preparing a grammar for him, which enabled
him to become familiar with the rules of the language in a simple and
amusing form. Alfonso has always been of an inquiring turn of mind, and
the interest he has recently displayed in aeroplanes and automobiles is
the natural outcome of the interest he displayed in all mechanics when a
mere boy.
Mr. Frederic Courtland Penfield has related as one of his experiences in
Spain the breaking down of his motor car near La Granja which
necessitated sending to Madrid for new parts to replace the damaged
mechanism. While the men were at work upon the machine, the King
happened along, and, not content with watching the progress of the
repairs, he proceeded to direct the men himself, getting down under the
car and examining minutely each of its parts and aiding the men by
constant suggestion. He took apparently all the interest in the work of
a boy who has removed the back of his first watch to see the wheels go
round. Not until the car was ready to proceed did the King leave the
spot.
As a matter of fact, Don Alfonso is the most ardent motorist in Spain
and the most skilful if not the most reckless driver. He has several 70
h.p. machines and when he drives these machines in the country, he
sometimes goes at the rate of seventy-five and eighty miles an hour.
During the Spring months, when the court is at La Granja, the King comes
to Madrid several times a week. The distance is ninety kilometres and he
allows one hour and a quarter for the journey. The road lies right
across the Guadarrama mountains which rise to a height of six thousand
feet. The ascent and descent of these mountains is tremendously steep,
being made by a series of loops like the roads which cross the Alps in
Switzerland. Only the most skilled chauffeurs can go over this road at
even a moderate rate of speed, but the King goes all the way at high
speed, averaging for the entire distance nearly a mile a minute.
CHAPTER VIII
A KING’S LIFE
Amazing few are the people outside his kingdom who do not know him who
appreciate the unusual personality of this precocious young king.
Indeed, he must be known to be appreciated.
A tall, athletic young man of narrow but muscular physique, with a
smooth, olive skin, dartling black-brown eyes and a kaleidoscopic
expression,--Don Alfonso is one to command attention, interest and
respect. He sits a horse superbly. He excels in everything he
undertakes. He is the surest shot in Spain; the most skilful as well as
the most reckless motorist, a capable yachtsman, an efficient,
dependable polo-player,--above all he has infinite pluck and daring. The
world is familiar with his courage not only at the time of the bomb on
his wedding day but on many other occasions when he has displayed iron
nerve and superb poise. The first time I had a formal audience with His
Majesty, I gathered my real impressions of the man. After this audience,
I saw him many times and under varied circumstances, but always the
impressions of the first day were deepened and confirmed. As I entered
his study in the palace of Madrid, he came with quick, nervous step
toward me and grasping me firmly by the hand, spoke words of greeting
in the Spanish language.
“Your Majesty has no objection to English?” I asked, as he still tightly
held my hand.
“Objection? Rather not, provided you can stand for my wretched English.”
This was the only note of affectation in King Alfonso’s entire
conversation. He speaks English fluently, correctly and idiomatically.
“Put aside your hat and gloves and sit down. Let us talk,” he continued.
I placed my hat aside as he bade me and started to seat myself opposite
the chair His Majesty had already taken.
“Not there, not so far away,” he exclaimed. “Come here,” and he patted
with the palm of his hand the sofa which was in juxtaposition to his
chair.
“Have a cigarette,” he added, as I moved close to him and he held out a
silver cigarette case with a small monogram in the upper left hand
corner.
“May I smoke?” I queried, I must confess, in some surprise.
“Naturally, why not? Here”--and before I had fairly taken the cigarette,
His Majesty, with characteristic quickness had struck a wax vesta and
was holding it toward my mouth that I might get my light.
My slow wits happily returned in time for me to catch the match from the
Royal fingers, to offer it first to him and then light my own. These
were the preliminaries. They were over in a minute. After we had
lighted our cigarettes, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his
knees and the joints of his fingers closed against each other before
him. He spoke rapidly but thoughtfully, and in his voice was the ring of
a man of enthusiasms.
Beneath the smooth, olive skin and the flashing black eyes, one _felt_ a
strong, passionate nature. One got instantly behind the glamour of
royalty and saw only the man, the man of conviction and of courage,--the
man of Destiny.
No photograph has ever portrayed King Alfonso. He is unphotographable.
The man is not in his features but in his expressions, his manners, his
atmosphere of charming manliness; above all in the scintillating glints
of his flashing eyes.
“You have come at a very interesting moment in our history,” he said,
“because it is a moment of change for Spain. We are just recovering from
our long era of costly wars, ending with the disastrous war with
America, and our recent colonial wars.” He paused and smiled genially as
he added, “In the war with America, we were badly beaten, but that is a
matter which has now passed into history and that page of our history we
have turned over. I think I can speak for everyone in Spain when I say
that not the slightest feeling of rancour remains with us; and I have
ample evidence that the American people have none but the best of wishes
for Spain.” I replied that many Americans were ready to congratulate
Spain in being well rid of Cuba and the Philippines, those frightfully
expensive drains on the resources of Spain--which are proving a by no
means light drain upon the resources of America.
His Majesty’s eyes twinkled merrily as he looked directly into my face.
After a brief pause, he went on: “However that may be, a new era for
Spain began with the close of the war. The recent war in Africa cost us
heavily--fifty-three million pesetas ($10,600,000).”
“Surely that is not much as the cost of wars go nowadays,” I
interrupted.
“No, quite true--for a modern war, it was not so expensive,” he
returned, “especially in view of the results we have obtained.”
Then he sketched the present lines of Spanish influence in Morocco and
outlined the policy of Spain for the development of this influence and
the increase of trade. Incidentally, he paid a high tribute to the
courage and marksmanship of the Moors. “They don’t fire till they see
the whites of the eyes of the approaching troops and they pick the
officers first of all with amazing accuracy.”
“That war being now over,” he went on, “we have entered a period of
peace and it is my aim to further the development of Spain in every way
possible. It would be interesting to realise all that we have already
begun, what we are about to do and what we hope to do in the next years
before us.”
I lighted another cigarette and the King, without shifting his position,
began afresh.
“First of all, we are giving our attention to each branch of the State
separately. I have my ambitions for the army, the reëstablishment of the
navy, the general education of the people and how we hope to deal with
other internal problems, the Republicans, the Socialists, the Anarchists
and others.”
During the last decade I have listened to statesmen and leaders of men
in almost every country of Europe and in America, but I have never met
any man who could say as much in an hour as did King Alfonso; I have
never met a politician or statesman who was so intimately familiar with
small details, and I have never met anyone who could talk so succinctly
to the point. He elucidated each question with graphic clearness. Each
subject that he took up in turn, he summarised. As a feat of
intellectual conversation, it was without parallel so far as my
experience extends. He expressed himself very rapidly, in clear,
incisive language, showing toward each topic an enthusiasm and personal
interest almost incredible. At the same time, he watched my expression
carefully and at the least shadow of question which I betrayed, he
delved deeper into details in order to make everything perfectly clear.
I touched upon the question of the Church in Spain and found His
Majesty’s views as liberal and as clear as they were upon the secular
subjects. He went on, however, to explain that any hasty reform was
impractical, although it was the project of his government to undertake
all of them as circumstances would permit. If he were to introduce
liberal and progressive measures at once, the opposition would throw the
whole country into a turmoil.
Politically, the attitude of the King is for all that makes for the
common weal of Spain in the platforms of all parties and movements--even
those that are opposed to his monarchy.
The amazing development of Spain during the last decade is directly due
to the extraordinary dynamic spirit which has been exhibited by this
remarkable young King. No department of national life has been neglected
by him.
The Iberian peninsula has long been regarded as a doubtful, not to say
dangerous proposition from a financial standpoint. Spain and Portugal
have been judged more or less alike. No greater mistake could ever have
been made. Portugal has long been in the hands of aristocratic
buccaneers, pirates in broadcloth, but none the less rascals of a most
desperate character. The Portugal Ship of State was looted and scuttled
by the very class who constituted her monarchy. Nowhere could one find a
dominant personality.
Spain on the other hand is well equipped with statesmen, with diplomats,
with politicians of large calibre and more so now than in any decade of
recent centuries and all because of the personal attention given to the
affairs of state by King Alfonso. Don Alfonso is the hero and the idol
of the whole Spanish army. From earliest boyhood, he devoted a large
part of his time to building and strengthening the army and increasing
its _esprit de corps_. Two forenoons of every week, he devotes to
military audiences. He never tires of reviewing troops, often leaving
the palace at six o’clock in the morning to visit some outlying
garrison. When he is caught overnight in some remote town, he is sure to
be up early the next morning to inspect any body of troops which may be
quartered in the neighbourhood. I recall once seeing the King overtake a
body of infantry in the street called Arenal, in Madrid. As soon as the
royal automobile came up even with the rear rank, the order was given to
the troops to have them swing round so as to face the sovereign in
salute as he went past. The King at once rose to his feet in the car, at
the same time uncovering, and as the car swept by the regiment, his
piercing, intelligent eyes seemed to dart an individual glance to each
soldier along the entire line. Not once did his eyes wander from the
troops, although a hurrahing crowd blocked the pavement on the other
side of the street. Ask any soldiers of the Mellila campaign who wore
the cool sun helmets that the King presented from his private purse,
speak the name of the King to any officer of the Spanish army and see
him square his shoulders.
King Alfonso does not trust entirely to military supremacy, however, for
he believes in the peaceful
[Illustration: KING ALFONSO AND HIS HEIR.]
progression of his country and appreciates to the full the necessity of
economic development. At the time of the Spanish-American war when Cuba
and the Philippines were lost to Spain, it seemed as if her greatest
markets had been taken from her, but during recent years, since Don
Alfonso has extensively taken up the reins of sovereignty, he has
stimulated commerce and trade in other parts of the world. Spain has
seaports which give her splendid natural commercial advantages. A few
years since, Spain went quietly but earnestly to work to build up an
exchange trade with the new countries of the world which seemed to offer
the greatest opportunity for large commercial expansion,--trade with the
Argentine Republic, Paraguay, Brazil, Chili, Peru and Mexico. During the
last few years, under the wise counsel of the King, these states have
been courted diplomatically and socially to the incalculable stimulus of
trade; and with what result? In ten years, Spanish bonds have doubled in
value. Spain now sends $12,000,000 worth of textiles, minerals and wines
to the Argentine while only six years ago, 1905, the amount was only
$6,000,000. In Uruguay, almost a proportionate increase has been
witnessed since 1905 when $9,000,000 worth of exports went from Spain
and it is probable that within the near future, Spain will be sending
$20,000,000 worth of stuffs to Uruguay alone.
Spain’s trade with Mexico has been particularly happy because the credit
system is practically non-existent. Of $7,000,000 worth of goods
shipped to Mexico in one recent year, 90 per cent. was paid for in cash.
To the United States, Spain sends annually approximately $8,000,000
worth of minerals, cork, olives, Malaga grapes, etc., and in return
purchases from us nearly $30,000,000 worth of goods. Raw cotton is the
chief import from the United States, but modern machinery forms a big
item. Spain, however, buys most of her goods from Great Britain and the
amount shipped annually to the Iberian Kingdom averages $80,000,000.
This is the result of long years of trade study, nursed and built up and
consequently it is less significant than the trade with South America
which has received such extraordinary stimulus, not in ten but in five
years, or in other words, since King Alfonso has been personally
concerned with this phase of the development of his kingdom. Spain is a
country in which the people went in a single bound from petroleum to
electricity and this is indicative of her entire development. She is
rapidly skipping through the gas stage of progress through which the
rest of the world has so long toiled.
The keynote of King Alfonso’s character is in his courageous
determination. Once convinced of what is right, I believe he would be as
steadfast as the rugged crags of the Pyrenees, that he could be swayed
by neither favourites nor ministers, threats nor prayers.
The sense of duty has been highly developed in him, thanks to the
careful training he received at the hands of Queen Maria Cristina, and
his sense of moral obligation is absolute.
The general idea of the King is to encourage the industrial and economic
development of the country, at the same time he is upholding the state,
and to strengthen at every point the bulwarks of the state until its
whole fibre is of the strongest character. Commercial development
without a thoroughly grounded state, he believes to be worthless.
Don Alfonso XIII believes in Spain. He glories in her proud past and he
has the conviction that greater glories and prosperity are still
awaiting her. It is toward her greater future that he is ever looking,
and with that greater future in view, so he is building. He wants the
world to know Spain. He wants tourists from every country to come and
see her natural beauties, her resources and her possibilities. To
stimulate interest abroad he is now giving special attention to the
seemingly trivial, but after all most important matter, namely, better
roads throughout the Kingdom and improved hotels. Till now, many of the
roads of Spain are utterly wretched. When Spain can vie with France in
her road beds, the Sovereign believes that many more tourists will come,
especially in view of the increasing use of automobiles. And having come
to the country he wants people made comfortable.
There are, at this time, but few first-class hotels in Spain. There is
one at Granada, built by the Duke of San Pedro, and others at Algiciras
and Ronda. The hotels of Madrid are all rather bad and excessively
expensive. The prices are paramount to the best hotels of London and
Paris and the rooms are small, poorly equipped and in general comfort
are decidedly lacking. The King manifested his interest to the extent of
asking me many minute details about the hotel where I was lodged, the
size of my room, number of windows, was there running water (which there
was not), the kind of bed, etc., etc. He knew quite well, however, the
actual conditions before he asked the questions. A new Ritz-Carlton was
therefore built in Madrid through the personal interest and influence of
the King, and it is the aim of His Majesty to make this the first of a
chain of good hotels all over Spain. This practical interest in details
of this character indicates that he is no mere dreamer of empires, no
idealist who lives in the future because he is looking forward. Like all
strong men of history, King Alfonso is a practical idealist who gives
heed to each step of the road he is travelling, conscious that on the
work of to-day the work of to-morrow must stand.
History will ultimately place him, but at twenty-four he has already
taken his place among the signal figures of his time and his promise for
the future is immeasurable.
An estimate of King Alfonso’s statecraft at so early a period is not
possible. But there is great promise in the young sovereign. Don Alfonso
does everything that he undertakes. It is a bred-in-the-bone
characteristic with him to excel in all things.
King Alfonso, like King George in England, is one of the best shots in
his kingdom. This, at least, is a matter of merit, and cannot be said as
a courtesy to the King. This year, King Alfonso came out second best at
the annual pigeon shoot, having taken nineteen birds out of twenty-one.
The high record was twenty-one out of twenty-three. Previous years, the
King has captured the first prize.
The English Princess who became a Spanish Queen, therefore, came to a
land of extraordinary activity. Spain’s development is proceeding with
greater rapidity than in any other country in Europe during the present
decade. King Alfonso is the most wideawake, alert, progressive man in
Spain and he is controlled by a tremendous ambition to bring Spain into
line with the most modern of nations. He is kept well informed as to
what all parties in his kingdom are doing--what they want and why they
want it. He is as quick to accept a plank from the platform of the
Republicans or Socialists as from the Liberals or Monarchists. By
nature, Don Alfonso is a radical. It is by virtue of his personality and
what he has accomplished for Spain that he is the most popular man in
his Kingdom. Republicans to whom I have put the question: “If a Republic
were declared in Spain, who would be the first national leader--the
first president?” The answer has been “probably Don Alfonso. He is the
most popular man in the country.”
CHAPTER IX
COURAGE AND KINGSHIP
One afternoon, shortly after the audience already referred to, I was
crossing the Plaza de Oriente in Madrid, towards the Royal Palace. An
automobile came whirling up from the Casa de Campo and as it passed, a
hand waved through the window. It was the spontaneous action of a man
aglow with youth and energy. Just beyond, the car stopped, the door
opened, and the King jumped out. I was so surprised I even forgot to
throw away the cigar I was smoking. In the friendliest and most natural
way possible, His Majesty shook my hand and told me that at five o’clock
they were going to play polo for the Queen’s cup at the Casa de Campo
grounds and if I cared to go along, to find one of the Palace
secretaries and tell him to order a carriage for me from the royal mews.
It did not take long to find Don Pablo Churruca, who promptly procured
the carriage and we drove together through the lovely gardens of the
Royal Park, arranged by the Queen Maria Cristina, to the polo field.
These polo grounds are some three or four miles from the Palace, and
command an imposing panorama of Guadarrama mountains which, owing to
their considerable height, are snow-capped until late June. The polo
field was laid out by the Marquis of Viana, the King’s bosom friend and
his Master of the Horse. The Marquis is prouder of this polo field than
almost anything else in the world, and with reason. It is a magnificent
greensward, kept in perfect condition. Here the King comes to play three
times a week during the stay of the Court in Madrid.
Don Alfonso looks upon his regular daily exercise as much as a part of
his kingly duties as signing documents or reviewing troops. He is the
only polo-playing sovereign in the world, and in this, as in everything
else, he is an enthusiast.
That day, he had a string of seventeen ponies in charge of eleven grooms
on hand for frequent changes. At the royal mews, he has more than double
this number, most of them at present coming from the Argentine Republic.
King Alfonso is at his best in the saddle. He rides like a born horseman
and nowhere,--not even in military uniform,--does he appear to better
advantage than at polo. His reckless energy and boundless spirit are
ever to the fore. When he starts after the ball, he goes full tilt,
showing no consideration, asking none. As the riders sweep up and down
and across the field, the King is ever in the thickest of the game,
riding hard, driving hard and holding his own with the strongest and
best. During the succeeding weeks I went many times to the Polo games.
At the close of the game each day, His Majesty would walk across the
field to ask the few invited guests present to join the players for tea
which is served in a spacious tent erected near to the club châlet. The
usual players whom I saw there were the Duke of Alba, the Marquis of
Viana, the Marquis of Santo Domingo, Count de la Cimera, Count de la
Maza and Mr. Marshal, an English professional. Besides these players
there were usually three or four other gentlemen and half a dozen
ladies.
After the game, the King would come strolling across the grounds in his
riding togs, a loose coat on, but unbuttoned, a grey soft hat carelessly
balanced on the back of his head. As he approached, the gentlemen would
uncover as would His Majesty, and in turn he would greet each one. As he
shook hands with the ladies, each in turn would do a fascinating
curtsey. Then all would repair into the tent--and the rest was like
afternoon tea in any English country house. And incidentally, English is
the language most used by all the company. The King and several of the
players use English almost precisely as their mother tongue.
The fearlessness of Don Alfonso at polo is typical of his whole life. He
is a fatalist. His spirit is as much endless courage as an absolute lack
of the knowledge of fear. I doubt if he has any conception of the nature
or quality of that emotion.
Now that the lamented King Edward is gone, it will perhaps be no
indiscretion to make public an incident in connection with King
Alfonso’s going to Barcelona when that city was believed to be on the
eve of a revolution. “I am needed there,” said Don Alfonso. Despite the
entreaties of the entire court, he planned to go. Just before the day he
was to start from the capital, King Edward summoned one of the Spanish
Embassy in London. He said that he had not slept the entire night
through worry about King Alfonso’s going to Barcelona. He begged that a
message be immediately sent to Madrid beseeching Alfonso to abandon the
trip. Don Alfonso acknowledged the message. But, he proceeded to
Barcelona. The results of the trip vindicated the young King’s wisdom.
The long and short of it is, King Alfonso is a man, a man to be trusted
in a tight place. His theory is, “If they set out to kill me, they will
get me anyway, so in the meantime, why bother my head about it?” This
allegiance to duty is with him a passion, a veritable religion in the
highest sense.
Take the regular routine of the King’s day. He rises early--from seven
to seven-thirty; some mornings when he reviews troops, he leaves the
Palace at six. He is occupied with his correspondence and state papers
until ten when he receives the Prime Minister and one other minister.
The Premier reports every morning and the other members of the Council
are received every day in turn. Then come the regular audiences which
occupy him until one-thirty or two, when he takes luncheon. In the
afternoon, he does whatever chores may come up,--the opening of a bazaar
or exhibition, or any of the endless calls which are made upon the
sovereign. At four, he has tea with the Queen and then goes to polo or
pigeon shooting or takes his regular exercise, whatever it may be for
the day. Upon his return, there are sometimes further audiences, and
always before dressing for dinner, he peruses the day’s cuttings from
the newspapers of the world. Forty-six daily newspapers come regularly
to the Palace. Each afternoon, the King’s private secretaries (there are
five of them in all, appointed from the diplomatic corps) glean from
these every item of news likely to be of interest to the sovereign.
Nothing is skipped, criticism and unkindly comment go in with all the
rest. These clippings are pasted on sheets of paper which are bound
together with a red and yellow cord and left on His Majesty’s table.
At eight-thirty he dines. Week day evenings, the King goes to whatever
social functions he has to attend. King Alfonso appreciates his social
duties as a sovereign quite as much as his duties of state.
Coming down the main stairway of a house in Madrid after a dance at five
o’clock in the morning once he met one of his secretaries. “You lucky
beggar,” he exclaimed, “you need not get out of your bed before three in
the afternoon, while I must be up to receive my ministers as usual!” One
of the great reasons for the popularity of King Alfonso is his
attention to social affairs. He enters into these functions with the
same zest that he does everything else and he is seldom accused of
putting a damper on an occasion by leaving too early.
The great fact concerning Don Alfonso that appeals to me is his extreme
humanness. He is ever and always on the spot. In his movements, he is as
quick as lightning and his mind is extraordinarily alert. Disciplined to
the very highest pitch of efficiency, he is an all round able man, and
would be so considered in any walk of life. He is never too busy to
attend to the last, smallest detail concerning any matter in his
Kingdom.
One day he said to me, “Anything that you want in Spain, or about Spain,
don’t go anywhere else--let me know directly.”
Whether he is presiding over his Council of Ministers or amiably and
gracefully performing some ceremony incident to the duties of
sovereignty or receiving in audience, or playing polo with his own
chosen companions, or driving his great 70 h.p. car across country at
reckless speed, or taking tea with the Queen, he is always at once the
same blithe spirit, the spontaneous youth and the earnest man of
affairs. In uniform, he looks a born soldier. At polo, he appears like a
man who lives for sport. In ordinary attire, he is the dapper young
blood of any capital city, sleek, well-groomed, immaculate. His face is
as elusive as a kaleidoscope, changing each second. Smiles and laughter
play around his mouth and eyes but underneath the surface one
instinctively feels the intense, thoughtful nature of an inspired leader
of men.
These glimpses of the man--Alfonso,--his character, temperament and
personality, may enable us to picture the environment of the English
Princess, whose early life was spent in the tranquil atmosphere of the
Isle of Wight and the favourite Scottish home of Queen Victoria of
England. From the moment of her entrance into Spain, she has lived amid
strenuous scenes, and in an atmosphere as different from her native land
as anything could be. Yet she has risen to it all like the born Queen
she is. That the lurking dangers which so often apprise her royal
spouse, sorely try her spirit and sometimes wear her nerves is not to be
wondered at. That she exercises the control she does is the cause of our
admiration.
Not since the year 1170 had an English Queen been called to the throne
of Spain. In that year, Alfonso VIII, wooed and won the English Eleanor,
who, as Queen, distinguished herself as a patroness of scholarship and
learning, largely supporting by contribution, the University of
Palencia. It is the belief and hope of Spain, that Queen Victoria will
carry into Spain English traditions along this line and during the years
of her reign materially raise the educational standard of the whole
people. Certain it is that any work which she attempts will be heartily
encouraged by her royal spouse.
Queenship carries with it myriad duties,--not merely the duties of
sovereign, official or political as the case may be, but first and
foremost, the duties of motherhood, the duties of bearing and rearing
kings and queens to be. For this high office, Queen Victoria was soon to
demonstrate her aptitude and the best part of her romance lies in the
story of the royal princes of Spain which have blessed the marriage
during the first four years.
CHAPTER X
THE PRINCE OF ASTURIAS
One year to a month after the Royal marriage Spain’s happiness and
satisfaction in the new Queen were made complete by the birth of an heir
to the throne. The official title of the newcomer, as heir apparent, is
Prince of Asturias, and as such he is always spoken of, but in addition,
he has a string of names almost as long as his Royal father’s string of
polo ponies. He is now three years of age and accomplished in many
things, but he cannot yet repeat his full name! Indeed, it seems
probable that he will be considerably older before he can memorise them
all in proper sequence. Fancy this wee boy learning to write: Alfonso
Pius Christian Edward Francis William Charles Henry Eugene Ferdinand
Anthony Venancio, Prince of Asturias, heir to the thrones of Spain,
Castile, Leon, Aragon, the Two Sicillies, Jerusalem, Navarre, Granada,
Toledo, Valencia, Galicia, Majolica, Minorca, Seville, Sardinia,
Cordova, Corsica, Murcie, Jean, Algarne, Algeciras, Gibraltar, the
Canary Islands, the Oriental and Occidental Indies; Archdukedom of
Austria, dukedoms of Burgundy, Brabant and Milan; Count of Hapsburg,
Flanders, the Tyrol and Barcelona; Seigneur of Biscay and Molina! This
is official. Doubters may turn to the almanach de Gotha, page 34, and
read in verification.
The joy not only of the Royal Family but of the whole Spanish people may
be conceived at the birth of this child, for this is the first son born
to a reigning King in Spain in four generations.
With these numerous names and appendages it is not surprising to find
Queen Victoria’s first born ushered into the world with considerable
ceremony.
In olden days changeling children were sometimes foisted upon a nation,
and in certain historical instances such imposed children have succeeded
to thrones and held sway while the _camarilla_ which perpetrated the
trick have fattened and grown rich. To thwart these daring humbugs laws
were enacted in many countries to the effect that the birth of a Royal
child, especially an heir, must be in the presence of a certain number
of responsible dignitaries of the Court. Spain still technically holds
that the Prime Minister must be present, and according to tradition all
of the ministers, grandees and foreign ambassadors and ministers present
in the city shall be summoned to the Palace. The King then marches
through the room into which these numerous privileged ones have been
gathered bearing the Royal child on a silver salver.
The exuberant happiness of King Alfonso may be surmised from the report
of all present on the memorable occasion that as the proud father passed
through the chamber, his face transformed into one great smile, he
could only say: “He weighs four kilos! He weighs four kilos!”
One week later the baby Prince was baptised in the chapel of the Royal
Palace, the Bishop of Toledo, Primate of Spain, officiating. Be it said
that his serene Highness was quite on his dignity on this his first
public appearance. Only once did he jeopardise the quiet of the solemn
occasion and that at the font when he made known his presence by one
long, loud baby shriek--which afforded as much amusement to his father
the King, as it did embarrassment to the most reverend Prelate.
This ceremony was in ample keeping with all the traditions of this most
ceremonious of courts. Vienna and St. Petersburg alone of all the
capitals of Europe are more punctilious than Madrid in the observance of
traditional functions. For Madrid and the Spanish Court be it said,
however, that these ceremonies are observed in an amiable and happy
fashion which is possible only in a country where grace and charm and
warmth of nature are characteristic of the temper and temperament of the
people.
On this occasion the chapel in the Royal Palace in Madrid was occupied
to its utmost capacity, chiefly by the grandees of Spain, visiting
royalties, and the ambassadors and ministers of foreign countries.
The wonderful tapestries which are one of the proudest art possessions
of Spain and which are only displayed on very special occasions were
brought out to line the walls, while the Halberdier Guards who lined the
aisles added colour to the setting. The ladies present all wore
_mantillas_ while the men were in full uniform or evening dress. The
Christening procession was one of glittering and imposing magnificence.
First came the mace-bearers followed by the ushers in double file, then
two long lines of Chamberlains in gold-laced coats and white silk
stockings, after them the grandees of Spain in their striking military
uniforms and feathered cocked hats. Then came seven specially picked
grandees carrying seven salvers on which were such requisites for the
holy ceremony as a salt-cellar, a gold basin and ewer, a cut lemon, a
lace towel, a cape, and a large cake. Behind this party came the royal
Prince himself, ensconced in rare and beautiful laces. His fair little
uncovered head and tiny face, and his clenched fists were the admiration
of all beholders. He was in the arms of the Marquesa de los Llanos, who
is the chief of his retinue, and on one side walked the Papal Nuncio,
who is the representative of His Holiness, the Pope, as godfather, and
on the other was the Queen-mother, as the godmother. The King strode
behind. The Infantes and Infantas followed, with their suites. The
Infanta Maria Teresa, sister of the King, and her husband, Infante
Fernando, being only convalescent from measles, were unable to be
present. Don Carlos, the widowed husband of the King’s late sister, the
Infanta Mercedes, led little Prince
[Illustration: THE PRINCE OF ASTURIAS.]
Alfonso, who was known as the heir to the throne until the birth of his
little cousin.
The little sister of the ex-heir was led by the hand by the Infanta
Isabel, at whose side walked Princess Henry of Battenberg, beautifully
robed in grey velvet and ermine. Prince Arthur of Connaught, with
Captain Wyndham and the Princes from Russia and Germany, and other Royal
representatives, all had their places in the procession. China was also
represented. The personal staff of the King was conspicuous, and the
halberdier band of music marshalled the glittering throng to the chapel.
The altar was decorated with white flowers. The historic font in which
the members of the Royal Family have for centuries been baptised was in
the centre of the chapel.
Thirty-six Bishops and four Cardinals officiated. The Royal child was
carried in the arms of his grandmother, the Dowager Queen Maria
Cristina. The water sprinkled on his brow was from the River Jordan. The
christening ceremony over, the King decorated his infant son with the
Order of the Golden Fleece, the Order of Isabella the Catholic, and the
Collar of Charles III. All the ladies of the Court were in full dress.
The little Prince thrived as a baby, and he was a sturdy chap of almost
three when I went to Spain to write this story. In Madrid, I found him
already a feature of the capital. Each day, when it was nearing the time
for him and his little brother and sister (who have since arrived) to
go for their afternoon drive, a great crowd would collect before the
Palace gates to catch a fleeting glimpse of him who will (D. V.) one day
reign over them.
On his first birthday, the Prince of Asturias was formally enrolled as a
member of one of the crack royal regiments in his father’s kingdom. The
regimental register for that day describes the new recruit as “resident
in the province of Madrid: age one year; and a _bachelor_!” It was the
day before his third birthday that I first saw him. He had profited by
his military connection during these two years, for he had learned to
salute as properly as any soldier, to wear a uniform, and to play with
soldier toys. Incidentally, he was still a bachelor.
This early martial association is a custom common to kings and princes.
Not infrequently, heirs apparent are made honorary commanders of
regiments before they reach the age of five, and all through boyhood a
military uniform is the favourite costume of many of them. King Alfonso
nearly always wore a military uniform during his childhood and
youth--but Don Alfonso has never been other than a King. A nation was
already his at birth, an army, a navy and more palaces than he could
ever know what to do with.
From the day the Prince of Asturias became a member of his regiment, a
bed was set aside and will always be reserved for him in the regimental
barracks, and the regulation plate, mug and spoon of his equipment kept
ready for his use. An incident of that memorable first birthday of the
little Prince which must have bored the young man intensely was the
reading to him of the penal laws in order that thereafter he might not
be able to justify any infraction of discipline by maintaining his
ignorance of these laws. The papers which he was obliged to sign were
marked with an “X” signifying “The Prince of Asturias, his mark.”
One day, when I was in the Palace in Madrid, the little Prince was
discovered in one of the chambers of the private apartments, playing
with the sword of one of his father’s aides. My companion looked at the
little fellow and the sword which was bigger than he, and said: “What
does your Royal Highness propose to do with that sword?” The Prince
paused in his play and after a moment’s hesitation replied: “Have no
fear, no harm shall come to you!”
That afternoon, His Royal Highness (as he is addressed at Court) went
riding. His horseback lessons began when he was a little more than two
and one-half years old. If he does not prove the best horseman in his
kingdom, as is his father to-day, it will not be for lack of early
training.
The Crown Prince has one remarkable faculty which is already
phenomenally developed, and which is bound to prove of enormous value to
him in the future. That is an exceptional memory for faces--and names.
He knows perfectly well every face about the palace, and certain members
of the court whom he sees but seldom he remembers as readily as those
he sees every day. For many of the intimates of the household he has his
favourite nicknames, usually established by his Royal Highness when the
proper names are too long or too difficult for his baby mouth. The Royal
Governess is the Marquesa Maria de Salamanca. This is rather sonorous
for the Prince so he always calls her “Mia-manca,” a natural contraction
of the two names. This trait is one that was very pronounced in his
father when he was a child. Many anecdotes are still current of the
embarrassment the baby King Alfonso would frequently cause his nurses
and governesses and even his mother, the Queen Regent Maria Cristina, by
the curious and quaint names he would dub various courtiers and grandees
who were frequently staid and dignified old gentlemen.
There is something unmistakably regal in the manner and bearing of the
Prince of Asturias. He seems to have a full realisation of who he is,
and of his own importance. This spirit is naturally fostered by his
environment. Officers and soldiers everywhere salute him, while
courtiers and populace uncover when he approaches. Being the recipient
of universal obeisance almost from his cradle accustoms him to continual
homage and he comes to expect it from everyone.
The coachman Corral who drives the big mules to the nursery coach is a
prime favourite with the princes. One day, just as they were about to
go for their afternoon drive the Prince of Asturias went to the King
and asked for a cigar. The King was greatly surprised at the request,
coming from the Prince who was then not much over two, but he gave the
young man a cigar and watched with much curiosity what he would do with
it. The cigar was carefully carried throughout the drive and on the
return to the Palace the Prince handed it to the coachman. Since then he
frequently brings a cigar with him for the coachman, but if for any
reason he becomes displeased with the coachman over something during the
drive he carries it back upstairs for another day when the coachman is
better behaved!
The Prince of Asturias has his mother’s fondness for sweet chocolate,
and Her Majesty keeps a supply always at hand to reward the princes for
good behaviour, and every day after luncheon they each get a piece
anyway.
The Queen was taken ill during the week that the King was in London
attending the funeral of King Edward. The Prince of Asturias seemed
considerably worried when he learned that his mother would not be down
for luncheon. The Queen Mother, Maria Cristina, who lives in the Royal
Palace, noticed the anxious look on the face of her grandson and
inquired what was the trouble.
“I am thinking,” he replied, “that if mother is ill and father is in
London--who will give us chocolate to-day after lunch?”
One afternoon the Prince of Asturias was naughty. In the Casa de Campo
he had been very cross, and had been reprimanded. That night at
supper-time when the dessert was placed before him he said: “To-day I
was naughty. I do not deserve these sweets. Dessert is not for naughty
children. But before I was naughty; now I am good. Now I deserve my
sweets, so I shall take this dessert.”
This self-depreciation as well as appreciation is one of his
characteristics. He is as quick to admit his own disapproval of himself,
as he is to insist on approval at other times.
One day when His Majesty was going to a pigeon shoot just outside of
Madrid he took the Prince of Asturias along in the automobile. The
little Prince was greatly pleased at this and very proud. During the
next several days he went about the Palace telling everybody how pleased
he had been with the excursion.
Travelling also delights the little man. He has from his earliest months
been interested in railroad trains and the journeys to Seville in the
winter time, to La Granja in the spring, and to San Sebastian in the
summer are great treats to the nursery.
When the Prince of Asturias was about a year old the Royal Family moved
to La Granja. One afternoon the Queen was walking in the gardens with
one of her ladies-in-waiting when it occurred to her that she would like
to go outside of the Palace grounds for a stroll down one of the
country lanes. So without any other escort than her one lady companion
she started out. Presently they met an old peasant woman trudging toward
them carrying a basket. As she came nearer she recognised the Queen and
moved toward her. The lady-in-waiting, not understanding the motive of
the peasant woman, quickly stepped in between her and the Queen, but the
Queen at once said, “No--let her speak. She has something she wants to
say to me.” The woman then told the Queen that in the basket she carried
a litter of baby rabbits and they were so pretty and cunning that she
thought the little Prince would like them--and would Her Majesty not
send them to the Prince. The Queen peeped into the basket and was so
delighted with the wee warm bunnies that she told the woman to bring
them herself to the Prince, and to the astonishment of the
lady-in-waiting and the unbounded joy of the peasant woman the Queen led
the way back to the Palace and up to the nursery where the Prince duly
received the bunnies and was highly pleased with them.
At another time, in Seville, a litter of rabbits was presented to the
Prince of Asturias. This time the rabbits were bigger and lively.
Someone left the cover off the basket and the rabbits all jumped out and
ran off through the Palace, affording the Prince much amusement, but
creating no end of trouble for the nurses who had to catch them.
CHAPTER XI
THE ROYAL NURSERY OF SPAIN
There is a striking contrast between the two princes. The Prince of
Asturias is absolutely fair with flaxen hair, while Don Jaime is as dark
as a typical Spaniard. Even at the age of two, his hair is dark and his
eyes are as lustrously brown as his father’s.
All three of the children are learning to speak English, Spanish and
French, with equal fluency. They have between them two English nursery
governesses and one French maid in addition to a usual number of Spanish
maids and other servants. Their mother, the Queen, was brought up
familiar with French and German, in addition to her own English, while
King Alfonso was taught English, French and German from his boyhood. It
is expected that a modern king be able to talk and think in two or three
languages, but it is exceptional to find a crown prince of three who can
already express himself in three tongues.
When speaking to his mother, the Queen, the little Prince invariably
uses English, but with his father, the King, he uses Spanish. He seems
to know instinctively one tongue from the other. If he is handed
something--for example, a box--he will take it and pronounce the word
in English and Spanish and sometimes in French also. In that way he
seems to instinctively teach himself the three languages simultaneously.
The two Princes are naturally constant playmates. In the Casa de Campo
where they are taken every morning at half-past ten they play in the
sand together and stand up their little toy soldiers. As I had the
privilege of playing here with them one morning I shall have more to say
of this later. The Crown Prince usually refers to his brother as “my
brother, the Infante,” never as Don Jaime or Jaime, although
occasionally he lapses into English and calls him “Jimmy.”
The Princes are very fond of each other, but like all children they have
their quarrels now and again. The Crown Prince has a good deal of a will
of his own and sometimes his nurses find him something more than a
handful. One morning he rushed up to the Royal Governess and said: “My
brother the Infante has been very naughty, _very_ naughty, so I kicked
him and he cried. But now he is no longer naughty so I shall run and
kiss him,” whereupon he rushed off to the playroom in the châlet where
he found Don Jaime and tenderly kissed him.
Don Jaime has one of the sweetest baby faces I have ever seen. He has
inherited his father’s soft, beautiful eyes and winning smile. His
nature is said to be as lovely as his smile. He is a great favourite in
the Royal Household and already is manifesting unusual signs of
keenness and intelligence.
Curiously enough, the newspapers of Europe including England, and also
of America, have from time to time printed stories to the effect that
these two Princes are deaf and dumb and otherwise defective. These
rumours are all baseless slanders. The King’s secretary has been put to
great trouble writing to inform people all over the world that there is
no truth in these stories. On one occasion the Prime Minister found it
necessary to issue a public signed statement to the effect that he had
personally talked with the Princes and that he knew them to be mentally
and physically fit and normal. As a matter of fact, I found them both
unusually sturdy boys with exceptional intelligence for their years.
In this connection I had a striking experience of the way these stories
are circulated. The second or third day after I arrived in Madrid the
head porter at my hotel said to me: “So you are the American physician?”
“What American physician?” I asked in surprise.
“The doctor who has been brought from New York to attend the Crown
Prince.”
“No,” I replied, “I am not a doctor. How did you come to think that I
was?”
He thereupon explained that shortly after my arrival in Madrid the
King’s private secretary had called for me at my hotel and that directly
after I had been seen entering the Royal Palace. This aroused some
curiosity among the hotel people and finally someone concluded that as I
wore a Van-dyke beard I must be a physician, and as I had gone to the
Palace I had undoubtedly gone to examine the Princes who were said to be
deaf and dumb! This absurd tale circulated about the capital and as it
went from mouth to mouth details were added, and that which at first was
characterised as probable and circumstantial became absolutely definite.
It is really cruel to spread such nonsensical stories about two such
bright boys as the Prince of Asturias and Don Jaime.
Both the Prince of Asturias and Don Jaime are devoted to horses and all
the trappings of the stables. They are also very fond of cats. There is
one big nursery cat which is an especial favourite. So far they have not
taken much interest in dogs, and in fact there isn’t even one dog about
the Royal Palace in Madrid. Formerly the King had many dogs, but now
very few and these are kept in the country. The Queen had a dog which
was presented to her by her uncle, the late King Edward of England, but
one day at La Granja the dog strayed away--as the best of dogs sometimes
will, even when their masters are sovereigns and their abode a royal
palace.
The palace of the Alcazar in Seville is a favourite residence with the
Princess just as it is with the Queen. The gardens of this old Moorish
palace are very delightful and here the Royal children love to play
just as their father did when he was a boy. Down one of the walks is a
series of tiny holes. Ordinarily no one would even see them. It was a
favourite prank of the little Don Alfonso to send some unsuspecting
person along this walk while he loitered in the rear; suddenly he would
turn a hidden wheel and instantly a fine stream of water would shoot up
through each of these squirt holes, to the astonishment and oftentimes
consternation of the victim of the Royal joke.
There is a maze of boxwood in these gardens which affords the children
endless amusement. A stranger once entering this maze gets completely
entangled and bewildered. It takes even an adult some time to discover
the path leading out. Here, too, are several small ponds stocked with
gold fish and every day the Princes visit the ponds to feed the fish.
The Prince of Asturias is especially fond of playing in sand, and on his
third birthday the Queen bought for him a set of sand pails and little
shovels which pleased him tremendously.
One day I was in the nursery playroom at the Alcazar and I took occasion
to examine the toys of the Royal children. What was my surprise to find
a great assortment of little tin mechanical toys such as one sees
exhibited all along Fourteenth street or Twenty-third street--toys that
cost about ten cents each. The things that are wound up with a
[Illustration: THE COURT OF THE VIRGINS AT SEVILLE.]
key and then rush about in circles. There were boxing men, and little
go-carts drawn by monkeys and donkeys and a great assortment of similar
devices.
Of course, they have many grand toys, gifts from sovereigns, potentates
and ambassadors, but so far neither of the Princes has exhibited any
particular predilection for these expensive toys. The simple ten-cent
things afford them as much pleasure as anything.
The favourite toy of the Crown Prince for a long time was a doll dressed
as a soldier. The one positive passion that this little fellow has as
yet revealed is soldiering. To most children, soldiering is the most
fascinating thing in the world. But to the Prince of Asturias, soldiers
are almost an obsession. The sound of bugles and drums excites him
tremendously and he never wearies of watching troops at drill or on
parade. The guard mount at the Royal Palace in Madrid takes place every
morning at eleven o’clock, and is considerable of a ceremony, many
troops being employed and representing several branches of the
army--infantry, cavalry and field artillery, while two bands are
constantly playing. The Prince’s room in the Palace looks out upon the
esplanade where this takes place, and never a day does he fail to watch
this when he is in the Palace. This is another trait inherited from his
father.
Another remarkable evidence of more than ordinary brightness in the
Prince of Asturias in his familiarity with the different uniforms. He
knows them all and rarely makes an error. Even from his window looking
down into the street, he can distinguish an artillery uniform from the
infantry,--a lancer from a halberdier.
Queen Victoria Eugenie is one of the most devoted of mothers. As it has
been the policy in Spain for queens-consort to hold aloof from politics,
she has been able to devote more of her time than would ordinarily be
the case to her children, without at the same time neglecting other
duties of queenship.
She is devoted to each of them alike, with a possible special fondness
for the Infanta Beatrice. But the Infanta is only one year old and as
she is the baby as well as the one daughter, this slight preference is
understandable.
The Princes get up every morning at half-past seven. After their bath
they repair at once to the Queen’s room and remain for an hour or more.
Thus is every day started.
Every bright morning when the Royal Family is in residence at Madrid all
three children are taken to the Casa de Campo to play, at half-past ten.
When they tire of their play they drive a little, and the Prince of
Asturias takes his morning ride on his pony “Belaye,” and then they go
to the pretty little châlet which has been built for them in the park
and enjoy a nap before luncheon. The Prince is keen to hear
stories--especially stories about soldiers. They must be invented
stories, however, and each morning the governess or one of the nurses is
implored to tell a story. Generally he drops off to sleep before the
story is finished, which is what he likes. At bedtime the Queen
generally tells him a story until he falls asleep.
One Monday morning in one of the rooms of the private apartments in the
Royal Palace at Madrid I noticed a suspended sheet. There were a group
of chairs in front and obviously the sheet had been used as a screen for
lantern pictures. Upon inquiry I was told that every Sunday evening the
King and Queen and all the Royal Family dine together informally--_en
famille_ as it were--and after the meal they all adjourn to the
adjoining room for a biograph exhibition. These Sunday evening suppers
and entertainments constitute one of the most charming features of the
Spanish court life.
The children of the Spanish Royal Family are especially fortunate in
having parents who are above all things human--vibrant with youth,
indulgent with the pranks and pleasantries of childhood. It is not so
long since King Alfonso himself was a mischievous lad, and Queen
Victoria Eugenie a capricious girl. According to all reports, the boy
Alfonso was quite as full of spirit and mischief as the average small
boy anywhere in the world.
King Alfonso even now has not outgrown this love for fun. The first
Shrove Tuesday that Queen Victoria was in Spain she was made the victim
of a joke by her Royal spouse and his sister, the Infanta Maria Teresa.
As Her Majesty was passing through one of the corridors of the Palace
the King and the Infanta suddenly sprang out upon her, disguised behind
masks, giving her a considerable start. This is the survival of an
ancient custom in Spain peculiar to this particular day. This boyishness
is constantly cropping out, often to the amusement of the court. There
can be no doubt that when the little Princes are old enough to indulge
in practical jokes that they will find their Royal father and mother the
most sympathetic of parents.
I had seen the Royal children a good many times during my stay in Spain,
but I had had no opportunity for close observation of them. I wanted to
see them at play, and to take some snap-shots of them with my own
camera. None of my friends at court quite knew how to obtain this
privilege for me. The request was without precedent, as the Princes have
not yet reached the age of holding audiences. So I spoke to His Majesty
the King about it. I broached the matter delicately, but without the
slightest hesitation the King replied: “Most certainly you may meet
them. In the Palace if you like, but they are so little I am afraid they
would be shy and quiet. The best thing would be for you to go to the
Casa de Campo one morning and play with them. There you may also have
your camera and take as many snap-shots as you like. And if the pictures
are good,” he continued, “you will let me show them to Her Majesty the
Queen who is always much interested in all photographs of the Princes.”
CHAPTER XII
THE PRINCES AT PLAY
I thanked His Majesty warmly for this unusual courtesy, and the second
morning after Señor de Torres called for me at my hotel just before ten
o’clock and we drove together to the Reserve in the Casa de Campo. The
Marquesa de Salamanca, who is the First Royal Governess, passed us in an
automobile near the entrance. The Marquesa de Puerta, who is the Second
Governess, was not there that morning. We arrived a brief moment behind
the nursery. The Princes and their nursemaids were still in the mule
coach driven by Corral, the favourite nursery coachman. Behind was the
little open carriage drawn by the two donkeys “Sol” and “Luna,” and the
tiny Shetland pony, “Belaye,” of the Crown Prince.
As we approached, the Marquesa de Salamanca lifted the Prince of
Asturias from the carriage and brought him in her arms toward us,
presenting him as the Little Crown Prince. Anticipating her, however,
the little fellow cried out: “Kaulak--Kaulak, is coming.” Now, Kaulak is
a Madrid photographer who takes most of the photographs of the Royal
family and the Prince had noticed the cameras in my hand. The Marquesa
told him, as she put him down at our feet, that I was not Kaulak,
though I had cameras and could take his picture. He surveyed me
critically for a moment and then came and posed himself before me with
his little right hand at salute, asking that I first take him that way.
He wore the same broad-brimmed white straw hat encircled by a pale blue
ribbon and the cunning little white flannel suit in which I had first
seen him going out to drive. He tried valiantly to wrestle with my name
but this proved too much of a mouthful.
The two English governesses and the French maid gathered the children’s
toys from the coach and we started for a stream of water where the
children wanted to play. As we started the Infante Don Jaime was brought
over. He is a dear boy with a wonderfully sweet and friendly smile. It
was evident from the first moment that he, at least, had no intention of
standing on ceremony. The wee Infanta Beatrice was too sleepy to pay
much attention, so she was put to rest in an ordinary baby carriage and
was soon trundled fast asleep.
The Prince of Asturias first took up the sand pail and shovel that had
recently been given him by his mother the Queen for his third birthday.
Don Jaime, however, found more interest in the water. He splashed the
stream for a few minutes then toddled off to a spring and began tossing
stones into the water, laughing with delight at each splash. When he had
used all of his stones he asked me to recover them. This was a task,
but I rolled up my sleeves, and getting down on my knees I began to
pick them from the bottom one by one and arrange them around the spring
wall. Just as I finished the Prince of Asturias ran up and seizing the
largest stone of all splashed it violently back into the water, wetting
me from head to foot. This gave them both great pleasure and they
laughed tremendously. “See,” exclaimed the Infante, “I have given you a
bath!”
The next moment the Prince decided that my dress was incomplete, as I
had no flower in my buttonhole. He asked me if I wouldn’t like him to
get me a nice flower. I told His Royal Highness that I should be very
pleased. So away he went to the flower beds. He was critical in his
selection. A number of flowers were successively rejected. Finally he
plucked a beautiful white rose and bringing it back placed it (with a
little assistance) in my buttonhole. Don Jaime, in the meantime watched
his brother with evident interest and decided that it was his turn to do
something toward entertaining me. So he went off to the strawberry bed
and picked some luscious ripe berries to feed me.
The morning was unusually dark and gloomy for Madrid in June, and I am
very much of an amateur at photography, consequently dependent upon
bright light. About eleven o’clock the clouds lightened somewhat and I
got out my cameras. Instantly both Princes were interested. The Prince
of Asturias particularly seemed to enjoy having his picture taken. I
snapped him repeatedly and found that he never seemed to weary of posing
for me.
The Infanta Beatrice had now waked up, so she joined us. Corral, ever
attentive and watchful, took great delight in catching the eye of the
small Princess so that her face should be turned toward the camera. She
showed a silent interest in the performance, but her little eyes were
still heavy with sleep and it was evident that she would much have
preferred to remain in her perambulator. She grew alert, however, when
the donkey carriage was brought round. She enjoys her rides about the
gardens, sitting by the side of her brother Don Jaime.
Don Jaime climbed into the carriage by himself and picked up the whip.
The Infanta thought that she should hold this and straightway reached
out her hand to grasp it. The two wrestled back and forth until between
them they dropped it onto the ground. Then there was storm and tears.
When I looked round the Prince was proudly seated on Belaye. Belaye is
one of the smallest of Shetland ponies, and his saddle precisely like a
toy. It is not quite a real saddle for it has a seat and straps to
secure the little rider. But these are the first lessons of the Prince
in riding. By the time he is six he will doubtless mount a real saddle
and ride just like a little man.
Besides his Shetland pony he has two little donkeys, so tiny that any
man could carry one under each arm. These are harnessed to a little
cart and the young Prince takes his first lessons in driving in the
beautiful and extensive park behind the Royal Palace, known as the _Casa
de Campo_. Formerly he had a third donkey called “Astra,” but Astra
died. Sometime after this distressing event the Prince was asked about
Astra by someone in the Palace, and he made answer with a certain manner
of mystery, “Oh! he is gone away. He is in the Casa de Campo eating
strawberries.”
In amusing contrast to these dwarf donkeys are four sturdy mules which
are attached to the big nursery coach in which ride not only the Prince
of Asturias but also his brother Don Jaime, his sister Infanta Beatrice
and two of their nurses. Beside the carriage, ride two splendidly
mounted equerries and behind, two Royal grooms. On the whole, it is an
imposing cavalcade, this nursery out a-airing.
The two Princes--aged three and two respectively--sit on the main seat.
A brace for their feet has been adjusted to the carriage and two leather
belts keep them securely in place. One day I was going into the Palace
just as the nursery was about to start out. The little Prince and the
Infante were in their seats and the baby Infanta was just being brought
downstairs. As I passed the carriage, I raised my hat to the wee boys,
both of whom were dressed in white with broad-brimmed straw hats.
Instantly, two little hands were raised to their right temples, elbows
out, eyes front--all with military precision. No soldier could have
given a truer salute. It was so charming, so unexpected, that I laughed
outright. On later days when I saw them out driving, I noticed that each
time they passed a flag they saluted it, and each time an officer or
soldier saluted them, the salute was returned.
The morning wore on till noon time when Don Jaime grew overpoweringly
sleepy, and the Prince grew anxious for his morning story--preliminary
to his noon nap. We drove and rode and picked more flowers and threw
more stones into the water and made more sand piles--and we were all
very happy. I found them wholesome, hearty children, normal in all
respects, bright beyond their years, and well developed. How the
baseless stories concerning their supposed infirmities and defectiveness
ever started, is a mystery to me, unless political enemies of the
monarchial parties set them in circulation with malice aforethought.
After my morning with them in the Casa de Campo some people at my hotel
said to me: “What a pity that the Princes are not right in their
faculties!”
“But they are perfectly right,” I replied, indulgently, “those stories
are pure nonsense.”
“Oh! no, sir. You must be mistaken.”
“How can I be mistaken?” I answered, “I have just spent a morning with
them and I found them not only normal in every way, but particularly
intelligent.”
“That cannot be,” was the reply, “because it is said that they are
defective.”
I began to grow indignant and finally I gave up the controversy. After I
had gone they asked one another, as I later learned, how much the King
had paid me to say that the Princes were all right! What is one to do
with such people? And this is characteristic of what is met often in
Madrid.
The Prince of Asturias is to-day one of the loveliest of children.
Presently he must submit to the discipline which will make of him a
strong, fearless man fit to lead and rule a nation. If he lives he will
succeed to the throne of Spain as King Alfonso XIV.
There is no better wish that I may express for my readers than that when
they come to this beautiful summer land of Spain, they may have
something of the same privileges I have enjoyed; that they may meet this
manly, courageous, wise King, Alfonso XIII--face to face, clasp his hand
in hearty grasp and sit with him in his study by the hour listening to
his clear-cut, incisive conversation, enjoying his ideas and ideals, all
expressed in most excellent English; or go with him to the beautiful
polo ground and watch him play the fastest sort of game, riding his
beautiful ponies brought over from the Argentine Republic; that they may
meet the beautiful Queen Victoria Eugenie, the English Princess, who is
the true heroine of this romance and perhaps hear from her own lips the
story of the beautiful prophesy of her father, now long dead, that one
day she should come to Spain and be very, very happy. Perchance, indeed,
some favoured ones may be shown the Spanish fan he sent her from Seville
and which is to-day her most treasured possession. Above all, I would
wish that all might spend a morning such as I spent in the Casa de Campo
with the little Princes, playing in the sand, splashing water and eating
strawberries plucked by these dear, little, Royal hands and carry away a
pure white rose, selected and plucked by him who will one day, God
willing, be King Alfonso XIV of Spain.
PART II
EMPRESS ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA OF RUSSIA
CHAPTER I
“SUNNY”
“The most beautiful Queen on any throne,” she was called when first she
became Empress of all the Russias. She still is tall and stately, her
hair is luxuriant and rich in colour. Eyes that some call blue and some
call grey look out through long, dark lashes, and in them lies a great
sadness, an appealing wistfulness touched with regret, a silent
melancholy betraying soul tragedy. Yet as a child she was known as
“Sunny.”
The life story of “Sunny” has never before been comprehensively told in
English. This is curious, because there probably is not a person in the
whole world who would not like to hear the wonderful romance of how a
poor little German Princess became a great Sovereign, the co-ruler of
one of the vastest empires on earth, the mistress of a fabulously rich
and bewilderingly extravagant court, and with opportunity for becoming
the most powerful woman in Europe. “Sunny” was the childhood nickname
of this little Princess, and after the hardships and vicissitudes of a
quiet girlhood, where there was a constant struggle to maintain
appearances, she was courted by a wayward gallant who was heir to a
mighty crown. “Sunny” lost her heart to the Royal wooer, and he, putting
aside the less noble loves of his reckless, youthful days, pledged
himself to her--persistently courted her against wide opposition--turned
a deaf ear to the councils of Emperors and Queens who tried to
discourage the match, and after years of battling with diplomatic
intrigue and personal restraint he carried his purpose, married the
German Princess who was truly the bride of his heart, and in marrying
her raised her from the obscurity and poverty of her own simple home to
the exalted rank of Empress. This is the true story of Princess Alix of
Hesse whom Nicholas II made Tsaritsa of Russia!
There is something tremendously dramatic about this little German
Princess stepping out of the quiet of her Darmstadt home into the arena
of world affairs, and taking her position as Empress over one hundred
and forty millions of people. Yet, of her life, almost nothing is known
by the world at large.
No woman of modern times has had such marvellous opportunities for the
exercise of personal influence and power. Yet who knows her? I had seen
her in St. Petersburg, I knew men and women of the Court who had told me
things about her from time to time. But I felt less acquainted with her
life than that of any sovereign in Europe. I turned to the magazine and
newspaper files of the last fifteen years and I was amazed at the
meagreness of information concerning her. I made diligent inquiry among
people who frequently are veritable mines of gossip and stories
concerning Royal personages, but scarcely a thing could I gather
concerning the Tsaritsa who in many ways occupies the most unique
position of any woman in the world. When I set forth in all seriousness
to learn of her from her childhood to the present time, to gather the
details of her charming romance and the story how she became the wife of
an Emperor, I found I must go far afield--overseas, to Germany, to
Russia; I must seek my information from her courtiers, her
ladies-in-waiting, her friends, princes and princesses of the realm,
tutors of her children, servants in her palaces, officials of the
Imperial Household. So I went. I talked with all these people and many
more besides, and the story I set down here is the story of her life, as
I have heard it piecemeal from the lips of those who have been closest
to her during the years that she has occupied a position of world
eminence.
The Tsaritsa is now thirty-nine years old. She was born at
Darmstadt, Germany, June 6, 1872, and christened Princess
Alix-Victoria-Helene-Louise-Beatrix. She was the youngest daughter of
the Grand Duke and Duchess of Hesse and the Rhine. Her mother was
Princess Alice of England, daughter of Queen Victoria.
Her sister, Princess Victoria, became the wife of Louis of Battenberg;
her sister Elizabeth became the wife of the Grand Duke Sergius of
Russia, uncle of the present Tsar; while a third sister became Princess
Henry of Prussia. Prince Henry is the brother of Emperor William of
Germany, and he is the official head of the German Navy. The only living
brother of these remarkable sisters eventually came into the title of
Grand Duke of Hesse and the Rhine, which he holds to-day. Besides all
these close connections with important Royalties, she was a niece of
King Edward of England and cousin to innumerable lesser Royalties. After
her marriage she became connected with the courts of Denmark and Greece.
The Dukes of Hesse were made Grand Dukes during the time of the
Napoleonic wars and Grand Dukes they have remained to this day.
Thus Princess Alix has always had grand connections, but the duchy of
Hesse and the Rhine was poor and as the Grand Duke, her father, was not
even ruler of the Duchy, and possessed of only small financial
resources, the family household was forced to accept a comparatively
frugal régime. There are hundreds of girls in America to-day who have
never felt the press of poverty as did Princess Alix through the early
years of her life. The little Princess was taught to sew and to assist
in home duties, not only because this was all part of the proper
training of a princess, but because of necessity.
The simplicity of this home was like the simplicity of an ordinary
German or English middle class home of to-day. In her letters to Queen
Victoria, the mother of Princess Alix was wont to speak very freely of
the straitened circumstances of the family. Some of the items and
incidents mentioned in these letters can hardly be credited. For
instance, in one letter the death of a cow is lamented--“because it will
be so difficult to get another.” In another she sends thanks for some
furniture. In another the summer holiday is discussed and frank
acknowledgment made that they cannot afford to go to Sheveningen, the
charming and fashionable Dutch watering resort a few miles from The
Hague, because it is too costly, but they must be content with
Blankenberghe which is treeless, dull and uninteresting, but more
reasonable of price.
Princess Alix’s allowance of pocket money was twenty-five cents a week
up to the time of her confirmation, when she received double that
amount. Alix was the youngest born of the Grand Duke and Duchess and was
called “Alix” because Queen Victoria had always been annoyed at the way
Germans pronounced Alice. And so at her suggestion Alice was changed to
Alix to simplify it for the people of her own country. “Alicky” she was
frequently called by her mother, but the neighbours and friends of the
family early came to call her the “Little Princess Sonnenschein,” and
from this came the name of endearment which she carried for so
long--“Sunny.”
“Baby is a sweet, merry little person, like Ella (her sister), but her
features are smaller,” her mother once wrote to Queen Victoria, “and her
eyes are darker, and she has very long lashes and auburn hair. She is
always laughing, and with a deep dimple in one cheek just like Ernie.”
(Ernie was her brother who is now Grand Duke of Hesse and the Rhine.) On
another occasion her mother wrote: “She is indeed the personification of
her nickname ‘Sunny.’” During all this time Empress dreams were far off,
and the big world with its infinite possibilities, its large joys and
burden of days, but visions of twilight hours. When she was only six
years old her mother died. This was the first deep shadow of her life,
and from that time on she carried little responsibilities that tended to
weigh upon her, to drive her more and more into herself, and perhaps to
plant the seeds of moroseness which some say is now a quality of her
character. At twelve the True Romance of her life came to her.
Princess Elizabeth, the older sister of Alix, had been courted by Grand
Duke Sergius, of Russia, an uncle of the present Tsar and brother of the
then reigning Emperor. In 1884 Sergius came to Darmstadt for his bride,
and young Nicholas was of the Royal party. Nicholas here met Princess
Alix for the first time and in her saw his future bride--the future
Empress of his country. Nicholas, though nearly four years older than
she, was only sixteen, but sometimes hearts can choose their own at
sixteen as surely as in later years, and if love has since been the
dominant element in the family life of this royal couple, it entered in,
there in Darmstadt at this early time.
CHAPTER II
COURTSHIP AND A JOURNEY TO THE NORTHLAND
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.
[Illustration: THE TSARITSA IS HONORARY COLONEL OF THE UHLANS OF THE
GUARD.]
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.
CHAPTER III
ASSUMING THE BURDEN
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.
CHAPTER IV
MOTHERHOOD AND QUEENSHIP
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
[Illustration: THE FIVE CHILDREN OF THE TSARITSA.]
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.
CHAPTER V
SPIRIT WHISPERINGS
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.
These incidents indicating this phase of the Tsaritsa’s character are,
of course, sympathetically interpreted by Miss Eager because she,
herself, believes so absolutely in the spirit world, in dreams and
intuitions.
For example, before Port Arthur was beseiged, Miss Eager in a dream saw
its fall and told the Empress about it. The Empress afterwards reminded
her of this dream and deeply regretted that the Tsar had not taken
counsel from Miss Eager’s vision rather than from Philippe.
On another occasion, Miss Eager told Mary, the nurse, to go and tell a
certain lift-man in the Palace that he was not to work that day as, in a
dream, she had seen him terribly crushed and mangled, but Mary laughed
and refused to convey the message. Miss Eager thought it seemed rather
foolish and so did not insist upon sending the message to the man. That
afternoon, when she returned from the daily drive with the Grand
Duchesses, the Empress sent for her and said, “Miss Eager, this morning,
you told Mary to warn the lift-man not to work to-day and Mary refused
to carry your message.” Miss Eager said, “Yes, that is true.” “Well,”
said the Empress, “I sent for you because I wanted to tell you myself
that while you were out with the children, the lift-man was killed.”
Another curious incident which is hard to explain occurred at the time
of the death of Princess Ella, a daughter of the Grand Duke of Hesse, a
charming child of seven years, who succumbed to an illness of only 36
hours’ duration,--apparently ptomaine poisoning. The child was staying
at the time with her Royal uncle and aunt, the Tsar and Tsaritsa at the
Palace in Poland. While the child was ill, and just before her life
spark was extinguished, two of the Russian Grand Duchesses, Olga and
Tatiana, who were sleeping together in a neighbouring room, suddenly
began to scream frantically. The Empress, the physicians in attendance
upon Princess Ella and Miss Eager rushed into the room where the
children were and saw them standing in their beds and shrieking in
terror. It was long before they could be pacified and then they told how
they had seen a strange man with flowing robes and great wings, walk
through their room. While they were still telling of the fearful
apparition, the eyes of both the children suddenly became dilated with
terror and both of them simultaneously pointing in the same direction,
cried, “Look! Look! There he is again. Don’t you see him? He is going
into Ella’s room. Poor Ella! Poor Ella!” Of course, none of the adults
could see anything and the physicians assured the Empress that it was
but an attack of childish hysteria which had suddenly and strangely come
upon both children. Only a few moments later, the Empress and the
physicians were hurriedly summoned to the bedside of the dying child
who, lapsing into a state of coma, died in the Tsaritsa’s arms. To this
day, the Empress, as well as the Emperor and Miss Eager, are convinced
that the children actually saw this Angel of Death passing into the room
of the dying Princess. At least, it is true that there are many similar
inexplicable cases on record of children and sometimes of animals, as
well as of dying persons, having supernatural vision at moments of
death. Horses, for example, have been known to become terror-stricken
when passing the scene of a murder, while the well-known death-rap is of
such common occurrence that there can be no doubt of its existence.
These incidents are related in order to explain much that is otherwise
inexplicable in the character of the Tsaritsa. The mental development
which she has experienced through her entire life has been logical and
in natural sequence. Her early philosophical and theological interests
have simply been developed abnormally in the abnormal environment in
which she has lived. While the Empress has been ever sceptical when
conversing with her friends and reluctant to accept as reality,
manifestations of the spirit world, there can be no doubt that both she
and the Emperor have nevertheless been secretly convinced that they are
both instruments of God as well as possessing the power of holding
converse with the spirit world.
This is proved by the canonisation of Seraphim, the parish priest of
Tambov, whose tomb they visited prior to the birth of the heir, Alexis.
Seraphim had been dead seventy years, but the Tsar, anxious to leave no
stone unturned to procure a son and heir, encouraged by the Tsaritsa,
insisted upon the canonisation of Seraphim. When the remains of the old
priest were unearthed, it was found that the body was badly decomposed,
and to canonise a man whose body yields to the influence of
decomposition is contrary to the traditions and customs of the Church.
Orthodox Bishop Dmitry of Tambov made bold to call attention to this
fact and protest the canonisation of Seraphim. For his temerity, the
Tsar, deeply angered, ordered that Dmitry be deprived of his see and
exiled to Viatka. According to Emperor Nicholas, the preservation of
bones, hair and teeth were sufficient qualification for saintship.
Furthermore His Majesty was upheld in this by various sycophant but
prophetic monks, who, with sublime assurance, allowed that God will one
day work a miracle and restore Seraphim’s body. So Seraphim was
canonised with great pomp and ritualistic solemnity. If anything were
needed to fasten the belief of the Tsar and Tsaritsa in these extreme
forms of religion it was the patent answer to their faith and trust in
Philippe and Seraphim.
The boy was called Alexis and he was born on July 30, 1904, according to
the Russian calendar, and since that time, Tsar and Tsaritsa have been
given more and more to spiritualistic religion.
CHAPTER VI
FAMILY LIFE AT THE RUSSIAN COURT
Of recent years, since the war with Japan and the revolutionary outbreak
in 1905-6, few court functions have been held. In the ordinary daily
routine the Tsaritsa prefers to breakfast alone, to lunch with only one
lady-in-waiting and the Emperor with but one adjutant. The dinners are
likewise simple as often as is possible. The older children are brought
in for meals when there are no guests. The tastes of both Tsar and
Tsaritsa are equally simple as to food and to dress. The Tsar’s
favourite uniform is that of Colonel of one of his regiments, except in
the summer, when he frequently appears in hunting costume--an English
Norfolk jacket, knee trousers and leggings or high boots.
English is the language generally used by the Royal Family when
alone,--English and German. The Tsaritsa speaks Russian quite correctly,
but with a marked German accent. This is not strange in view of the fact
that she did not begin to study the language until after her betrothal.
Like most Germans, she speaks French poorly and consequently French has
never been a popular language with them, although the Tsar speaks it
most excellently well.
Because English is used so much by the Emperor and Empress it is the
popular language in court circles and among officers. Many Russians send
their children to England when they are very young in order that English
may be their first language. I have known many Russians who spoke
English absolutely perfectly; fluently and without the slightest trace
of foreign accent. The children of the Tsar and Tsaritsa use English
most.
The Tsaritsa’s voice is low and deep, not unmusical. Her laugh is light,
usually breaking into a silvery falsetto. She is slightly taller than
the Tsar, being about five feet eight and one-half inches, while he is
barely five feet eight inches. Her face still wears an expression of
soft, wistful beauty, which is enhanced by a small mole near the corner
of her mouth. It is so small that it frequently is not noticed at all,
but if one stands near her it is observed and not unpleasantly.
Miss Eager relates an incident which reveals the curious stolidity not
to say cold-bloodedness of the character of the Empress. The Empress had
gone to the christening of a battleship at St. Petersburg and returned
to the Palace at St. Petersburg in the evening. In the nursery the
Empress told Miss Eager how the officers of the ship had been drawn up
in line for the ceremony when a sudden thunderstorm had descended and a
peculiarly vivid flash of lightning had struck a flagstaff nearby,
shattering as it fell and striking some of the officers. One man rolled
right to the feet of the Empress and her dress had been splashed with
blood. The Dowager Empress had fainted at this sight, but the Empress
herself insisted that the man had died in the service of his country and
that consequently it was not a matter for mourning!
Of late years, the health of the Empress has been decidedly shattered.
During the summer of 1910, the Tsar took her for a long holiday to
Germany. She visited her childhood home of Darmstadt and later took a
cure at a watering-place known for its beneficial effects upon people
suffering from nervous and heart disorders.
During the summer of 1907 when the Imperial Family were holidaying on
the yacht, _Standart_, off the islands of Finland, there was an attempt
to do away with the entire family, the full details of which have never
leaked out into the broad world. It is known, however, that this attempt
was the result of a conspiracy which included some of the officers and
men of the Royal yacht. The shock which the Empress sustained at that
time, she has never recovered from and more or less sensational rumours
are frequently given to the world suggesting the precarious condition of
her mind as well as of her nerves.
From this extraordinarily exclusive family life, which is at present the
rule at Peterhof and Tsarskoe-Selo (the two places where the Imperial
Family spend most of their time) the Tsar has come to be spoken of
among the Grand Dukes and people of the court as “The Little Married
Man.” This phrase is indicative of the supercilious way that family life
is regarded in Russia. Americans are frequently horrified at the
nonchalant way that Russian nobles flaunt their mistresses about the
streets and public restaurants of St. Petersburg.
The Tsar, as a young man, was probably as fast as any of his court, but
after his marriage he settled down wonderfully. Whether he still has his
wayward periods, as gossip sometimes asserts, I do not know. On the
whole he is a good husband and a fond father. He undoubtedly appreciates
the tremendous love the Tsaritsa pours upon him.
The attitude of the Tsaritsa toward the education of the Russian people
will seem somewhat extraordinary to Americans, though after all it is
probably consistent with her life. In this, as in everything else, she
accepts the attitude of her liege and lord, the sovereign of the Russian
people. When a certain Count Tolstoy (not the late Leo Tolstoy) was
Minister of Public Instruction he once appealed to the Empress to aid
him in extending the educational advantages of the Empire to the girls
and young women of the country. (I have Count Tolstoy’s own permission
to relate this incident.)
The Tsaritsa listened to the Minister attentively as he set forth the
needs of Russia in this direction, and when he had concluded she replied
that she thought all young girls should be taught to sew, to care for
their homes, in short, to become helpful wives and good mothers, but as
for granting them the privileges of so-called “higher education,”
knowledge of history, philosophy and the sciences--to this she was
entirely opposed. “Because these studies, when offered to women, only
result in such terrible times as Russia is now passing through.”
This, surely, is a remarkable tribute to the women of Russia, the
Tsaritsa holding them responsible for the movement toward liberty and
freedom, as a result of their contact with education and culture!
On the other hand, the Tsaritsa sometimes generously encourages the
extension of school opportunities to individual girls whose efforts
happen to have been brought to her attention. For example, Miss Eager,
who for six years was governess to the little Grand Duchesses, and who
probably saw as much of the Tsaritsa during those years as anyone
outside of the Royal Family has ever seen, relates this anecdote, which
I repeat with particular gladness, because it is one of the few of the
kind that I have heard concerning Her Majesty.
“This story was told me by the Empress herself,” says Miss Eager. “One
morning there arrived on the train from the Caucasus, a little girl aged
eleven. She approached a station porter and asked to be sent to the
Minister of Education. The porter was greatly astonished and hesitated
as to what he should do. Then the child said with oldish solemnity, ‘I
have come from the Caucasus, a seven days’ journey, to be put to school;
you must please get me a droshky and send me to his house.’ So the
porter called a carriage and directed that she be driven to the Ministry
of Education. Arriving there she had great difficulty in gaining
admission to the Minister, but the doorman finally consented to tell the
Minister that a little girl from the Caucasus desired to see him.
“The Minister was occupied at the moment, with a Secretary of the
Empress, but the latter was interested in the message and the child was
ushered into the office. The little girl bowed to the two dignitaries
and proceeded to relate her case. The Minister appeared greatly amused
and told the child she must return to her home, as he had no vacancy.
But the little girl was persistent and soon showed that she had no idea
of returning so easily to her distant home across the Empire. ‘You are
Minister of Education,’ she exclaimed, ‘and I have come all the way from
the Caucasus to St. Petersburg to be put to school. You _must_ put me
somewhere.’ The Minister, though puzzled, was beginning to be impressed.
At last the Empress’s Secretary begged that the child be cared for until
there was a vacancy in one of the schools patronised by the Tsaritsa.
These schools are few in number and are very exclusive. A note was
thereupon written by the Minister to the Mistress of one of these
schools and the little girl was sent to her under escort of a footman.
The joy of the child was unbounded and she could scarcely express her
gratitude to the Minister.
“The Secretary went that afternoon to Peterhof and related the incident
to the Tsaritsa herself. The Empress asked that an inquiry be made
immediately and the truth of the child’s story substantiated. The
investigation showed that the two older sisters of the child had been
admitted to a local school, but there was no room for her. She took this
greatly to heart and fretted over it until at last she determined to get
a schooling anyway. She appealed to friends, to the local priest and the
doctor, and all of their combined efforts to reconcile her to the ‘Will
of God’ proved futile. At last, to pacify her, they subscribed enough
money for a ticket to the capital, and the child set forth on her long
journey all alone.
“When the Empress heard the story in detail, her heart was touched and
she commanded that place be made for her in one of her own schools. The
child is there to-day, receiving careful instruction, and enjoying the
direct patronage of the Empress.”
The Empress really loves all children, and in spite of the coolness
which exists between her and her court, all children are fond of her. On
the name day of each of her own children, she takes a long drive with
the child whose celebration it is, and this event is much looked forward
to by them all. Whatever leniency may be exercised in correcting the
capricious whims of Alexis, I believe that she is a strict mother with
all of her daughters.
The Empress has few recreations. Owing to the fact that she rides badly
she practically never rides for pleasure. Because of her disposition she
has few, if any, real confidantes and intimate friends among the ladies
of the Court. She has ladies-in-waiting--several hundred of them--but
these are chiefly for formal occasions, and of her own choice she has
but one near her at a time and different ladies are chosen for brief
periods. Evenings she and the Emperor choose to retire to their private
apartments and if she has no guests she reads aloud to him, not
infrequently from English newspapers or an English novel.
The Tsar is fond of cards. The game of wint, a gambling game much played
all over Russia, is a favourite of his, and he usually plays for high
stakes, much enjoying the zest that the gambling element lends to the
game. The Tsaritsa, on the other hand, is fond of the camera, and enjoys
photography immensely. The children have few playmates apart from their
own family and sometimes Royal cousins, children of one or another of
the Grand Dukes, or one of the Royal relatives of their own mother or
father abroad.
The Princess Ella, daughter of the present Grand Duke of Hesse and
brother to the Tsaritsa, was a playmate whom the little Russian Grand
Duchesses adored up to the sad and untimely death of the German
Princess. Being left most of the time to themselves, the children of the
Tsar and Tsaritsa enjoy joining their mother in her pastimes when it is
possible, and photography is one of the things that they all can do
together.
The Emperor has always done some shooting each year and is really fond
of the sport. One morning a few summers ago he returned to the Palace
quite fatigued, having been out all night after blackcock. Blackcock
shooting is considered right good sport because the birds are so shy
that it is difficult to get near them, and indeed, it is only at certain
times of the year that they can be shot at all. On the morning that I
refer to the Empress greeted the Royal sportsman and turning to a friend
said: “Blackcock can only be shot at the mating season, when the males
are pouring forth their song in deaf and blind rapture.” Could anything
be more cruel than to kill them at such a time?
In the summer the Tsaritsa is fond of sailing in and out among the
Finnish wherries, but this annual outing is for two or three weeks only.
Previous to “Bloody Sunday” in January, 1905, the Winter Palace in St.
Petersburg was occupied, but since that fateful day the two outlying
palaces only have been used. This has been a disappointment to Grand
Duchess Olga, who always loved the Winter Palace and often expresses the
wish to “live there all the time.” The Winter Palace is the largest
building in Europe and is a marvel in appointments. It contains rarest
malachites and jaspers, rich paintings, gifts galore that have been
showered upon other Tsars, priceless jewels, and wonderful carved
furniture. Besides the great rooms of state, salons and banquet rooms,
suites of residence, libraries, offices, and vast halls that are now
used as public museums, are beautiful winter gardens, great
conservatories rich in tropical plants, rare ferns and orchids,
blossoming plants exuding fragrance, and among the forest of greenery
hang many cages of singing birds. In the centre of these winter gardens
are pools of water in which gold fish sport, and at times pretty
fountains play into these pools.
Whenever I have been in this wonderful palace I have felt as if I were
wandering through a dream world. Several times I have been through
portions of this palace and each time I have felt a new thrill of
unreality.
The occasion of my first visit was when the Tsar received the members of
the first Duma, the occasion when I first saw the Tsaritsa, the Dowager
Empress and the little Grand Duchesses. The Tsar had commanded all of
the grand dames of the Court to appear in full court costume, and the
result was a scene of unparalleled splendour, a spectacle imposing
beyond imagination. The Throne Room and halls that were in use that day
suggested scenes from the magnificent days of the Empire of France when
beautiful women and emblazoned, uniformed men arrayed themselves in
costumes of glittering splendour. The old Russian court costumes which
were worn in the Winter Palace that
[Illustration: THE WINTER PALACE, THE SCENE OF “BLOODY SUNDAY.”]
day were quite as splendid as any the French ever conceived even in the
days of greatest pomp and show.
On another occasion I was received at the Winter Palace by a well-known
and powerful nobleman of the Court, who has been close to the Empress
for many years in the dual capacity of high functionary and friend. He
is one to whom my high thanks are due for some of the material contained
in these articles, for he not only told me some of the anecdotes which
are here related, but he verified much of the material that I had
collected from other persons and sources.
Peterhof is the favourite residence of the Tsaritsa and four of her five
children were born there. One of the several buildings of this palace
boasts a charming romantic history. About half a century ago when the
first Nicholas was soon to be Emperor of Russia, he paid a visit to the
German court. During the visit a tournament was held and Nicholas, then
a Grand Duke, acquitted himself with honour. At the close of the
tournament the victors rode past and close under a balcony, where were
seated the ladies of the court and the Royal Family. A young Prussian
Princess tossed a wreath of roses which the Russian Grand Duke caught on
his sword.
The incident proved the beginning of an attachment which culminated in
their marriage. Some years after, when the Grand Duke had become
Emperor, he bought the great park of Peterhof and built a palace for
his Empress. Remembering the incident of the wreath of roses, at the
tournament at the Prussian court, the device of a sword and a wreath of
roses was made the predominant decorative figure of the palace. You may
see it there to-day. Now as then, Peterhof belongs to the ruling
Empress. Tsarskoe-Selo is an Imperial residence belonging to the
government. Both of these palaces are within an hour of St. Petersburg.
Any visitor may stroll through the outer gardens and adjoining parks of
the palaces and at any time one may meet the Tsaritsa or the Grand
Duchesses driving or riding. The Tsar is the only real prisoner of the
family, although Alexis, the four-year-old heir, is jealously guarded.
The Tsaritsa rides badly. Despite the fact that she is commander and
“honorary Colonel” of at least two cavalry regiments she does not sit a
horse well and never rides for pleasure. In this respect she is very
unlike many modern Queens, notably the Empress Elizabeth of Austria, who
was a marvellous horsewoman, possessing that rare hypnotic influence
over the most spirited horses that the animals themselves are quick to
recognise and yield to. It is only on such occasions as a review of one
of her own regiments that the Tsaritsa mounts a horse. Ordinarily she
drives--in summer in an open carriage, and generally unescorted.
The children may from time to time be seen playing about the lawns with
a favourite pony, or driving in little wicker-work carts. They are as
full of frolic as any little girl in America, and in the nursery and the
household apartments of the palaces they are as ingenuous, as
irrepressible and often quite as embarrassing as any children we all
know. Royal manners, at least in the children, are no different from
manners of other people, and the daughters of even an Emperor and
Empress have sometimes to be rebuked quite as severely as any children
the world over.
The Tsaritsa dresses very plainly. Richly often, but in general effect
simple. The Court has never approved her clothes, chiefly, I think,
because of her inability to wear good clothes well. As a child she
dressed in the utmost simplicity and the habit has remained with her. At
certain court functions etiquette prescribes her costume. When she dons
court dress known as Old Russian, she has merely to wear elaborate
clothes that have been described in detail for her generations ago. It
is when she dons costumes for everyday wear that she fails to please a
fastidious court.
The average American girl very naturally thinks of the clothes of the
Tsaritsa of Russia with a combined feeling of awe and interest, with
just a little of envy creeping in. Imagine having all the money you want
to spend on your clothes and being able to wear jewels valued at
millions of dollars. And, of course, the American girl wants to know all
the details of the Tsaritsa’s wardrobe, and how many hats and dresses
she has each season, and how much they cost.
It may be a disappointing fact, but it is nevertheless true, that the
Tsaritsa just hates the thought of clothes, and though her costumes are
of expensive fabrics, they never have any chic individuality of their
own, for the very good reason that she cares so little about them. Of
course, she does her shopping in Paris, but she does it by proxy. One of
the Ladies-in-Waiting is commissioned to buy each season her gowns and
her hats and all the other little details appropriate for a Tsaritsa’s
wardrobe, in Paris, but many times when they reach the Tsaritsa, she
discards them with the expression, “Indeed, that is perfectly lovely and
very Frenchy, but it would never do for me at all.”
The corsetiere in Paris who makes the Tsaritsa’s stays has troubles of
her own, for the Tsaritsa utterly refuses to change her figure to suit
the ever-changing modes. Her waist is growing large of late, according
to the Parisian idea of a fashionable figure, but this doesn’t trouble
the Tsaritsa as much as it would trouble many women in America.
For everyday wear her gowns are all of the plainest, but, of course,
there are occasions when she must wear regal robes. Her court costume is
a magnificent creation of the richest satin elaborately trimmed with
heavy embroidery. Masses of the embroidery are used, while the corsage
is laden with jewelled trimming. The buttons which trim this court
costume are each one of them worth a small fortune. They consist of a
large pearl in a wonderfully artistic setting. The Tsaritsa’s pearls,
which she wears with her court costume are famous the world over.
It is no wonder she has all of these magnificent things, for in addition
to the hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of gifts that she has
herself received from her subjects and from fabulously rich kings,
princes and potentates of the East and Central Asia, she has at her
disposal jewels that belong to the Russian Crown--gifts to other
Empresses, and Emperors, far back, perhaps for several hundred years.
Sometimes she wears drop-earrings of matched pearls, which are
marvellously valuable, and her dog collar and necklace and corsage pin,
also of pearls, have a value of millions of dollars. The Tsaritsa is
always glad when the time comes for her to take off her court costume.
The long, heavy train is a burden to her. She is very partial to
light-in-weight gowns.
Many of her dresses are of the lingerie order, consisting of lace and
fine nainsook.
Yet, on the other hand, she has many house gowns and cloaks of velvet,
trimmed with rare laces. Perhaps, of all her jewels, she cares most for
a long string of wonderful pearls, which she wears very often. The
string is so long that she can wear it twice around her neck, and yet
have the longest loop reach to her knees. The short loop comes to the
waistline, and is finished with one single pear-shaped pearl of enormous
value.
All the children’s clothes are made according to the Tsaritsa’s idea,
and simplicity is their key-note. The children are very apt to wear
white entirely, and the four little girls are dressed exactly alike.
Their hair is arranged in the same way, too, brushed straight back from
their foreheads. Of course, the finest of materials is used in making
their clothes, but the design is always extremely simple. Their
christening costumes were all made alike, even the small boy’s this
time. They were of the sheerest of white mull with exquisitely fine lace
insertions. The little dresses had short sleeves and were cut out round
at the neck, and tied on the shoulders with white ribbon, having long,
silk fringe. The shoulder bows were the dress-up touch, the touch which
is so seldom seen in any of the costumes worn by the Tsaritsa’s
children.
The young man of the family is also usually dressed in white, and though
his little Russian suits come from Paris, they are strictly plain in
design, generally of heavy white linen, and trimmed with bands of
embroidery.
All these little details may be commonplace, but they are perhaps all
important when we are trying to analyse the character of the Tsaritsa
through her tastes.
CHAPTER VII
THE GRAND DUCHESS OLGA
The effect of the war upon the children of the Tsaritsa caused much pain
to their gentle English governess, Miss Eager, who relates the following
experience: “It was very sad to witness the wrathful, vindictive spirit
that the war raised in my little charges. One of the illustrated papers
had a picture of the baby children of the Crown Prince of Japan. Marie
and Anastasie came running across to see the picture, and wanted to know
who those queer little children were. I told them, and with a look of
hatred coming into her sweet face Marie slapped the picture with her
open hand. ‘Horrid little people,’ said she; ‘they came and destroyed
our poor ships and drowned our sailors.’” Miss Eager then explained to
the little Grand Duchess that it was not these children who had done
this terrible thing, because they were only babies and could not
possibly fight. But Marie answered obstinately, “Yes; those little
babies did it. Mamma told me the Japs were all only little people!”
Olga, as usual, was yet more bitter toward the Japanese. One day she
opened up vituperatively: “I hope the Russian soldiers will kill all of
the Japanese; not leave even one alive.” Her teacher tried to explain
that there were many little children and women in Japan, who had nothing
whatever to do with the war and could not fight under any circumstances.
Would it be good, she asked of Olga, for the Russian soldiers to kill
these too? The child was thoughtful for a moment, then asked: “Have they
an Emperor in Japan?” “Yes, certainly,” the teacher answered. Olga then
asked several more questions, and finally remarked: “I did not know that
the Japs were people like ourselves. I thought they were only like
monkeys.”
Olga, like so many children, who are the oldest in a family, has always
been a handful. About Marie, and Anastasie, and Tatiana too, for that
matter, are many pretty little stories of charming childish ways, but
almost every anecdote I heard of Olga was when she had been up to some
mischief, or disobedient, or stubborn, or quick of temper. One or two of
these stories, however, are interesting and show that even the mother
task of an Empress’s life is very much like every mother’s life, and
especially in the case of the Tsaritsa who has ever undertaken so much
more personal care of her children than most Queens--and one may even
say, than many mothers right here in this land.
One day, before the outbreak of the war, when Olga was quite a little
girl, she was taken for a drive with her nurse along the Nevsky
Prospect, the principal street in St. Petersburg. The little Grand
Duchess simply would not behave. She was continually jumping up and
attracting the attention of people along the streets, and as it was that
time in the afternoon when the Nevsky is crowded, this meant pretty much
the attention of all St. Petersburg.
Suddenly the child dropped back into her seat and sat bolt upright as
quiet as you please, her hands folded demurely in her lap. After a
moment she turned to her nurse and said: “Did you see that policeman?”
The nurse replied she had, but there was nothing extraordinary about a
policeman on the street. “But this one was writing something,” pursued
Olga. “I am afraid he was writing, ‘I saw Olga and she was very
naughty.’”
When the nurse replied that this was unlikely Olga reminded her,
somewhat reproachfully, that a few days before they had seen a policeman
arresting a woman who was under the influence of liquor, and when Olga
had begged that the woman be let off the nurse had replied that the
woman had been very naughty and deserved to be arrested, adding that one
had to be very naughty indeed to be taken off by the policeman in that
way.
The incident evidently made a deep impression upon the child, for no
sooner had they got back to the Palace than Olga began to inquire if any
policeman had been there for her. As soon as she could, she related the
whole affair to the Tsar and the Tsaritsa and ended by asking her father
if he had ever been arrested. The Emperor laughed and said he had never
been quite naughty enough for that, to which Olga exclaimed: “Oh! how
very good you must always have been!”
A little while before this Olga had been naughty all day and her nurse
said to her: “I am afraid you got out of bed with the wrong foot
foremost this morning.” Olga looked thoughtful for a moment but said
nothing. The next morning, before getting out of bed she called to her
nurse to ask which was the right foot for her to get out with. The nurse
indicated one of her feet and Olga slowly descended upon it. “Now,” she
said, “that bad foot won’t be able to make me naughty to-day.” And all
day, whenever Olga started to do things she ought not to do, the nurse
had only to remind her that she had got out of bed with her right foot
that morning, therefore she couldn’t be contrary.
Tatiana’s next youngest sister, the Grand Duchess Marie, one day caused
a ripple of amusement in the same Winter Palace. She was looking out of
one of the windows when a regiment of soldiers marched past, through the
magnificent Winter Palace Square over which a colossal Angel of Peace
broods, perched on a towering marble column. Suddenly Marie exclaimed,
“Oh! I love these dear soldiers; I should like to kiss them all!”
One of the family who was standing near overheard the child’s remark and
said: “Marie, nice little girls don’t kiss soldiers.”
Marie made no reply, but a little later there was a children’s party at
the Palace, and among the guests were the children of the Grand Duke
Constantine. One of the boys, aged twelve, had just entered in the
military school where high noblemen’s sons are trained for the army--the
_Corps de Pages_. This miniature officer arrived in his brand new
uniform and as he met his cousin Marie he made to kiss her. But Marie
sprang away, covering her mouth with her hand. “Go away, soldier,” she
cried. “I don’t kiss soldiers--nice little girls don’t kiss soldiers.”
Her cousin was so well pleased at being taken for a real soldier that he
readily forgave his dignified little cousin for declining his proffered
kiss.
Tatiana and Marie have always been sweet children, and, on the whole
even tempered if mischievous. Olga, however, the eldest, has never been
so popular. In 1899, when Olga was four years old the Royal Family
(which then included only three children), went to Moscow for a brief
sojourn. While there the Empress decided to have portraits painted of
the three children.
The artist who was entrusted with this commission began to take
innumerable photographs of them all. This was preliminary to the
sittings. The sittings proved tedious and tiresome and after the fourth
or fifth sitting Grand Duchess Olga quite lost her patience and her
temper, and at last exclaimed to the artist: “You are a very ugly man
and I don’t like you a bit.”
To the amusement of several members of the Imperial Household the artist
was much hurt by this Royal comment, and offended as well. He even
ventured to resent the child’s outburst. “You are the first lady who has
ever said I was ugly, and moreover, I’m not a man--I’m a gentleman,” he
replied.
Ladies of the Court were always loath to talk about Olga. “She is
cranky,” said one. “She is not nice,” said another. And one grand lady
of honour went so far as to shrug her shoulders and say: “She is like
her mother!” When I pressed this and begged her tell me more, the lady
merely referred to the haughty, disdainful manner of the Empress. I
think I have explained this attitude as I have understood it.
The Empress received very little sympathy and consideration from the
ladies of her Court from her first coming to Russia, and she soon came
to hold her head high and walk heedless through the throng. She
apparently gave no effort to winning friends but accepted the atmosphere
which circumstances and an obstinate Court created for her. Perhaps the
consciousness of her lack of popularity wore upon her, and rasped. That
wide popularity of the Dowager Empress, and her lack of cordiality
toward her young successor doubtless tended to further develop the very
qualities that have been her bane. At all events her disposition toward
most of the people of her Court has never been happy, and their silent
resentment of her coolness has driven her more and more into herself, to
the consolations of religion, and her family.
One Lady-in-Waiting, for example, told me that she had been attached to
the person of the Empress from time to time for a number of years. She
herself is a Princess of old family and in excellent standing at Court.
One day, when the Grand Duchess Olga was three years old the Princess
and the child were together in one of the nursery rooms. The Princess
stood with her back to one of the walls and Olga came toddling across
the room as fast as her little legs would carry her. The Princess
stretched out her arms, caught up the child and lightly tossed her
ceilingwards, then bringing her slowly down toward her own upturned
face, kissed her and set her down. At that moment the Empress entered
the room. She had no sooner seen this very natural action on the part of
her own Lady-in-Waiting than she exclaimed: “The most you may do is to
kiss the hand of my daughter!”
St. Petersburg is full of similar gossiping incidents concerning the
Empress. Many of them are doubtless fabricated, as many such anecdotes
always are concerning people who occupy conspicuous positions in the
world, but the one I have just related is true, and all of these
anecdotes possess the virtue that they are likely--that they _may_ be
true.
One concluding anecdote of the Grand Duchess Olga is vouched for. One
day a professor from Moscow was giving the Grand Duchess Olga a lesson
in history. A Lady-in-Waiting was sitting by, as usual, to insure that
no dangerous doctrines are taught. Suddenly Olga looked up at her
teacher and asked: “Who is Emperor of France?” The professor felt that
this was an embarrassing question, for it was as yet far too early to
undertake the explanation of a republican system of government. The
Lady-in-Waiting, however, was equal to the occasion, for seeing the
embarrassment of the professor, she answered, “In France the Emperor is
called _President_!”
CHAPTER VIII
TATIANA, MARIE AND ANASTASIE
The Grand Duke Vladimir was wont to call the Grand Duchess Marie “The
Amiable Baby,” and from all accounts she is more like what her mother
was in babyhood than any of the children. Between her and her older
sister Olga is a world of difference. If half the stories about her are
true she is indeed the personification of sweetness and unselfishness.
Whooping cough attacked the whole nursery one spring. Curiously enough
the Empress came down first and it quickly spread to all of the
children. Even the nurses caught it. One day one of the nurses was
holding the baby, Anastasie, on her lap. The little thing was coughing
and choking toward the whoop of relief when Marie ran up close to her,
and putting her face close up to her little sister’s said: “Baby,
darling, cough on me.” The nurse asked her why she desired that and she
answered: “I am so sorry to see my dear little sister so ill, and I
thought if I could take it from her she would be better.” A charmingly
generous impulse, surely!
Marie is so frequently held up as a model and an example to the other
three sisters that she has been nicknamed the “stepsister.” Her
amiability and sweetness are so marked that her sisters are ready to
admit that she cannot be more than half one of them!
There is a pretty little story current of a nursery incident which
occurred one afternoon when the little Grand Duchesses were playing
house by piling up chairs. The other sisters entered into a conspiracy
against Marie. “You were to be the footman and wait outside,” they told
her. Marie was quite willing to be footman, but she protested against
leaving the nursery and standing all by herself in the hall. But the
others pushed her out and it looked as if poor little Marie would have
to submit. Suddenly she dashed into the nursery, her arms filled with
toys and dolls’ dresses. Rushing up to her sisters she dealt each a slap
and cried out: “I’ll not be a footman. I’ll be the kind, good aunt who
brings presents to the children.”
She then proceeded to distribute her gifts, kissed each of her “nieces”
and sat down. The other children looked sheepishly at one another, and
at last Tatiana said: “We are too cruel to poor little Marie, she really
couldn’t help whipping us.” And after that Marie played with the others
in the nursery.
The children are frequently admitted to where their parents are at tea
time, but they are not supposed to touch any of the cakes that are
served to the older people. It is difficult to prevent this always, for
like all children, they want to sample the good things they see.
One day, when no one was noticing Marie particularly, she helped herself
to some cake and began to gobble it down as fast as she could. With her
mouth still full, she looked up at the nurse who came to take her and
said: “Dere! I’ve eaten it all up. You tant det it now.”
The Empress felt that Marie should be punished for this, so nurse was
told to take her off to bed. But the Emperor intervened, saying that he
had always feared Marie would be growing wings and he was glad to see
that she was only a human child after all!
I remember one occasion when the Tsaritsa was covered with confusion by
the little Grand Duchess Tatiana. The Crown Prince of Siam was visiting
St. Petersburg and during part of his stay, he was a guest of the
Emperor and Empress, who were then occupying the Winter Palace. The
dusky Prince went to pay his respects to the nursery. The Empress
herself accompanied him to present the children.
On the way they met Tatiana and the Empress called to her second
daughter: “Come, Tatiana, and shake hands with this gentleman.” Tatiana
held off shyly, looking askance and with manifest disapproval upon the
brown-skinned potentate from Siam. At last she exclaimed: “That is not a
gentleman, mamma; that’s a monkey!”
The Empress flushed with mortification and retorted: “You are a monkey
yourself, Tatiana.” The Prince laughed heartily at the incident and
before the end of the visit of his Imperial Highness to Petersburg, he
and Tatiana became fast friends.
Tatiana has always been a bright child, with an amusing, alert mind. One
day she and her English governess were walking in the garden of the
Winter Palace, when one of the Emperor’s beautiful great collie dogs
came bounding along the path behind them. With a puppy-like caprice the
dog jumped on Tatiana’s back and threw her down. As the little Grand
Duchess clambered to her feet, the dog gamboled off down the path in a
mad frolic with another dog. Tatiana was not hurt, but considerably
frightened, and after gazing after the dogs for a moment in silence,
great salt tears began to drop down her cheeks. The governess tried to
comfort her by saying “Poor Sheilka, she did not mean to hurt you; she
only wanted to say ‘good morning’ to you.”
Tatiana looked up at her governess and quickly replied: “Was that all?
Then I don’t think she is very polite; she should have said it to my
face, not to my back.”
The Grand Duchess Tatiana is one of the sweetest of children. One day
when she was being got ready to go out, the governess went to get her
coat to go with them. When she returned, the nurse, Mary, was shaking
Tatiana. “How dare you shake Tatiana?” Miss Eager exclaimed. “You are
paid to take care of her,--not to correct her.” “She is paid?” said
Tatiana in surprise. “Yes,” the governess replied, “She is paid and I,
also, am paid,” at which Tatiana put her head on the shoulder of the
governess and cried. “You have seen me get my money every month,” said
the governess. “I always thought it was a present to you,” the child
said. The governess then explained that it was necessary that she be
paid, as she had no money of her own and that her way of earning money
was looking after the Royal children. The next morning when the
governess awoke, Tatiana was standing by her bedside and she said, “May
I get into your bed?” As the little Grand Duchess cuddled down in the
arms of her governess, she exclaimed, “Anyway, you are not paid for
this.”
Another day, as the Royal nursery was going to the beach at Livadia
after a terrible storm, the Grand Duchess Olga picked up a little dead
bird which had fallen on the grass and said, “I will keep this poor,
little bird forever.” The governess did not interfere but watched Olga
carry it, followed by Tatiana who was sympathetically interested. The
governess wondered how long the children would carry this bird before
getting tired of it. Presently, Olga said, “Perhaps I am doing wrong to
take this little bird away because even at this moment, God may have
sent an angel for the bird and what if it is not there? I am going to
put it back.” Whereupon, she retraced her steps to the spot where she
had found it. The next day they were going to the beach again and they
took the same path as on the previous day in order to look for the
bird. When they arrived at the spot where Olga had found and replaced
it, the bird was gone. “Suppose we had taken it away!” said Olga. “Then
God’s angel could not have found it.” “Oh,” replied Tatiana, “I think it
would have been perfectly lovely if He had taken it out of our hands!”
Anastasie has always enjoyed the reputation of being the most
mischievous of all the children. One year, when the Dowager Empress was
about to celebrate her birthday, all of the Imperial children were
arranging their gifts for their grandmother. Anastasie, for reasons of
her own, determined not to take any part in these arrangements or to
select any gift for her grandmother. She refused even to learn a piece
of poetry to recite to her as all the other children did. “At all
events, she will take grandmamma a bouquet of lilies of the valley tied
with a bow of mauve ribbon?” “O yes, I will gather a bouquet in the
morning,” replied Anastasie. The following day, all the children were
dressed to go into the carriage to offer their congratulations to the
Dowager Empress. Anastasie alone, appeared with empty hands. “I thought
we were going to walk so that I could gather some wild flowers for
grandma; now I shall have none.” “When people go to offer
congratulations, they go in carriages,” their governess explained.
Anastasie thereupon went to the cupboard and took a little toy from it.
When the nursery arrived at the Palace, the other children gave their
grandmother gifts and recited their pieces of poetry until it came
Anastasie’s turn when she hung her head and all the other children
turned away with shame and chagrin for their sister. “Have you nothing
for grandma?” the Empress Dowager said. “Yes, I have brought this,
Grandma,” Anastasie replied. “But have you made nothing for me with your
own little hands?” “Nothing, Grandma,” was the answer. “Well, dear, you
are a very little child,” said the Empress Dowager, “but perhaps you
have learned a piece of poetry to say to me.” Anastasie looked more
chagrined than ever, but, unwilling to confess her negligence, thought
to deceive the Empress Dowager by repeating the following lines:
I have a pretty doll,
Her name is Miss Rose,
She has two pretty blue eyes,
And a very small nose.
She can’t stand long,
On her tiny little toes,
She just makes a curtsy,
And then, off she goes.
“That is very pretty,” said the Empress, “but isn’t that what you said
to your mother last week?” Anastasie couldn’t stand it any longer and
fled from the room and burst into tears, but presently she went back to
her grandma to tell her how sorry she was and to beg her forgiveness.
The Empress accepted the child’s apology very sweetly, but told her
that she could not give her the bonbon like the one she had given to all
the other children.
Anastasie, one day, climbed onto the nursery table and jumped off. The
governess said, “You must not do that; it is too high; you can jump off
the sofa if you want to jump, but not off the table.” Paying no heed to
what had been said to her, Anastasie again climbed on the table and
jumped off. So her governess gently slapped her. Anastasie sat down and
thought a moment, then said, “It is not nice to get a slap, but it is
better to climb on the table and get a slap than to jump off the sofa
and not get a slap,” and she promptly climbed on the table once more and
jumped again. The governess then tied her in a chair with a sash.
Anastasie did not like this so she said, “It is better to climb on the
table and get a slap but it is better not to climb on the table than to
be tied in a chair like this.”
The Emperor was with the children one day when Anastasie, in a burst of
temper, slapped Tatiana on the face. The Emperor promptly sent for the
nursery governess and told her to take Anastasie upstairs and make her
hear reason. When the governess had Anastasie alone, she said, “Aren’t
you ashamed of yourself to slap your sister?” “I am not ashamed at all,”
replied Anastasie, “because I did not really hurt Tatiana.” “But you
hurt Tatiana’s feelings,” the governess told her, “and you hurt your
father’s feelings.” “I did not hurt Tatiana so I won’t say ‘I am sorry’
to her but I am sorry I hurted poor daddy’s feelings,” and she
proceeded to go and tell her father how sorry she felt. The governess
allowed her to go downstairs. Anastasie went directly to the Tsar and
said: “Daddy, I am sorry I hurted your feelings,” but to Tatiana she
would not say a word. After a moment, however, she suddenly threw her
arms around her sister’s neck and kissed her.
Anastasie had long wanted a cat for a pet. In the garden near Peterhof,
where the Royal Family were staying for the annual manœuvres, the
nursery, one day, found a cat following the gardener. Anastasie promptly
said, “Sir, will you please give me your cat?” “You may have the cat if
you can keep it,” the gardener replied. Anastasie took the cat home,
buttered its feet and shut it up in one of the rooms. When she went to
look for her cat, she found it had escaped through the chimney. The next
day, Anastasie went again to the garden and, seeking out the gardener,
said, “You said I might have the cat and I took it home but she ran
away.” “No,” said the gardener, “I said you might have the cat if you
could keep it.” Anastasie begged him to give her the cat again and to
tell the cat that she was to stay with her, but the gardener was
reluctant to give up his pet and so a kitten had to be found for
Anastasie elsewhere.
One spring, the nursery was taken to an orchard near the Palace to pick
apples, and, as a reward, they were promised some baked apples with
their tea. When the baskets were filled, the apples were sent to the
Palace and the children were taken off to listen to a military band.
While the band was playing, Anastasie suddenly produced an apple which
she had hidden and began to eat it. The governess took it away from her
and told her not to eat it, as it would make her ill. A few moments
later, she produced another, and said to her governess, “If you take
this apple away from me, I will scream and then the people will all
think you are wicked to me.” So the governess said, “Anastasie, as sure
as you eat that apple, you will be punished when you get home.”
Anastasie was not frightened by the threat and calmly proceeded to eat
the apple. When the nursery returned to the Palace, Anastasie was put
straight to bed and at tea time, all the other children had baked apples
but none was given her. The other children thought to tease her by
asking her if she did not want some of their lovely baked apples. “No,
indeed,” remarked Anastasie, “because you don’t know how good that apple
was that I had in the garden.” The next day, Anastasie wanted again to
be taken to the orchard, but the governess took her somewhere where she
did not want to go. Looking out of the carriage window, Anastasie said,
“It is very lovely here; I am enjoying myself much more than in the
orchard.” The following day, she again asked to be taken to the orchard.
Her governess asked her why she wanted to be taken there again and
Anastasie, throwing her arms around the governess’s neck, said: “Because
it was such fun eating that apple.” Several days later, Tatiana said,
“It is too bad because Anastasie was naughty that we cannot go to the
orchard.” The governess said, “Until Anastasie is good and will promise
not to eat any more apples you cannot go.” It was nearly a week after
that before Anastasie’s stubbornness was subdued and she promised to eat
no more apples if the nursery might only go and play in the orchard.
From these stories, it will be seen that Anastasie is most like her
Imperial father whose traditional stubbornness of character is well
known.
CHAPTER IX
THE TSAREVITCH
Alexis, son and heir of Tsar Nicholas II and Tsaritsa Alexandra
Feodorovna, was born July 30th (Russian style), 1904. When he was about
an hour old, he was made honorary commander of six regiments of the
Russian army.
When he was twelve days old he was taken to the Royal chapel at Peterhof
in a gilded coach drawn by eight horses and christened. The name he
bears, interpreted, means “Bringer of Peace.” Yet at this time the
Tsaritsa said: “We are bound to hand over to our son an Autocracy such
as we ourselves received.”
Here is one of the curious phases of her character. Born of an English
mother, reared in Germany where at least the idea of a constitutional
monarchy is accepted, she yet opposes the least step toward reform and
progress in Russia, if it interferes with or threatens Autocracy. She
acquiesces in the naming of her son “Bringer of Peace” at a time when
nearly the whole nation is aspiring to freedom and almost ready to rise
up in general revolution to fight for a constitution! It would seem that
in this as in so many other things she learned to conform with the will
of the Tsar, who is her sole liege. The Tsar, two years later, said in
private conversation to a friend of mine: “I believe Russia can go for
twenty years more without a constitution.”
As the Tsar speaks, so thinks the Tsaritsa. Whether this is one of the
tragedies of her life, or whether it is her supreme sacrifice, one
cannot judge. The fact remains, that every thought, every particle of
her own _ego_ has been put aside that she may be more completely the
wife of her husband.
The little Alexis was started in life with a goodly array of godfathers
and godmothers. Among the former were the King of England, the King of
Denmark, the Emperor of Germany, and various Grand Dukes, uncles of the
Tsar. During the baptismal service the baby Tsarevitch, when he was
being anointed, raised a tiny pink hand and extended his fingers as if
he were pronouncing a benediction or bestowing a blessing. And all the
people present accepted this as a good omen of future blessings to come
from the Heir to the Throne.
The training of a young Tsar does not conform with American ideas of
training a child, for very largely the Tsarevitch is encouraged to do
everything he is inclined to do on the theory that the instincts and
impulses of an Autocrat must be right.
During the summer of 1907 I was in Finland when the Royal Family were
cruising along the picturesque Finnish coast in the Royal Yacht
_Standart_, and I gathered various stories of Alexis from sailors and
officers of the ship. On this cruise Alexis was the Emperor’s adjutant,
and by way of training, this three-year-old was placed in command of the
squadron, that is to say, the Royal Yacht and the accompanying pilot
boat, gunboats and other vessels that make up a Royal fleet when the
Imperial Family goes for a summer outing.
One night in August when the air was still and warm, Alexis had
difficulty in falling asleep. Suddenly he sat up in his little bed and
announced that he desired the ship’s band to come and play for him. The
officer on duty explained that the hour was late and the band had
retired, whereupon Alexis grew furious and _commanded_ that the band be
aroused and brought to him immediately, which was done. The Tsar on this
occasion was inordinately pleased and exclaimed: “That’s the way to
bring up an Autocrat!”
On another occasion Alexis ordered all the Finnish pilots on the various
ships to be brought before him. As the astonished and wondering Finns
appeared on the deck of the _Standart_ the baby commander shouted:
“Zdorovo rebyata!” (Health children!) The Finns, not understanding
Russian, were much bewildered and frightened, and Alexis, became
exceedingly annoyed at their not understanding. So the Finns were
hurriedly taught to respond: “Zdravie zhelayem vashe Imperatorskoye
Vysochestvo”--(“We wish you health, your Imperial Highness.”)
The sailor who acts as orderly to the Tsarevitch on the _Standart_ is
called Stefan. He is of huge physique and is in attendance on the
autocrat-in-process day and night. Up to the present time, Alexis has
shown a greater fondness for this man than for anyone else. He insists
upon his “big Stefan” taking part in nearly all of his games and it is
quite clear that he considers Stefan as second only to his father in all
the vast Empire. Morning and night, little Alexis in his prayers
remembers Stefan but even Stefan has not been able to break his young
charge of a certain military tendency which shows itself at the end of
each of his prayers in a loud “hurrah” instead of an “Amen.” Alexis is
perfectly logical in this, for he says that the soldiers on parade
always cry “Hurrah” when his father appears or when he ceases speaking
and, consequently, it is right that his Heavenly Father should be
greeted in the same way.
Early in the year 1909, the Emperor of China despatched a special
embassy, headed by one of the Princes of the Royal Family in China, to
St. Petersburg for the express purpose of conveying to the Tsarevitch
Alexis a collection of wonderful Chinese toys. The Embassy also brought
with it two wonderfully trained dwarf elephants. This embassy was sent
in acknowledgment of a similar embassy which the Emperor of Russia had
sent to China some time before conveying to the boy-Emperor of
400,000,000 of people, a toy railroad said to have cost more than fifty
thousand dollars and many elaborate and ingenious toys of Russian
design. This toy railroad was similar to one that President Fallières of
France had presented to the Tsarevitch on the occasion of his visit to
the Russian Imperial family. This gift had pleased the Tsarevitch hugely
and he immediately nicknamed the French president, “The train-man.” The
Tsarevitch, like the Royal children of Spain, has frequently been
maligned in the Press of Europe and reported as being defective
mentally. These stories, of course, are all nonsense, for, like the
Spanish Princes, he is a sturdy, wholesome boy in every respect and
takes the keenest interest not only in all the wonderful toys that are
sent him by kings, emperors and eastern potentates but also in childish
sports and games.
That Alexis has a mind of his own and a pretty keen one at that is
illustrated in a story that the Tsar himself has repeated. It appears
that one day, the Emperor was engaged with a council of Ministers when
the little Alexis suddenly burst into the Cabinet room. Surprised at
seeing his father surrounded by so large a group of dignitaries, he
stopped and looked at them for a moment, then quietly said: “Good
morning, brothers.” The Emperor proceeded to point out to the Tsarevitch
that it was not adequately respectful for so small a boy to address
elderly gentlemen as “brothers.” Alexis appeared a little embarrassed
and with an obvious desire to correct his mistake, he said, “Very well;
good morning, boys.”
Probably no heir in Europe is being trained with greater care than young
Alexis, for, unless something unforeseen occurs, he will one day be the
ruler over 150,000,000 of people and, according to the will and wish of
his father, he will perpetuate the traditions of the Tsars of old and
rule the vast kingdom with all the rigid severity which has
characterised the autocratic Tsars of Russia.
CHAPTER X
THE END OF THE ROAD
The Tsaritsa’s life has been lived out on the plane of the family, not
of the Empress. She might have swayed vast power, she might have
liberated or helped to liberate one hundred and forty millions of people
from oppression and tyranny; and her name would have been enshrined in
all hearts for generations. But she has chosen an humbler part. She has
shrunk from the larger burdens of the opportunities presented to her,
and accepted the quieter tasks of the home. This much we may say, it is
a tragedy that circumstances have prevented her carrying both parts. But
to have been the great Empress, she would have been obliged to sacrifice
her love to a degree. Nicholas doubtless cares tremendously for her, but
a man never loves as a woman loves. For a woman’s joy is sacrifice, and
the sacrifice of ambitions, of personal hopes and dreams, of ideas, of
principles, is the greatest of all sacrifices. In proving herself the
absolutely loving and loyal wife the Tsaritsa turned her back upon the
opportunities fate gave her for moulding history by ameliorating the
condition of humanity in her own vast sphere.
The Tsar must understand the attitude of the Court toward the Empress
and the fact that she is not popular doubtless makes him endeavour the
more to make their own little family circle happy. For after all, the
really exclusive circle of an Emperor and his Empress and their children
is very, very small.
In August 1907 when the Tsar returned from his meeting with the Kaiser
at Swinemünde, the Tsaritsa went to greet him far down the Gulf of
Finland in a Royal Yacht. Court etiquette merely required that she meet
him at the pier upon his landing, and this effort of hers caused a good
deal of comment at the capital and was accepted as another evidence of
her love for him.
When the Tsar promised the nation a constitution--and a parliament--all
might have been well had these promises been literally carried out. No
sooner had the waves of revolutionary activity subsided, however, than
the Emperor began to withdraw and nullify his honeyed promises and to
take back piecemeal the constitution which had been granted in a moment
of panic. Now the people feel that Russia will not have a real
constitution nor a real parliament for years to come unless these
institutions of liberalism and progress and civilisation are battled
for. The government by maintaining a watchful grip on the country, by
extraordinary vigilance, by arresting or exiling thousands upon
thousands of citizens, women and girls just as frequently as men, it is
able to preserve a certain surface calm.
Of late public opinion in Russia, like public opinion in other
countries, has been altering toward the Tsar. He is no longer the
“weak,” “well meaning little man,” who is prevented from doing what he
believes to be right by wicked Grand Dukes, bad ministers and a corrupt
court. If he is ever “led” we know now that it is only in directions in
which he desires to go. If his ministers are “bad,” or the Grand Dukes
“wicked,” we know that the inclinations and ambitions of Nicholas II are
toward Reaction, and that he aspires, in the words of the Tsaritsa, to
“hand on to his successor an Autocracy such as he received.”
We know, too, that however much local police and other officials may be
directly responsible for a policy which uses massacre as a political
weapon that the Tsar himself is not opposed to these methods, and that
he directly patronises and encourages the “League of Russian men,”
popularly called “The Black Hundred.” We know that the Tsaritsa,
likewise, contributes money to support this organisation. This is the
organisation that carries out the _pogroms_ and the policy of
governmental terrorism. In view of these (now) unquestioned facts, it
seems passing strange that the Tsar has not sooner fallen a martyr to
his own despotism. Scores of governors, generals, and other officials
have paid the penalty for their misdeeds, but the Tsar has thus far been
spared.
[Illustration: THE TSAR AND TSARITSA AT THE HEAD OF A REVIEWING
PARTY.]
There are good reasons for this, however. In the first place the person
of the Tsar is constantly guarded, and to such an extent that it would
doubtless be difficult for a mere fanatic to reach him. But the
revolutionists could get him if they believed his death would serve the
cause of Liberty. That the Tsar lives to-day is due solely to this
doubt. The revolutionists have emissaries at court, in the palaces. It
would not be difficult to carry out a death sentence passed upon him.
But what would be the result of this? Who would be his immediate
successor, that is, the Dictator pending the coming of age of Alexis?
The Russian liberals cannot forget that the assassination of Alexander
II in 1881 instead of helping the Cause, set it back twenty years. It
would be fatal to repeat such a blunder as that. And as to the
Dictator--he might be any one of several Grand Dukes, and one or two of
these would unquestionably be more aggressively tyrannical than the
present Emperor. And while so much doubt prevails the life of Nicholas
II is comparatively safe. On the other hand, if there is a desire to end
the rule of the Romanoffs a much safer method would be to do away with
the successors to the Throne. Such a proceeding would be unaccompanied
by immediate political disturbance, and yet would be effective.
We can understand, therefore, the anxiety with which the Tsaritsa
watches over Alexis. His birth was so long and so earnestly desired, and
at least so long as he is the only son any disaster overtaking him
would be viewed as the most terrible of calamities--probably worse from
the standpoint of the court than disaster to the Tsar himself. From the
hour of his birth the Tsaritsa has taken it as her especial task to
guard and protect her son from all dangers.
At Peterhof, at Tsarskoe-Selo, on the Royal Yacht, wherever Alexis goes
the Tsaritsa is close beside. The little Grand Duchesses may sometimes
be seen playing in the park at Peterhof accompanied by only their
governesses and a groom, but if their brother is there too, so is the
Royal mother. At functions, military reviews and the like, when Alexis
is on exhibition to inspire the regiments with loyalty, the Empress
always remains particularly near to her son.
The education of the children is supervised personally by the Tsaritsa.
The instructors of the children of the Tsar have a very difficult task
indeed. There are certain subjects in which the children must be
thoroughly grounded, and certain others which must be taught
eclectically and others which must be eschewed altogether.
I have a friend, now living in St. Petersburg, who was a court tutor for
four years, and he has sometimes told me of the difficulties he
encountered during that period. The Russian tutors generally have the
rank of General, and are addressed in great formality as “Your
Excellency.” Teachers from abroad, however, appear in the Palace
class-rooms in what we know as “evening dress.” How strange it would
seem to American boys and girls to go to school one morning and find the
teacher wearing a low cut vest and long-tailed coat!
The two older children, Olga and Tatiana, inherit from their mother a
fondness for music, and they both play quite well already. The Tsar
enjoys listening to music, but he plays only by ear and never sings
himself.
The end of the chapter is not yet. The Tsaritsa is still a young woman,
and Empress of one of the most turbulent Empires on earth. The rank and
file of her one hundred and fifty million subjects hold nothing against
her but they are weary of the Romanoff régime. Militarism is now the
last bulwark of the Empire. Martial law is spread over a large part of
the Empire and the people are kept in subjection, in artificial quiet
only through the constant menace of bayonets and prisons whose doors
ever yawn to political heretics.
No one may prophesy the end, nor when it will come. The future is
shrouded in complete mystery and therefore possesses incomparable
fascination.
The Tsaritsa is still, by virtue of her position, one of the most
powerful women in the western world, but whose life has been given to
the natural development of the love of her school-girl days, at the
expense of a career which might have rivalled that of the greatest
heroines of history.
This is the story of the little German Princess, who was left motherless
at six, and came unto her own through her heart’s romance, and has
remained faithful to this romance despite the tempting circumstances of
Opportunity. The simple loving child who was called “Sunny” is to-day
more than anything else the simple, loving wife of Nicholas II, the
devoted mother of his children. Judging from her life, if she had the
dearest will and wish of her heart it would be that she might be
remembered as Wife and Mother, rather than as Empress. Thus the life of
Princess Alix of Hesse--“Sunny”-passed into the Romance of an
Empress--with its burdens and its sufferings and its tragedies, and thus
the end of the road looks dark, uncertain and ominously fearful.
PART III
QUEEN ELENA OF ITALY
CHAPTER I
A MOUNTAIN PRINCESS
On the eastern shores of the Adriatic, nestling between the unfamiliar
Provinces of Herzegovina and Albania, lies the Kingdom of Montenegro. It
is a tiny spot on the map and until very recently was rated as a
Principality. The entire population of Montenegro would make only a
small American city, yet the Montenegrans are a proud nation, with an
engrossing and noble history, and perhaps no country in Europe has had a
more romantic past. They are an aggressive people, these Montenegrans,
always armed, ever ready to fight for the cause of freedom, a
liberty-loving people, a staunch folk. The denizens of Montenegro have
always been daring and bold; withal a poetic people. Nicholas, their
Prince, is the first warrior in the kingdom and also the first poet. He
is a picturesque figure, familiar to Europe and more or less known to
America, for much has been written about him. Some years ago, some one
had the temerity to inquire of Prince Nicholas, as he then was called,
what were the exportations of Montenegro, to which question he gave
answer, “My daughters.”
The daughters of King Nicholas have indeed been a wonderful asset to
this little nation. One married a Russian Grand Duke, thus securing the
friendship of Russia. Another married a Servian, who at the present time
reigns over that Kingdom. While another, Elena, married a Prince who
presently became a King, making his spouse Queen of a great nation.
The story of the romance of the Montenegran Elena and the Italian
Prince, son of the late King Humbert, and now known as King Victor
Emanuel III, is one of the most romantic stories connected with the
Court life of Europe. Princess Elena was the fourth child of King
Nicholas, and she, perhaps more than any of the children, inherited many
of her father’s noble qualities.
Many times as I have watched her driving through the streets of Rome,
deftly holding the reins and guiding the great black horses up and down
the hilly, badly paved streets, or leisurely reposing in one of the
magnificent Royal automobiles speeding up the Pincio or through the
lovely gardens of the Villa Borghese, complacently acknowledging the
salutes of the people, I have tried to fancy the little black-eyed
Princess among her native hills--bounding like a chamois from rock to
rock among the tallest crags and peaks, rejoicing in the high air, the
free life, the glorious rapture that comes only to the mountain-born. In
fancy I have pictured her returning to her simple Cittenje home at
night, her hands holding delicious bunches of Alpine flowers, her arms
laden with flower branches. A strange girlhood this, for a future Queen.
But so Elena lived as a child--naturally, spontaneously, freely.
And now--beside this fancy-memory I have to place a recollection of
another phase of her life, when I saw her as Queen, in the midst of the
horrors of Messina, nursing the wounded and comforting the dying. The
night she was injured during a panic following one of the earthquake
shocks I was standing on the deck of a ship lying so close to the
Italian flagship that I could watch the wild rush of refugees across the
decks, many of them to the rails as if to throw themselves into the sea.
One afternoon I was on a British warship when Queen Elena came aboard to
visit the wounded who were about to be conveyed to Naples. She spent
more than an hour among the cots and stretchers and spoke a personal
word to each and every one. All this was fine--a kind of work Queens
rarely do. It was dramatic, too. For during the days immediately
succeeding the first shock, earthquakes were constantly recurring and
there were a hundred dangers to which all were exposed. But when we know
of Queen Elena’s early years we understand the instinct which took her
so promptly to Messina, and we understand many of the other qualities
which distinguish her from the other Queens of the world.
Elena’s grandfather was called Prince Mirko, a name renowned in the
history of Montenegro, for when Mirko was a very young man, long before
he had become the idol of the Montenegran people, he was serving in a
war against Turkey. One day Mirko and a comrade became detached from
their regiment and fell into an ambush. The situation looked desperate.
Pausing for an instant the two young officers made a vow that if they
both survived the day, and eventually got back to their homes that they
would one day seal their friendship and the memory of that experience,
in blood. Some years later Mirko having married, became the father of a
son whom he called Nicholas. When the boy Nicholas was seven years old,
Mirko’s old comrade of the Turkish war became the father of a daughter
whom he named Melena. These two children became betrothed when Melena
was still in her cradle and when she was only thirteen years old she and
Nicholas were married. The fortune of life was so ordered that in time
Nicholas became the ruler of the little principality, and Melena, his
wife and consort, from the very first shared the responsibilities of
administration with him. So complete a helpmeet has Melena been to
Nicholas that from time to time when the Prince has of necessity quit
Montenegro to visit his friend and ally the Tsar of Russia, or his
son-in-law, the King of Servia, he has left all the reins of rulership
to Melena, who has ever discharged her duties wisely. Besides all this
she has borne
[Illustration: QUEEN MILENA OF MONTENEGRO, THE MOTHER OF QUEEN ELENA.]
him thirteen children. Elena was their fourth child. It was no
inconsiderable thing when she was picked by the Prince of Naples to be
his bride, because this meant she would eventually be a great Queen.
Elena was born fairly in the lap of romance, and Fate has been
extraordinarily generous to her in supplying her with exceptional
romantic and dramatic episodes which, ever since she came into her own
have served to bring her before the eyes of the world.
No Queen in Europe to-day, save the Tsaritsa and Queen Victoria Eugenie,
looks more a Queen than Elena. She is stately and tall, with a
statuesque poise that anywhere singles her from the throng. Her hair is
as black as midnight forest depths, her eyes as luminous as live coals.
Her skin is like unto olives, and her hands firm and strong and large.
Her shoulders are broad and she holds them squarely. The impression the
woman gives is of unusual physical strength. Nor could this well be
otherwise in view of her athletic training. As a child she was always a
devotee of Nimrod, given inordinately to the chase. Long after her
marriage she continued to hunt,--to shoot deer and birds,--to ride to
hounds, and play tennis. A modern Diana might she in verity be called.
But her training was not restricted to sports and outdoor activities.
Far from it. These were but natural incidentals to each day’s work in
Montenegro, and well it were if similar customs held the world over, for
surely there are no better physiques in both men and women anywhere on
earth than in this same little Montenegro.
Elena’s parents are both extraordinary people. Old Prince Nicholas is
one of the most remarkable rulers in the world to-day. Like Julius
Caesar, he boasts that he knows the names of all the men in his army,
and as all of the men in Montenegro are of the army, his boast is
practically that he knows all of his subjects. A ruler who interests
himself thus deeply in the affairs of his state would naturally look
carefully to his own family. And so when Elena was a wee baby just
learning to toddle, the Prince used to take her upon his knee and give
her her first lessons. Her first tutor, he used to call himself. He it
was who taught her the letters of the alphabet of her mother tongue,
gave her her first lesson in reading. His was the great hand that guided
the little baby fingers as they laboriously traced the difficult Slavish
hieroglyphics. Later, he interested her in geography and in history.
Never a day passed when Nicholas was so occupied with the affairs of his
kingdom, or with the knotty international problems that are forever
engaging the troublesome little Balkan states and the great Ghoul Powers
of Austria and Turkey that are ever lying in wait to gobble them up,
that he neglected the lessons of his little daughter.
During the early years of her life Elena lived in the great square grey
“palace” of the ruler of Montenegro in Cittenje. It is not a beautiful
nor elaborate home like most of the palaces of the sovereigns and
rulers of Europe. Indeed, it is distinctly plain and unimposing, with
bare and barren surroundings. The stern mountains of Montenegro rise
abruptly behind the town, and the Palace is on the edge of the miniature
capital almost in the shadows of the cragged hills. Here lived Prince
Nicholas and Princess Melena, and all their children until one by one
the latter married and drifted to other lands--Princess Zorka to become
the wife of the present King of Servia; Princess Melitza to become the
spouse of Grand Duke Peter Nicholaivitch of Russia; Elena to become the
Princess of Naples and subsequently the Queen of Italy.
As a child Elena was always lively and active. In America she would have
been called a “tomboy,” for she preferred the company of her brothers to
that of her sisters and it was through the pains of two of them--Danilo
and Mirko--that she became expert with the rifle and rod, a familiar
horsewoman, and so able a walker and climber.
The spirit of Elena was wild and free. She loved fresh air, a mad
scamper over the hills, an adventure that savoured of danger. Encouraged
by her father and brothers to all activities in the open she developed
into a strong, stalwart girl and later into the Amazonian woman she is
to-day. Long after her marriage she retained the fresh and breezy way
acquired in girlhood.
An important influence in Elena’s early life were the grandfather’s
tales she listened to round the great fire in her homely Palace home.
Montenegro, like all older mountain countries, has a folk tale and a
legend associated with every crag and valley. Elena heard from her
veteran grandfather how the Montenegran people battled with the Turks,
and her little heart would fairly quiver with the heroic deeds of valour
that the old man would relate of the stormy days when the Balkan
peninsula was like a great seething cauldron, and men, and the women
too, came down from the mountain fastnesses in their quaint and rude
attire to fight the trained troops of European armies. Thus was her
child’s imagination fired, and love and pride of country aroused.
One day little Elena brought her father some sheets of paper upon which
were drawn some strange pictures. The Prince held the sheets upside down
at first, trying to make out what his little daughter had brought him.
Elena was much hurt at this and she could hardly keep back the tears.
But when the Prince turned the papers round the right way he quickly
made out, under her guidance, the house and the mountain, and the dog
chasing the sheep. Indeed, he admired not a little this first artistic
effort of Elena’s, and right there and then he sat down with her and
together they drew the pictures all over again, only this time much
better as Elena herself realised. This was the little Princess’s first
drawing lesson. After that Elena had a drawing lesson every day. She
soon showed signs of a distinct talent in this direction and by the
time she was ten years old she had not only conquered the first
principles of drawing but she had also made considerable progress in the
use of water colours. This talent Elena continued to develop, and with
what success may be judged from the fact that when she was still a girl
in her teens she became a kind of unofficial “Minister of Fine Arts” in
her father’s cabinet. She was instrumental in bringing art exhibits into
Montenegro, in organising drawing and painting classes in the public
schools and thus for the first time bringing the refining and civilising
influence of art culture to her people. She even inaugurated
scholarships to encourage art students, and to-day Montenegro has a
number of ambitious painters who are actually building up a school of
art of their own. Influenced by the picturesque barrenness of their
native mountains, together with the gorgeous skies and brilliant
atmospheres, they are developing an individual and nationalist school.
To this day, Queen Elena retains her interest in the native Montenegran
artists, and also in her own drawing and painting. In the Quirinal
Palace in Rome she has a studio, where of an afternoon she may
frequently be found spending an hour at her easel. It is her custom each
Christmas to send as gifts to her more intimate friends sketches and
little water colours of her own handiwork.
Elena had other tutors than her father and grandfather, however. From a
young child she had a Swiss governess who was her daily companion, and
who instructed her in French, and supplemented the teaching of her
father in the other branches. It is thus the training of Elena from
childhood was the training not only of a Princess but of one who might
easily assume the duties and obligations of a Queen. It is not likely
that the little Elena ever dared to dream of what her future might be or
that her imaginings ever pictured that in womanhood she might occupy a
throne as the consort of the King of a great nation, but her father is
one of the most astute statesmen in Europe, and with all his children he
arranged their education so that they might be acceptable to any high
niche in life to which destiny might call them.
CHAPTER II
THE ROMANCE
When Elena was twelve years old an important change came into her life.
She was sent away to St. Petersburg to enter the most wonderful school
of its kind in the world. This was the famous, glorified boarding school
for the daughters of the nobility which for many years has been
patronised by the Empress Marie Feodorovna, wife of Tsar Alexander III
and mother of the present Emperor, Nicholas II. Fancy a girls’ school
where every pupil is a little Countess or Princess or Grand Duchess! In
Russia the family titles usually descend to the children, so that this
is no exaggeration. This school corresponds to one which exists for boys
known as the _Corps des Pages_--or school of pages. The young sons of
the nobility are sent here at an early age and are commonly spoken of as
pages of the courts. Most of the boys who go to this school become
officers and generally are assigned to the crack regiments which guard
the persons of the sovereigns. As a rule only native Russians are
admitted to these two exclusive schools, but the daughters of Prince
Nicholas were easily granted place, because they were the daughters of a
ruling Prince, and also because they had the rare advantage among
non-Russians of already knowing Russian, or at least the Slav tongue
which is very similar to Russian.
For six winters Elena continued at this school, and on her way to and
from the northland capital she was taken to visit many of the famous art
galleries of Europe. In St. Petersburg she had the privilege of the
Hermitage Gallery, where is one of the foremost art collections in
Europe, and in Dresden and Munich she became yet more widely acquainted
with the masterpieces of the world’s art. Thus was her fondness for art
gratified, and her general education broadened and enriched.
Another talent that Elena inherited was that of writing poetry. Her
father, Nicholas, is a poet of no mean rank. Many of the folk songs of
Montenegro which mothers croon to their babes at night, which shepherds
in their lonely huts far up the mountain sides sing to give them cheer
when fierce storms are sweeping over their steep pastures, were written
by the Prince when he was a young man and during the forty years of his
reign they have become so universal that already they are classic. Once
indeed he wrote a very long poetic and romantic drama called “An Empress
of the Balkans,” which his son, Mirko, Elena’s oldest brother, set to
music. And this poetic instinct which her father has made such good use
of in endearing himself to his people, is also strong in Elena. For
some reason, however, Elena has never been so proud of this talent as of
her painting. Nevertheless she has published minor verse from time to
time, and as one member of her suite told me once: “She writes
still--but she does not own it.”
Curiously enough she once wrote a sonnet to Venice, which she called a
“city of poetry, love and feeling.” This sonnet was published in a
school magazine, and was written before she had ever visited the
romantic city of islands. It was in this same Venice that she later met
the Prince who was to make her a Queen, and where the love story of her
life began.
In the spring of the year 1895, when Elena was twenty-two years old, she
and her sister Anna came with their mother, Princess Melena, to the
opening of the annual International Art Exhibition at Venice. This is
one of the events of the year in the art world of Europe and is looked
forward to almost as much as the annual salon in Paris and the Spring
Academy Exhibition in London. The King and Queen frequently open the
exhibition, and not infrequently distinguished members of other Royal
houses are also present. So it was in the memorable month of April 1895.
King Humbert and Queen Margherita with their son, the heir to the
throne, the young Prince of Naples, travelled up from Rome to inaugurate
the exhibition. Of course courtesy calls were exchanged between the
sovereigns and the other Royal visitors present, including Princess
Melena and her daughters.
Princess Elena was now a tall, large-framed woman of twenty-two. She had
the physique of one much older, but her manner and face showed all the
keenness and freshness of a young girl. By this time she had outgrown
the hoydenish traits of her girlhood and there was dignity and repose in
her manner. One feature distinguished her from other Princesses in
Europe. She was totally free from the social veneer which comes
inevitably from a long continuance of ceremonious life. Any Prince of a
western European court would have been quick to notice this, and Prince
Victor Emmanuel was by no means the least to fall under the spell of its
charm.
Prince Victor Emmanuel as heir to the Italian throne was one of the most
sought-after Princes in all Europe. Popular gossip had successively
betrothed him to Princess Clementine, daughter of the King of the
Belgians, to Princess Feodora of Schleswig-Holstein, sister of the
Emperor of Germany, to Archduchess Annunziati, daughter of archduke Carl
Ludwig of Austria; and to Princess Mary Magdalene, daughter of the King
of Greece. The trouble with all of these alliances was, according to the
Prince, that they were political rather than personal, and may it be
writ large on the page of history that Victor Emmanuel had a romantic
soul which would be satisfied whatever came of the political ambitions
of his family.
[Illustration: THE QUEEN OF ITALY.]
When grey and hoary councillors of state approached him in regard to the
desirability of his marrying one or another of the Royal Princesses in
the eligible list, he would shake his square head and turn aside saying,
“I have time enough.” He knew that one day he would see the Princess
whom he would love, and for her he was content to wait.
When in Venice, “The city of poetry, love and feeling,” he met for the
first time Princess Elena of Montenegro, he promptly said to his Royal
father, “There is the Princess I will marry.” Politically, little was to
be gained for Italy by a marriage alliance with the little Balkan state,
so Humbert, a wise king, counselled patience, though not actually
opposing the will of the Crown Prince.
Elena and her mother and sister returned to their own country after only
two days. But in those two days the Prince had found a time and place to
speak. Only two days! Surely a brief courtship with an interminable
round of official ceremonies consuming, as it seemed, all of the hours.
Two busy days, yet the Prince of Naples had whispered the thrilling
words and Elena, the Balkan Princess, knew that her future was
henceforth spread in greater Europe.
CHAPTER III
VICTOR EMMANUEL
Victor Emmanuel was at this time considered one of the most desirable of
eligible Princes in all Europe, not only because of his inheritance, but
because of his intelligence and his character. Queen Victoria once
called him “the most intelligent Prince in Europe.” As a child he had
showed marked individuality and his father and mother, King Humbert and
Queen Margherita, both being people of strong characteristics, had
reared him in an atmosphere of strictest discipline which naturally had
its effect upon the man. Like Napoleon, the little Victor Emmanuel was
never ashamed to ask any question, nor did he ever ask any question
twice. Until he was twelve years old his school hours were regulated by
the state of his health, which was never robust, but on his twelfth
birthday, he was given over into the hands of Colonel Osio, a famous
soldier and disciplinarian, who planned an eight year course of training
which included regular hours for everything, and resulted not only in
developing the boy’s mind and sharpening his wits, but also in hardening
his muscles and accustoming his constitution to all kinds of hardships
and endurance tests.
One incident of this period of his life Victor Emmanuel has never
forgotten. As a young boy he was not over strong, and frequently he
contracted head colds. One morning he reported as usual at seven o’clock
to his tutor, but coughing badly and his nose and eyes sorely inflamed.
At eight o’clock Colonel Osio appeared to take the young Prince out for
his usual hour of exercise on horseback. The day was rainy and
disagreeable. The tutor ventured to suggest to Colonel Osio that their
Royal charge was scarcely in fit condition to go out that morning.
Whereupon the Colonel replied, “If war were declared to-morrow, would
the Prince be allowed to stay indoors because he had a cold?” As the
Colonel disappeared with the Prince the tutor exclaimed: “Ah! with these
soldiers it is impossible to reason.”
When Victor Emmanuel began the study of Latin, his mother, the beloved
Queen Margherita, took it up also! One day, she proved to him that she
had made better progress than he. At the time the Prince made no comment
upon this, but a little later when his tutor started to chide him about
this Victor Emmanuel retorted somewhat sharply: “That is all very well,
but my mother has nothing else to do, whilst I have a hundred other
things to attend to!” An answer that every schoolboy and schoolgirl will
surely appreciate.
Colonel Osio was without doubt a stern disciplinarian. As he outlined
the daily schedule for the Prince, the rising hour was six o’clock,
summer and winter. After a bath and simple breakfast, he sat down to
his first lessons with his tutor. At eight o’clock he rode for an hour
with the Colonel, then returned to his studies which continued all day.
His very recreations were in the nature of studies, for being raised as
a soldier he had to master all military tactics and to dig trenches,
erect redoubts and obstructions with his own hands, so that in time of
necessity he could the better command and direct his soldiers. As the
motto set before the Prince was: “To know everything of something, and
something of everything,” his studies were pursued the year round.
During the dead of summer his books were laid by, but he was taken out
of doors and kept busily at work, learning of nature, or all about guns
and shooting, and ever subject to the discipline of hours.
The instructions of Colonel Osio to his tutor were: “Treat the Prince as
you would treat any other pupil. Show him no special consideration nor
regard. Indulge him in absolutely nothing. For example, if, during a
lesson something is wanted, he and not you must get it. If a book falls
to the floor, he, not you, must pick it up! You must profit by his
self-esteem, highly developed in him, to exact from him firmly and
always the fulfilment of all his duties.” “As for yourself,” the Colonel
continued, looking full at the tutor, “I want you to understand that the
interests at stake are so great, that if you fail in any way I shall
show you no mercy.” As the tutor felt as much subject to the rules and
regulations laid down by the Colonel as did his pupil, it is needless to
say that he was obeyed to the letter.
The Rev. Alexander Robertson who has lived many years in Italy, and who
has made a searching study of the life of Victor Emmanuel, says that so
completely did King Humbert give over the education of his heir to
Colonel Osio that if the Prince even asked permission to accompany the
King and Queen to the theatre the answer was invariably: “Ask the
Colonel.” Thus was the young King trained. If the “child is father to
the man,” from these gleanings of his boyhood and the stories of his
early discipline, we may gather what manner of Prince it was who won the
heart of the stately and beautiful Elena, Princess of Montenegro.
Mr. Robertson tells how on one occasion the little Prince Victor
Emmanuel was playing with the small daughter of the Marchioness of
Villamarina, who was then a Lady-in-Waiting to Queen Margherita, and the
two children quarrelled, as all children will, over some trifle. Of a
sudden the Prince became greatly enraged, and lost his temper. “When I
am King I will have your head cut off!” he exclaimed loudly. Queen
Margherita overheard these harsh words, and the Prince was put on prison
fare for three days.
Victor Emmanuel and his wife, Elena, were destined to become sovereigns
of Italy upon the tragic occasion when King Humbert was assassinated at
his lovely mountain home of Monza in the north of the Kingdom. An
interesting, if nerve-straining incident occurred when the Prince was
present at a previous unsuccessful attempt upon the life of his father.
This took place when Victor Emmanuel was only twelve years old. The King
and his son were just leaving the railroad station in Naples when a man
named Passananti, calling himself an anarchist, made a lunge with a
stiletto full at the breast of the King. A minister who was also in the
carriage was quick enough to turn aside the glittering blade. The King,
with superb poise, drew his sword, and crashed it broadside over the
would-be assassin’s head. Throughout the scene the young Prince sat
immovable, not showing the slightest trace of fear. Courage may not be
the highest virtue, but it is essential in a King, and in any one, never
fails to excite admiration.
Queen Margherita was as exceptional a mother as she was an unusual
Queen. As Queen Elena has of late years proved herself devoted to the
Royal nursery, so Margherita always gave a large part of each day to the
rearing of the heir apparent. She it was who insisted upon his keeping a
strict account of all the money that passed through his hands. In this
way he learned to appreciate the value of money--the little sums, the
trifles which in themselves seem of no consequence, but which aggregate
so large in the course of months. Under directions, he also kept a
diary, in order that he might not be prodigal in the use of time--the
moments we are all so apt to waste carelessly and thoughtlessly a score
of times each day.
It was the custom of the Prince to lunch with the King and Queen certain
days each week. One day the King was occupied with his ministers much
longer than usual, and the luncheon hour was long past. The Prince
ventured to remark to the Queen, somewhat petulantly, that he was hungry
and couldn’t wait any longer for his meal. Crossing the room to a
bookshelf, the Queen took a copy of Dante and laid it before the boy,
saying: “Read this, and your hunger will all go.”
Any boy, especially a Prince, would naturally possess qualities of
attractive manhood that would appeal to a woman of domestic instincts.
That Princess Elena possessed these innate qualities her life since
testifies. To her, unquestionably, Victor Emmanuel seemed an ideal
Prince. There was only one element to this romance which is distinctly
unromantic, and of this Victor Emmanuel is very sensitive. He is a small
man, distinctly under-sized, while Elena towers far above him when they
are standing side by side. Nowadays the King has his carriage in the
Royal stables built with a specially elevated seat, like a coachman’s
box, so that this discrepancy in size is not so apparent when they
drive.
CHAPTER IV
A ROYAL HONEYMOON
Now that we know more about Victor Emmanuel, we can follow the course of
the love match between him and Princess Elena with more familiarity and
interest. It is strange that these young lovers from two of the
southermost, warmest countries of Europe must go for the second chapter
of their romance to the northermost, coldest country on the continent.
Yet so was it to be. Their next meeting was in far away Moscow, the
occasion was the Coronation of the present Tsar. Here another
coincidence appears. Four years before when Princess Elena was finishing
her course at the Royal Academy in St. Petersburg she was presented at
the Court of Alexander III through the influence of her sister, the
Grand Duchess Melitza. Soon after this a rumour was circulated
throughout Europe that the eyes of the young Nicholas, heir to the
Russian Throne, had looked with favour upon the Montenegran Princess.
Certain it is that Elena’s father, wily Prince Nicholas, did not
discourage this match, but the young Tsarevitch had long before set his
heart upon a German Princess--Alix of Hesse and the Rhine--and if he
looked upon Elena at all it was only an idle flirtation, for his mind
was made up in regard to his consort long before Elena went to
Petersburg.
The Prince of Naples represented the Italian sovereigns at the Russian
Coronation festivities, while Elena was a guest of her sister.
Naturally, the two met. This was only their second meeting, but from the
noticeable intimacy that immediately sprang up between them it was
evident that the Venice meeting had been followed by a lively
correspondence. The Coronation procession was the most splendid pageant
of the closing decade of the nineteenth century, and the balls and
dinners which were given in honour of the accession of Nicholas II to
the throne of his fathers, the most magnificent that human ingenuity and
unlimited wealth could devise. Against this golden background Prince
Victor Emmanuel and Princess Elena pursued their courtship,
indefatigably, if not always discreetly. Even the Tsar was not so
engrossed that he did not observe the daring suit of the Italian Prince.
Having a kind of paternal interest in Montenegro, Tsar Nicholas felt it
not improper to express his good will toward these two sweethearts and
it was largely through his personal interest and encouragement that the
betrothal was finally arranged. When the coronation festivities were
over and the myriad royal and noble guests from all parts of the world
returned to their homelands, it was pretty generally understood that the
Prince of Naples would presently wed the Montenegran Princess.
Toward the middle of August of the Russian Coronation year, to the
surprise of no one, the Italian Royal yacht _Cajola_, having aboard the
Crown Prince, rounded Cape S. Marie de Leucca, prow pointed toward
Cattaro, the port of Cettenje, the capital of Montenegro. A large part
of the Montenegran population gathered along the shore to welcome the
Italian Prince. All knew what his coming meant. All appreciated, too,
his coming in person, for Royal etiquette allows that on such an
occasion a Prince may send an ambassador and Royal entourage to formally
arrange the details of official betrothal and marriage. Cettenje was
arrayed in gala dress as never before in its history. As a local
newspaper quaintly but enthusiastically put it, “the twenty-five hundred
people comprising the entire population of the capital met on the one
street of the town shouting their greetings.” Surely in this alone is
romance enough for one lifetime, the Princess of a country whose capital
has one street, whose entire population is twenty-five hundred, about to
become the Crown Princess, and presently the Queen, of one of the first
powers of Europe!
The official announcement of the betrothal was made August 18, 1896. Two
days later a great hunt was organised by Prince Nicholas and his oldest
son Mirko, in honour of the event. All of the Prince’s household and all
of the suite of the Prince of Naples were invited to participate. The
two lovers alone declined. At such a time, they said, when they were
both so happy they preferred not to spill one drop of blood, for that
would be to mar their own happiness! For two young people unusually keen
for the hunt and both splendid shots, this was indeed a delightful
sentiment.
Shortly after this hunt the Prince of Naples returned to Rome to begin
preparations for the reception of his bride. On the second day of
October--just six weeks later--Elena held her last conference with her
father, who brought her to the quay where lay the ship that was to
convey her to Italian soil. When Prince Nicholas had said his last
farewell and kissed his beloved daughter on both cheeks, he turned and
slowly climbed the hill behind the town, on which stands a chapel.
Entering the tiny church the Prince fell to his knees and there remained
for a long time absorbed in silent prayer.
When he emerged once more, the ship to which he had consigned Elena was
but a speck in the distance, across the deep blue waters of the
Adriatic. They did not meet again before the marriage, which took place
in Rome.
Elena landed at the Italian port of Bari. Her first act was to go up to
the old town church, and there be received into the Roman Catholic
Church. Montenegro, like all Slav countries is still under the
domination of the Greek Catholic Church, and it was in this Church that
Elena had been reared. The difficulties of her release from the Greek
Church were made simple by the personal appeal of the Tsar of Russia,
whose influence is all powerful with the Greek hierarchy, who bespoke a
friendly word on behalf of the young Princess.
The marriage was to take place in the great hall of the Quirinal Palace.
An incident occurred at this time, which, though trifling, is not
wanting of a certain savour.
The private apartment of Queen Margherita had been designated for the
formation of the cortège. Prince Nicholas and Princess Elena, by
inattention, or because it had been omitted to inform them, entered the
Quirinal from the stairs of honour and found only the Mayor of Rome who
had come to assist at the marriage. Happily the Prince of Naples had
witnessed this scene from the window of the Palace. He ran immediately
to relieve their perplexity and escorted Prince Nicholas and his own
Princess to the Queen’s apartment.
When the time of the ceremony arrived, Count Gianotti took the head of
the cortège. Behind the King and the Queen walked Prince Nicholas and
Princess Elena, the Duke of Oporto and Princess Laetitia, Prince Victor
Napoleon and Princess Helena of Aosta, the Duke of Aosta and the Dowager
Duchess of Genoa, Prince Mirko and the Duchess Isabel of Genoa, the
Count of Turin and Princess Anna, sister of Princess Helena, and then
the Civil and Military houses of the sovereigns.
Monseigneur Auzine brought a silver veil that the Duke of Aosta, the
Count of Turin, Prince
[Illustration: FOUR GENERATIONS: THE PRINCE OF PIEDMONT, HIS FATHER THE
KING, THE DOWAGER QUEEN MARGHERITA, AND HER MOTHER, THE DUCHESS OF
GENOA.]
Mirko and Prince Harageorgevitch, to-day King of Servia, unfolded and
kept over the bride and bridegroom during the whole ceremony.
After the ceremony Elena was more than ever nervous and deeply moved;
her olive skin grew exquisitely white, almost like alabaster. The sun,
which up to that moment had loitered behind clouds, suddenly broke
through the misty screen, suffusing the whole city in a glorious fulsome
light The bells of the American Church in Rome nearby, began to chime
the Wedding March from Lohengrin, and from the great Roman populace
gathered in the streets near the Palace went up a tumultuous cheer. Thus
propitiously began the married life of the most romantic Royal couple of
that time in Europe.
To compensate for their all-too-brief courtship, Prince Victor Emmanuel
decided that their honeymoon should be protracted, and far from the eyes
of the curious. To accomplish this they went at once to the distant
isles of Greece, to the romantic coast of Sicily, to wherever waters are
emerald, skies azure blue and the days golden. In their own yacht they
managed to escape from all public vision, and so weeks and months were
spent like a prolonged summer idyl. Never were lovers more secluded,
more care-free, more at ease, less trammelled to live with and for each
other, as fiercely and as intensely as the flame within them burned. The
world heard little of them on this long honeymoon trip of theirs.
Sometimes a message came from an Algerian or Tunisian port, or from a
remote Mediterranean spot like the Island of Monte Christo, where they
spent untold happy weeks.
This Island of Monte Christo, belonging to Victor Emmanuel, is very
secluded. Only the members of the household are allowed thereon. The
Prince liked being there free of all responsibility and unrestrained to
enjoy absolute liberty.
As a bride Elena gave herself to a unique régime for a Royal
Princess--she shared in the household work, performing with her own
hands the duties of the home. This policy was adopted because the young
couple dreaded to have others, even servants, about them, and this
lonely island was, perhaps, the only place where they could find
absolute seclusion and isolation.
This Royal property, which for a certain time was called Gombo, was the
favourite residence of the grand dukes of Tuscany. It formed a part of
the private estate of Victor Emmanuel II, who, as an indefatigable
hunter, used to make there a hecatomb of deers and fallow-deers. About
1865 he ordered the building surrounded at a distance of twenty yards
from the shore by a wood fence posed on pillars; he often spent there
the night, lying on a couch in order to hear, on his awaking, the
rocking song of the waves.
Once during their protracted honeymoon Elena and her Prince went on a
great hunting trip far up in semi-Arctic regions around the White Sea.
I have heard tales of this trip from the lips of a Montenegran artist
who was one of the party, and I have seen photographs of Elena and her
Prince-bridegroom skurrying across frozen ice packs, bringing down
Arctic game with their rifles, fishing through the ice for great deep
sea fish--filling the days and weeks with pure pleasure, storing up joy
against the years when the cares and responsibilities of state should
hold them ever close to home. For four years this dream life went on.
Then, in the summer of 1900, they were on one of their long cruises
among the Greek Islands when they were rudely awakened. News reached
them of the assassination of King Humbert! Both Elena and Victor
Emmanuel knew what this meant. Their yacht was quickly turned toward
Italy. This was their last care-free cruise.
At this time Victor Emmanuel shut up within his heart the tortures he
was enduring, to meet as a courageous man the duties imposed on him by
that misfortune. But Elena, who had become devoted to her new family,
was completely overcome and abandoned herself wholly to her sorrow,
weeping and crying aloud: “My father!” “My good father!”
On their journey to Monza, the scene of the tragedy, and on their
arrival at the station at Naples, Elena, weeping bitterly, pressed on
the bosom of her Lady-in-Waiting. Victor Emmanuel, by the side of the
Duke of Genoa, looked almost overpowered by sorrow, but he bore up
bravely. He invited the Prefecto and General Brusate to come near him.
He shook hands with them and talked to them with a heavy voice veiled by
tears. “It seems to me,” said he to them, “that I am under the effect of
a dream; such a horrible murder seems to me impossible!”
With the tragic death of King Humbert, Prince Victor Emmanuel became
king, and his Montenegran Princess Elena, Queen of Italy. In nearly
every country where kings and queens sit upon thrones, the Coronation
ceremony is a spectacle of great splendour and magnificence, but in
Italy it is scarcely a ceremony at all. So far as the Queen is
concerned, it amounted to nothing, while the King merely appears before
the Parliament and takes his vows of allegiance and devotion to Italy
and the Italian people. The simplicity of this sacred occasion is in
peculiarly fitting keeping with the mind and character of Victor
Emmanuel.
For four years he and his bride had basked in the sunshine of love and
romance. They had led the most ideal and romantic of lives. With their
accession the more serious business of life began. Elena presently
became a mother, first of a girl, then of another girl, then of a son,
and then of a third daughter.
CHAPTER V
ELENA THE MOTHER
The prettiest sight I know in Rome is when the Royal Princesses and the
little Crown Prince, Humbert, go driving. I lived for a winter in an
apartment adjoining the Quirinal Palace, so that it frequently fell to
me to catch glimpses of the Royal Family going or coming. Like the King
and Queen, they drive out almost daily during the months the Royal
Family spend in the capital, but it was the little ones who always
caught my eye and made me turn to watch so long as they were in view.
Usually there are the three girls, and a nursemaid holding the Prince on
her knees. Their carriage is an ordinary two-horsed, double-seated
coach. Immediately behind the carriage always ride two guards, on
bicycles, men in plain, dark-blue clothes with knee breeches. A stranger
in the city would not even notice them, although if one were observant
he might observe many of the passers-by lifting their hats and turning
to watch. Almost every pleasant afternoon, when the King is in residence
in Rome, immediately after lunch, or on a Saturday forenoon, the
children are driven just outside the walls of Rome to Villa Savoy, a
playhouse which is all their own. During that portion of the year spent
in Rome this is practically the only change they have from the Palace
nursery and the Quirinal gardens--the latter by no means a cramped
play-ground. When the Duke of Ascoli, Gentleman-in-Waiting to Queen
Elena, first showed me these grounds I was quite astounded by their
extent and their unique beauty. There are long avenues of boxwood
hedges, groves of dark firs and picturesque parasol pines, fields of
untended grass and acres of carefully nurtured flowers. And all this
behind the dull yellow Quirinal walls, fairly in the centre of the city.
But any growing kiddies long for more than the yard of a city home,
though that yard attain the proportions of a park, and the home be a
Palace. Villa Savoy supplies the want, and here the children have their
ponies and their pet donkey. Here Queen Elena, too, finds relief and
refreshment, for the quiet of the children’s playhouse is never intruded
upon by the court or visitors who are not intimates of the Royal Family.
The Italian sovereigns are striving to purify and elevate the atmosphere
and tone of their court so that their children may grow up in sweet home
surroundings, protected from the careless waywardness of the
aristocratic world of Europe. Some call it a “straight-laced” court. One
influence which may be responsible for this may be traced to an incident
in the schoolboy days of the King.
When the King was a youth of sixteen he determined to change his
handwriting from the ordinary sloping hand in universal vogue to the
so-called vertical. The formula which he took for his motto was,
“Writing straight, paper straight, body straight.” This boyhood motto
has been before him ever since. One of the first things the present King
and Queen Elena did, upon their accession to the Throne, was to attach
to their persons _only_ married couples. Ladies-in-Waiting to the Queen
could only be married ladies whose husbands were during the same period
Gentlemen-in-Waiting to the King. This was an early step toward
elevating the moral standards of the Italian Court. Italian aristocracy
had not been renowned for virtuous living, but the present sovereigns
holding to a high standard of morality determined to purify the court in
so far as in them lay by banishing from active service all ladies and
gentlemen whose names had ever been bandied by current gossip. This
crusade, if it may be so called, was aided by the existing laws of the
country which are still sufficiently under the influence of the Roman
Catholic Church to prohibit divorce. No divorced man or woman has
standing in Queen Elena’s court. King Victor Emmanuel is himself
extremely devoted to his Queen and this devotion has often led to his
being charged with intense jealousy. Whether or not this is true, his
attitude toward Elena has resulted in her more and more withdrawing from
the companionship of people of the court and devoting herself to her
children. It is a pretty picture, that of the home life of this Queen.
Six months of the year the Royal Family live at the Quirinal Palace in
Rome. The remainder of the year is spent at various palaces and castles
in different parts of the Kingdom, but chiefly at Monza in the North,
where the summers are delightful. The long cruises and excursions that
they were wont to indulge in previous to their accession--cruises in the
Mediterranean and the Levant, hunting trips to Spitzbergen and the far
North--are now a thing of the past, and a simple home life is their
daily régime.
The marriage took place in 1896. Their first child, Yolanda, was born
June 1st, 1901. Royal babies are never permitted to do with only two or
three Christian names. They must perpetuate the names of grandfathers
and grandmothers, and not infrequently of uncles and aunts and
grand-uncles and grand-aunts besides. Thus the full name of the first
little Italian Princess is Yolanda Margherita Milena Elizabeth Romana
Maria! The next little Princess, born November 19th, 1902, was
christened Mafalda Maria Elizabeth Anna Romana. On the 15th September,
1904, at the Château of Racconigi the boy was born. This was a momentous
day for Elena and Victor Emmanuel, for the boy, if he lives, will
eventually occupy the throne of his fathers, and the birth of a Crown
Prince is a matter of utmost importance in the household of a Royal
Family, and indeed in the
[Illustration: THE ROYAL CHILDREN OF ITALY.]
annals of a nation. Queen Elena had been married eight years, all but
one month, when His Royal Highness Prince Humbert arrived. There was
some difficulty in finding suitable names for the future King,
especially a first name which he would carry as King. The Royal
Household was divided between the name of Victor Emmanuel, after his
father, and Charles Emmanuel. The choice was finally left to the baby
Prince’s Royal father who said, “it was a good custom which was followed
in some families of naming the first girl after the grandmother and the
first boy after the grandfather.” So the name Umberto, or Humbert as we
write it in English, was chosen.
Since the birth of the Crown Prince, one more child has been born to
Queen Elena, a Princess, who is called Giovanna. She is still a wee
child, having been born as recently as November 13, 1907.
Princess Yolanda, the first born, has colouring and features very like
her mother, while Mafalda and Humbert are more like their father.
Queen Elena herself spends a great share of her time with the children,
and while they have the usual nurses and governesses, the latter of whom
are already teaching the three older children French and English in
addition to Italian, Queen Elena perhaps does more with her own hands
than any other Queen mother in Europe. For example, she always bathes
them, she is present at their supper hour and when they are being made
ready for bed; each afternoon she tries to spend two hours with them at
their play. Thus their training is very largely in her hands. The
children are all very young still, but the two older girls are beginning
to appreciate the love and devotion of their mother, for little Mafalda
recently remarked to a gentleman of the court: “Mamma is the comfort of
everyone in trouble.”
The Queen’s birthday falls on January 8th. The year of the terrible
earthquake at Messina Her Majesty returned to Rome from the devastated
regions on the eve of her birthday. This year, oppressed by the terrible
scenes she had witnessed, she abolished all of the usual festivities in
her honour and devoted the forenoon to superintending the making of
garments for the Messina orphans in one of the Quirinal Palace rooms
which she had made into a temporary workroom. In the afternoon she made
a round of the Rome hospitals, visiting all of the “earthquake
children,” and with her own hands distributing sweets and little gifts,
thus endeavouring to bring a gleam of sunshine into their darkened
lives, and helping them for the moment to forget their sufferings. When
someone spoke to her afterwards of this beautiful way of celebrating her
birthday, she replied: “When these children grow up they may remember my
birthday.” Her own children, too, were encouraged on this occasion to
remember the wounded and orphaned victims. Instead of purchasing
presents for their mother, according to their usual custom, they put
the money into the Relief Fund, to which all the world was contributing.
Little Prince Humbert brought his favourite plaything, a set of toy
soldiers, to his mother and said: “Take this for the poor children.”
CHAPTER VI
SIMPLICITY OF THE ITALIAN COURT
The Italian Prince and Princesses, though they live in very beautiful
Palaces, are simply brought up, and are not encouraged to have
extravagant toys. Formerly, and even now sometimes, it has been the
custom of foreign Ambassadors to the Italian Court, and even other
sovereigns, to send gorgeous toys, and magnificent great dolls as big as
the Princesses themselves, to these children. Queen Elena, fearing to
have them grow accustomed to toys so much richer and better than other
children, had taught them to surrender these things to poor children by
sending them to hospital wards. Now the playthings of the Royal children
are just ordinary toys like those that most children have and enjoy.
The Queen endeavours to make her children forget that they are of Royal
blood, or in any way different from other children. In this particular
she is very different from the Tsaritsa, who never allows her children
or her court to forget that her son will one day be an Autocrat and Tsar
of all the Russias, that her daughters are Grand Duchesses, and must,
therefore, be kowtowed to by every Prince and granddame of the court.
While I was in Rome, Queen Elena related the following anecdote of her
own children, which illustrates her simplicity of attitude toward the
Italian Prince and Princesses.
The young Prince Humbert was recently put through an examination by his
two older sisters, who wished to have an experience of their brother’s
knowledge about colours.
Yolanda, pointing with her hand to the cloth of a piece of the
furniture, asked: “What colour is this?”
“It is red,” Humbert readily answered, without mistake.
“And that other piece of furniture, what colour is it?”
For the second time the young Prince gave a right answer.
“It is green,” he said.
But Mafalda wanted to take part, too, in what they intended to be the
first examination of the future King of Italy.
“What colour are your small shoes?”
Here the matter became rather complicated. As far as it was a question
of usual colours, little Humbert had found no difficulty in answering,
but now, looking at his small shoes, he found that they had to him an
unknown colour. But he was not discouraged, especially as he perceived
on his sister’s lips a light smile, which could not be interpreted as of
approval. It was clear that his wily sisters were teasing him.
“Well, what colour are they?”
Vanquished? Not he. “My shoes are Marron glacé,” he replied.
Yolanda and Mafalda laughed gaily at that answer, and little Humbert,
considering himself scorned by them, began to weep, and ran to his
mother for help.
Queen Elena endeavoured to explain to the little examiners that the
Prince’s answer was right, as the little shoes had really a beautiful
chestnut colour bright and brilliant.
Humbert is not fond of being quizzed by his sisters, and he is rather
inclined to be resentful. Indeed, this little Crown Prince is a born
soldier of a fighting disposition, and many a nursery quarrel does the
Queen have to settle. He is ever ready to defend with great boldness his
small soldiers, his guns and his swords and other favourite toys, which
Mafalda and Yolanda attempt sometimes to take from him. Humbert has one
amusing weakness. He is fond of the two black eyes and beautiful little
face of one of his sisters’ dolls. Sometimes he wants to take possession
of this doll. Unhappily, his sisters are not always disposed to let him
have it.
Ordinarily Humbert is glad to assume rather a martial air, and to dress
in military uniforms. But the uniform that he likes best is a smart one
of a Cuirassier regiment with boots, cuirasse and helmet. The little
fellow distinctly prefers the company of boys of his own age, and he
enjoys the little friends that he is allowed to have, and who are the
children of the Ladies at Court.
One of these little friends, a boy of five years who showed himself
enthusiastic over his Princely friend, was asked if he loved him much.
“Yes, I love him very much, because he never complains when they take
something belonging to him, and he never cheats,” he replied.
“And Yolanda and Mafalda, and the little Giovanna?”
“Yolanda and Mafalda, I like them also, but they always laugh at us
men!”
Yolanda, who is especially beloved by all those who live closely to her,
has always been a lively young girl with a frank and gay smile. Being
the eldest sister, she endeavours to look in some manner the wisest and
most serious, and she is at the same time the most charitable and
kindly. In fact, it is known to everyone, that many times she answers
the letters that the little girls of the people address to her
continually, by sending to them as a gift some of her own toys, of which
she willingly deprives herself.
There is in her a lovely soul, which appears in a thousand ways and
especially in the unlimited affection to her parents.
An old friend of the Queen’s once asked her to show her an ancient
photograph very dear to her, representing Queen Elena having Yolanda on
her lap, when she was only two or three months old.
The Queen afterwards sent for Yolanda, and showed her the photograph.
The little Princess, seeing her mother in the portrait, asked with
suspicious anxiety who was the child she was keeping in her lap.
“She is a dear baby, of whom I am very fond,” said the Queen.
Yolanda’s face turned very serious, and after she looked again at the
photograph, she could not abstain from showing a certain contempt.
“Don’t you see how ugly she is, Mamma? Throw it away.”
“You are wrong,” the Queen answered, “you are this baby. It is really
you when you were very little.”
Then Yolanda smiled gladly, and changing at once her opinion, she said,
with plenty of content: “Oh, yes, she is very handsome. You may keep
it.”
Yolanda is in fact so affectionate to her mother that she hates in her
heart all those duties which keep the Queen away from her. She, as also
Mafalda and Humbert, like much better the beautiful days spent wholly
near their parents, among the green hills of Racconigi, Sant’ Anna di
Valdiere, and San Rossore.
Victor Emmanuel, leaving all cares of state in the full liberty of his
acts, thinks only to play with his children from whom he never is widely
separated, and who are really his all-absorbing joy. Even in Rome, the
King, his duties accomplished, spends the rest of each day in the
intimacy of his family.
CHAPTER VII
THE HEROISM OF QUEEN ELENA
Italy’s Queen has a wonderful reputation the world around for her
heroism and daring. More than once she has rendered signal and
distinguished service when great disasters have visited her country, so
that this reputation is not undeserved.
I have some personal knowledge of this side of her character and it is a
privilege to give her full credit. There are other sides of her life as
a Queen, however, in which she falls lamentably short of her position.
Of these I shall have to speak also.
Queen Elena and the King were in Rome at the time of the great
earthquake which devastated Southern Calabria and the western tip of
Sicily. No sooner had the first authentic reports reached their
Majesties than they started for Messina, travelling to Naples by special
train and then by the Italian cruiser _Regina Elena_. As it happened, I
arrived at Messina, also by sea, at almost the same moment as the
Flagship. I was put ashore, to visit the wrecked city, in a small boat,
and not one hundred yards away a little drab launch was bouncing over
the rude waves toward what was left of a slanting stage, bearing King
Victor Emmanuel. On the deck of the _Regina Elena_, anxiously watching
each rise and fall of the little boat, stood the Queen. From almost the
same angle I could watch the progress toward shore, only when the King
stepped ashore I was much nearer, and therefore could see more
distinctly the panic-stricken survivors hurling themselves madly at the
feet of their King, and could hear much better the wild shouts: “Vive
Vitorio Emmanuele!” It was a strange, weird hurrah, coming from the lips
of the bereaved, the sorely stricken, the wounded, the dying. Certainly
it impressed me deeply. Later, from an officer aboard the cruiser, I
heard that the Queen was moved as never before in her life, and well she
might be. Before her, in endless panorama, lay the ruined, smoking city.
The King, and the crowd he attracted, loomed big on the quay, the
foreground. Behind, stretching to the orange and lemon clad hills which
after a mile rise abruptly to a great height, lay the biggest pile of
human suffering, of dead bodies and pinioned, starving living that the
world has known in many centuries. Yet out of this ghastly picture arose
the cry: “Long live the King!” “Long live Queen Elena!” Truly it was
overpowering. The Queen stood it as long as she could, and then with her
hands pressed to her face she went sobbing to her cabin.
After an hour the King returned to the ship. The Queen met him at the
gangway. Now her tears were dried. She wore a long nurse’s apron, and
from that hour, so long as she remained near the scene of disaster,
Queen Elena worked as a nurse. With her own hands she bandaged the
bleeding. She assisted at amputations and other serious operations and
from time to time she visited other ships that were caring for the
injured and spoke the cheering words, which, coming from the sovereign,
meant so much more than any stimulant.
In connection with this dire catastrophe there was at least one incident
that was full of humour. M. Tardieu, a French journalist, had occasion
to visit the Minister of Marine who was of the Royal party aboard the
Flagship. When Tardieu had finished his business, the Minister, pointing
to a parrot which was occupying a prominent place on the deck, related
this story:
“A squad of Italian soldiers at work among the ruins heard a voice
crying ‘Maria,’ ‘Maria.’ They dug for hours getting nearer, but always
the voice cried unceasingly ‘Maria,’ ‘Maria.’ At last when they reached
the room from which the sounds were coming they found not a human being
but a parrot. But, in the adjoining room was Maria, a young girl, alive
and well. When the Queen heard of this she sent to have both the parrot
and its mistress brought aboard the Flagship.” As the Minister finished
relating the story, M. Tardieu doffed his cap to the bird and began a
garrulous speech of congratulations. At that moment the King appeared on
deck and seeing the Frenchman addressing the parrot in all solemnity
and dignity he paused to listen. Tardieu, looking up and seeing the
King, again removed his hat and salaamed low. Whereupon the King
advanced smiling, with extended hand. He chatted with the French
journalist for a few moments and sent an informal message to the French
people. The account of the adventure Tardieu published under the clever
caption: “How a Parrot Introduced Me to the King.” This girl was only
one of many whom Queen Elena became interested in in Messina, and who
have become her special charges now in Rome--wards of the Queen.
The example set by Queen Elena in going to Messina was followed by
scores of ladies of the Italian court, who left their homes, and,
boarding warships and joining relief expeditions, served as volunteer
nurses. They established field hospitals all along the devastated coasts
and among the hill villages. It was splendid, heroic service and must be
so recorded. Between the work of the ladies of the court and the work of
the Queen was this difference only. The Queen remained for five or six
days, while the others remained four or five weeks. The Queen was
decorated by half the monarchs of Europe--not so the others. But being
the Queen, and having gone there at all, setting the example of personal
service, her mite (comparatively) counted for more than the actual work
of all the others combined.
When Vesuvius vomited forth its torrents of flaming destruction a few
years ago, Queen Elena and the King at once set forth in an automobile
upon the same mission of comfort and mercy. And again, when Calabria was
visited by a lesser earthquake, in 1905.
Italy, one is sometimes tempted to believe, was the last place God made,
and he has never rested satisfied with His handiwork. No country that I
know has a more tragic history. Death in horrible forms is forever
sweeping over some portion of the land, while geological changes under
the earth are shaking, jostling and altering her surface contour. Ever
since Elena became Queen she has worked with zeal during the dark days
of these numerous calamities. Fate has been strangely, rudely kind to
her, too, in ordaining that she should be near at hand on many occasions
when accidents have befallen--railroad accidents, fires, as well as dire
disasters. Always has the Queen hurried to the danger point and risen to
the crisis.
When a collision took place between two trains one dark night, at
“Castel-Giubileo,” the Queen, immediately informed, was the first ready
to run to the spot of the catastrophe. The horrible scene that appeared,
the painful screams of the wounded, the great number of victims, brought
tears to her eyes. But the anxiety which possessed her, could not make
her forget her duty. While the King himself was organising the help,
she, the young Queen, was stooping over the wounded, encouraging and
comforting them. A woman, whose limbs were broken to pieces, was lying
on the road. The Queen rushed to her, kneeled down, kissed her and tried
to encourage her to fortitude. She pursued all the night her consolatory
work and left “Castel-Giubileo,” only after she was satisfied that not a
single victim had been forgotten under the remains of the ruined
trains.
CHAPTER VIII
ELENA THE QUEEN
In view of the long list of dramatic, if terrible, events that have from
time to time made Queen Elena the most striking figure in Italy, it
would be the simplest matter in the world for her to make herself the
most popular Queen on any throne in Europe. As a matter of fact, in
spite of her heroism and her daring; in spite of her romantic girlhood
and idyllic years of early married life--which strongly appeal to the
naturally sentimental Italian people--in spite of her charming home
life, there is no doubt that she is one of the most unpopular Queens in
Europe. Her court, which, to meet the tastes of her people, should be
bright, popular, brilliant, is really the dullest, the most stupid in
the western world. I have lived in many countries, and I am more or less
familiar with all the countries of Europe, but never have I heard a
Queen so universally spoken of with disrespect and disapproval by her
own court. Of course, Queen Elena cannot be charged with the sole
responsibility, for the King shares the opprobrium and may, after all,
be the one to blame. It is, nevertheless, a disappointing task that is
set the chronicler of Italian court life of to-day. Elena, as we have
seen, was born fairly in the lap of romance. Her life should have worked
out to an ideal fulfilment. Extraordinary opportunities have been hers,
but she has never taken advantage of the great popularity they have
given her. A Queen’s life is one of stern duty, intensely hard, and
excessively demanding from many quarters. Queen Elena, in an American
phrase, “plays to the gallery,” then retires. She garners the wheat and
ignores the chaff. She is quick to follow dramatic exploits, but
reluctant to submit to the daily grind.
The Duke of Ascoli, personal friend and adjutant to the Queen, was much
embarrassed when I asked him to tell me about the charities of Queen
Elena. He mentioned Calabria, Vesuvius, certain children’s hospitals and
orphanages, and there he paused. It is, to me, inexplicable that a Queen
who as the Princess of a little State like Montenegro should have done
so much for the people of the country, been a patroness of the arts and
done all the things that Elena did, and then, as Queen of a great nation
do so little. Rightly or wrongly, Queen Elena has the reputation among
her own people for being the stingiest Queen in Europe. Apparently this
is true. She patronises almost nothing at all, regularly, and if once in
a while she lends her name to appear on a public bill, it usually means
this and nothing more. So far as is known, she gives less to charity, in
proportion to her means, than any Queen. In this she is in unhappy
contrast to the Queen-Mother who, when she was on the Throne, did very
much to encourage painting, music and sculpture throughout Italy. This
fact rather discredits the only excuse I have ever heard offered for
Queen Elena, namely, that she and the King have many Palaces to
maintain, inheritances which have come to them from the many dukedoms
and little states which were brought together to make up “United Italy.”
Queen Margherita and King Humbert had the same number of estates, but
their charity and philanthropic list was long and striking.
Queen Elena has one boast. She says that less has been written of her
than of any Queen in the world, and she is very proud of it. My own
impression is that Queen Elena realises that if more of the facts of her
selfish nature were made world-wide that she would cease to be the
object of veneration that she is to-day. If the world at large
appreciated to what extent she has carried her ideas of simplicity in
dress, the glamour that surrounds her would fade. It is impossible to
worship a dowd--especially if the lady be a Queen with all the splendour
and taste of the world at her hand.
I have seen her driving in the Campagna, or even through the streets of
Rome, when I would never have believed her the occupant of her exalted
position, had I not known her. It is somewhat ungallant to dwell upon
these things, but Queen Elena _can_ wear good clothes, as her court
costumes testify. It is because she simply _doesn’t_, that makes her a
slouch in dress. One need not be extravagant in clothes to be tasteful,
but Queen Elena is not even tasteful. Here again, she is in unfortunate
contrast to the Queen-Mother who, still living in Rome, is always
exquisitely gowned, and no matter how simply, always with unerring
taste. Queen Elena is, indeed, sorely handicapped by the presence of
Queen Margherita in the capital, for her popular affection will last as
long as she lives, and a woman of Elena’s calibre can never, even at
best, supplant her.
The most ungracious task in the world is sometimes to tell the truth.
When writing of Kings and Queens, one is expected to write in adulation.
I have done my best for Queen Elena, in telling the story of her younger
life in all its vivid and alluring colouring; and I have paid full
tribute to Elena, the Mother. But the picture is not yet complete. Elena
the Queen is, after all, of first importance to the nation. We, in
America, believe that the institution of kingship--“divine right of
Kings” and all the rest--is largely archaic twaddle. Queen Elena, of all
living Queens, illustrates the emptiness of Queenship as it exists
to-day. I would not give the impression that the Queen and King of Italy
are cruel tyrants like the lately deposed Sultan of Turkey, or autocrats
like the Tsar and Tsaritsa of Russia; nor are they active elements in
the social life of the nation like the Kings and Queens of England and
Spain, or the Emperor and Empress of Germany. What Queen Elena and King
Victor Emmanuel represent, however, are, the biggest of social
parasites. They draw an enormous revenue of many millions annually from
a heartbreakingly poor population, and give the minimum in return.
I am quite aware that I speak in no measured terms, but a surprising
number of people in Italy--men and women of the Court--have begged me to
state the truth concerning their sovereigns to the world. Perchance they
themselves may take from the lips of an unbiassed observer from overseas
what no one of their subjects dare to say. While not an apostle of
social revolution in Italy, I may perhaps be so suspected, unless I
state that it is the full indifference to everyday affairs of the
Italian sovereigns, especially the Queen, that breeds the widest
discontent. The Italian court, as a whole, is not politically restless
so much as discouraged and disgusted with their apathetic monarchs.
The four years of blissful honeymooning enjoyed by Victor Emmanuel and
Elena seems to have spoiled them for taking up the tasks of sovereigns.
They seem to have lived too much unto and for themselves. One indication
of this is the almost ludicrous jealousy of the King. He guards Elena
with the greatest care, and few indeed are the male members of the Court
who ever approach her save on formal occasions. The sovereigns always
have their meals alone together. It was the custom of the former
monarchs to have the King’s adjutant and the Queen’s lady-in-waiting at
the table; at dinner there were nearly always guests. Not so Victor
Emmanuel. He prefers to be as much as possible alone with his spouse,
and never entertains at dinner save when duty demands it. It must be
said that he gives Elena a true and loyal devotion and he is one of the
very few, if not the only monarch in Europe, against whom no word of
unkind gossip has ever been spoken.
The closely watchful attitude of the King may be in some measure
responsible for the impression which is pretty general that Elena is a
timid, shy woman. There are several anecdotes recalled to illustrate
this trait, each of them, to me, interesting.
One afternoon, near the beginning of her reign, Elena had attended a
function given by the Dowager-Queen. Queen Elena arrived somewhat late
and reached the door of the Salon unattended. There was a large company
present and Queen Elena paused, as if in embarrassment, until Queen
Margherita, seeing her, came forward and taking her by the hand led her
into the room.
On the rare occasions when Italian Royalty patronise the theatre or
opera, Elena, if she knows the Queen-Mother is to be present, arrives a
little late, and leaves a little early, so that the homage Queen
Margherita had been accustomed to during so many years may still be
hers.
Social shyness is a thing apart from physical courage, of which, we all
know Queen Elena has
[Illustration: SNAPSHOTS BY QUEEN ELENA: THE KING AND HER CHILDREN.]
an abundance. The formalities of ceremonial court life are irksome to
Queen Elena, and the afternoon “teas” that she holds for the court are
stripped of all their formidableness by the present mistress of the
Quirinal.
Among the English colony in Rome is an aged lady whom Queen Elena calls
to court once every year for a tête-à-tête. During the past year she has
grown very deaf. Queen Elena had obvious difficulty in making herself
understood, and to her very evident embarrassment the old lady noticed
this and said, apologetically: “I am so sorry, your Majesty, that my
hearing inconveniences you.” “Oh,” said the Queen, “I did not know that
you were deaf. Come, sit here on the sofa by me.” This, surely, was
worthy of a Queen.
That Queen Elena positively dislikes social functions there can be no
question. For three successive winters there was practically nothing
whatever done to stimulate the social life of the capital on the part of
the sovereigns. One year the reason given for the postponing of the
court balls and receptions was the Sicilian disaster. Another year it
was the death of the King of Portugal. Other courts went into mourning
for thirty days. The Italian court cancelled everything in the nature of
festivities for the year. This has a very serious economic result. Rome
is one of the least commercial capitals of Europe. The social season at
best is brief--three to four months--and upon this little season many
of the shopkeepers have to rely for the bulk of their trade. The tourist
trade does not begin to compensate for the loss of the social season. In
every other capital in Europe the presence of Royalty at all star
occasions throughout the season lends a brilliancy that seems to be lost
to Rome for ever--at least during the lives of the present monarchs. The
old Roman families do the best they can to bolster up Rome’s fast
fleeting prestige, but the Royal Box is nearly always empty. More often
than not it looms up in the centre of things like a ghost at the feast.
Each year, fewer and fewer foreigners go to Rome for the season, and
this is laid directly to the door of the sovereigns. It must be borne in
mind that this sort of thing means very much more in Europe than it does
in America. There is no city in the United States that could possibly be
affected in this way, but since it is of so much importance in Italy it
must be mentioned here. This is one of the prime grievances of the
people of Rome against the King and Queen. If Queen Elena were the wife
of a country minister in our country, she would be beloved by all who
knew her. Her domestic virtues, her simplicity of taste and manners, her
fondness for children would all be extolled. It would then be no
drawback that her vision was not extended, her horizon so narrow. She
would be a splendid woman to organise Dorcas societies, to teach the
Infant class in the Sunday School, and even to get up Thursday night
socials. Alas! however, she is a sovereign, and of a sovereign so much
more is not merely expected but demanded. The way Queen Elena has
shirked her daily chores--court functions, audiences and interest in
national activities--during the last few years is a matter of national
comment. “She promised so much, she has achieved so little!” one hears
on every hand.
The Elena of to-day does not seem the same Elena who came from
Montenegro. The reason for her change of character is beyond my ken. But
these are facts. As a Queen, Elena comes close to the line of failure.
Each time she steps into the blaze of popular admiration the sentiment
toward her seems to change, but I notice that like the fickle waves of
the sea, this quickly recedes.
Queen Elena has always been given to hobbies, and as her children take
to one hobby or another their regal mother shares their enthusiasm and
interest. The King, too, has one hobby that he has indulged in since
boyhood and that is the collecting of coins. This fad he took up when he
was a very small boy. According to his own statement it was in the year
1879 that one rare coin fell into his hands and he determined to make a
“collection.” To-day his collection is reputed the largest and finest in
Italy. With him, the collecting of the coins is but part of the hobby.
Around each set of ancient and obsolete coins he has grouped a summary
of historical facts so that his collection, if studied carefully would
constitute an education in itself. I have been told that the King has
nearly sixty thousand different coins! A friend writing to Senator
Morandi who is intimately familiar with the life of the King, asked how
Victor Emmanuel had time to make collections of this sort. To which the
Senator replied: “In the midst of all the cares of State, by his
indefatigable capacity for work, aided by a rare promptitude of
perception and by a prodigious memory, he finds time to follow every
scientific and literary movement, and to attend to this collection.” As
a matter of fact, this is the King’s one hobby. The Queen, on the other
hand, still indulges several. In the Quirinal Palace in Rome she
maintains a studio where she spends many an afternoon working over her
sketches and water colours. Her interest in the coin collection is
rather recent, and at bottom only nominal. It is my impression that this
interest on her part is primarily for the sake of her children who will
one day own this interesting and valuable collection. The King once
related to Senator Morandi, in a personal letter, the origin of this
collection. “I got my chance,” he said, “a soldo (one cent) of Pius IX
and I kept it. Afterwards I got another which I put with the first.
Presently I secured fifteen different coins of different kinds. Then my
father gave me about seventy different copper coins. These formed the
nucleus of my collection.” For several years Prince Victor Emmanuel
pestered every one he knew to give him old coins, especially at
Christmas and on other gift days. Before long he had a collection of
three thousand pieces. And now it has attained the proportions of twenty
times that number. Recently the King testified that this collection has
been “an efficacious aid to him in his study of history and geography.
Besides which, when I have time I always find something useful and
pleasing to do, either arranging my coins or searching in books for
dates for this purpose!” Many an American and English boy and girl has a
collection of coins and this testimony of King Victor Emmanuel may be an
incentive to them to continue this hobby, and to make the most of it by
following the scientific example of the King in carefully and accurately
preserving the full data concerning each coin.
Queen Elena is still a young woman. If the time ever comes when she
determines to throw as much energy and enthusiasm into the everyday work
of Queenship as she does on the special occasions of crisis she may yet
make her mark upon Italy. So far she has not done this. In these
chapters I have tried to portray Queen Elena as she is--a real live
woman who enjoyed a romantic youth; who made a brilliant marriage; who
is a devoted wife and mother; a mediocre Queen. I have written without
malice and without prejudice. My task is done if my readers can now
visualise Queen Elena--can picture her in her mountain home, a daring,
untrammeled girl; can see her as she is to-day, active in her domestic
tasks, lunching and dining and driving with the King, bathing the
babies and watching over their early slumbers. For to-day Elena is wife
and mother above all else--and Queen incidentally as well as
accidentally. It is my impression that the Queen business bores her
utterly; else she would not do it so badly.
THE END
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