History has not been kind to Alexandra Feodorovna. Born in 1872 to a fairly minor (as belle epoque grand dukes go), German grand duke, married (in 1894) to Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, she is often presented as a melancholic, not too bright, woman. One whose chief interests—how dare she—was neither feminism nor any public role she might have played, but religion, her children, embroidery, and singing hymns. One who, it having been discovered that her only son, heir to the throne Alexei, was a hemophiliac, went almost out of her mind trying to look after him and worrying about him. With good reason, for more than once he was on the point of death and more than once he begged his parents to put him out of his misery by killing him. Things were made even worse when she turned to Rasputin, an uncouth, semiliterate, but highly charismatic self-proclaimed holy man from Siberia, for the kind of spiritual aid she so desperately needed but apparently could not find either at court or with her husband.
Partly because of her German origins, partly because many members of the Tsar’s family and court officials considered that he had betrayed them by marrying below his station, Alexandra was never popular at court. Nor, later on, did her closeness to Rasputin improve matters. But that was only part of it. Not only was Alexandra not the type that happily waves to crowds, but she never attained a complete mastery of Russian (she and her husband used to communicate in English). As a result, she was not terribly well received by the rest of the population either.
The outbreak of World War I did nothing to improve the lot of this unhappy woman. First she did her best to prevent her two countries from going to war against each other, storming into her husband’s presence and proclaiming, prophetically as it turned out, that “this is the end of everything.” Starting in 1915 she found herself accused of being in favor of Germany, even a German spy, a claim for which no evidence has ever been found. After the March 1917 Revolution she and her family were arrested, first by the Kerensky Government and then again by Lenin and his Bolsheviks. Held first in Tobolsk (in Siberia) and then in Yekaterinburg (ditto) under conditions that grew steadily worse. In the spring of 1918 there was some talk of sending the royal family to England in quest of asylum; but these hopes were dashed when the Emperor’s cousin, King George V, fearing for his own throne, refused to let them in. The end came in July of the same year when, probably on Lenin’s personal order, the Tsar, his wife, and their five children (four daughters, one son) were taken to a cellar and died in a hail of submachine gun bullets.
So far the traditional view. It so happened, however, that I came across a work by one Anna Viroubova. Born in 1884, the daughter of a high Russian official, for twelve years (1905-12) she was the Empress’ closest companion and confidante. In 1917 she too was arrested, first by Kerensky and then by Lenin. Held under rather unpleasant conditions in the infamous Petrograd (as it then was) Fortress of Peter and Paul, later she was released and went to live with her mother in the same city. From that apartment she was able to keep up an illicit, but fairly regular, correspondence with her imprisoned former mistress, the latter’s husband the former emperor, and their offspring. In 1920 she escaped to newly independent Finland where she spent the rest of her life, finally dying in 1964.
Nothing like prison to clear the mind, they say. Perhaps that is why the Empress’ letters to Viroubova, as printed in the latter’s 1923 book, showed her in a light I had never known existed. Here was a courageous woman. One who, amidst all her tribulations, knew how to give and receive love.
I quote. From Anna Viroubova, Memories of the Russian Court Normandy Press. Kindle Edition, 2016, p. 167.
March 1918.
“We are endlessly touched by all your love and thoughtfulness. Thank everybody for us, please, but really it is too bad to spoil us so, for you are among so many difficulties and we have not many privations, I assure you. We have enough to eat, and in many respects are rich compared with you. The children put on yesterday your lovely blouses. The hats also are very useful, as we have none of this sort. The pink jacket is far too pretty for an old woman like me, but the hat is all right for my gray hair. What a lot of things! The books I have already begun to read, and for all the rest such tender thanks. He [the Emperor] was so pleased by the military suit, vest, and trousers you sent him, and all the lovely things. From whom came the ancient image? I love it. Our last gifts to you, including the Easter eggs, will get off today. I can’t get much here except a little flour. Just now we are completely shut off from the south, but we did get, a short time ago, letters from Odessa. What they have gone through there is quite terrible…”
Ibid, p. 167.
“Well, all is God’s will. The deeper you look the more you understand that this is so. All sorrows are sent us to free us from our sins or as a test of our faith, an example to others. It requires good food to make plants grow strong and beautiful, and the gardener walking through his garden wants to be pleased with his flowers. If they do not grow properly he takes his pruning knife and cuts, waiting for the sunshine to coax them into growth again. I should like to be a painter, and make a picture of this beautiful garden and all that grows in it. I remember English gardens, and at Livadia [in the Crimea] Just now eleven men have passed on horseback, good faces, mere boys—this I have not seen the like of for a long time. They are the guard of the new Kommissar. Sometimes we see men with the most awful faces. I would not include them in my garden picture. The only place for them would be outside where the merciful sunshine could reach them and make them clean from all the dirt and evil with which they are covered. God bless you, darling child. Our prayers and blessings surround you. I was so pleased with the little mauve Easter egg, and all the rest. But I wish I could send you back the money I know you need for yourself. May the Holy Virgin guard you from all danger. Kiss your dear mother for me. Greetings to your old servant, the doctors, and Fathers John and Dosifei. Viroubova, Alexandra.”
Ibid, p. 168, 21 March.
“Darling child, we thank you for all your gifts, the little eggs, the cards, and the chocolate for the little one. Thank your mother for the books. Father was delighted with the cigarettes, which he found so good, and also with the sweets. Snow has fallen again, although the sunshine is bright. The little one’s leg is gradually getting better, he suffers less, and had a really good sleep last night. Today we are expecting to be searched—very agreeable! I don’t know how it will be later about sending letters. I only hope it will be possible, and I pray for help. The atmosphere around us is fairly electrified. We feel that a storm is approaching, but we know that God is merciful, and will care for us. Things are growing very anguishing. Today we shall have a small service at home, for which we are thankful, but it is hard, nevertheless, not to be allowed to go to Church. You understand how that is, my little martyr. I shall not send this, as ordinarily, through ———, as she too is going to be searched. It was so nice of you to send her a dress. I add my thanks to hers. Today is the twenty-fourth anniversary of our engagement. How sad it is to remember that we had to burn all our letters, yours too, and others as dear. But what was to be done? One must not attach one’s soul to earthly things, but words written by beloved hands penetrate the very heart, become a part of life itself. I wish I had something sweet to send you, but I haven’t anything. Why did you not keep that chocolate for yourself? You need it more than the children do. We are allowed one and a half pounds of sugar every month, but more is always given us by kind-hearted people here. I never touch sugar during Lent, but that does not seem to be a deprivation now. I was so sorry to hear that my poor lancer Ossorgine had been killed, and so many others besides. What a lot of misery and useless sacrifice! But they are all happier now in the other world. Though we know that the storm is coming nearer and nearer, our souls are at peace. Whatever happens will be through God’s will. Thank God, at least, the little one is better. May I send the money back to you? I am sure you will need it if you have to move again. God guard you. I bless and kiss you, and carry you always in my heart. Keep well and brave. Greetings to all from your ever loving, Alexandra.”
History has not been kind to Alexandra Feodorovna. Born in 1872 to a fairly minor (as belle epoque grand dukes go), German grand duke, married (in 1894) to Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, she is often presented as a melancholy, not too bright, woman. One whose chief interests—how dare she—was neither feminism nor any public role she might have played, but religion, her children, embroidery, and singing hymns. One who, it having been discovered that her only son, heir to the throne Alexei, was a hemophiliac, went almost out of her mind trying to look after him and worrying about him. With good reason, for more than once he was on the point of death and more than once he begged his parents to put him out of his misery by killing him. Things were made even worse when she turned to Rasputin, an uncouth, semiliterate, but highly charismatic self-proclaimed holy man from Siberia, for the kind of spiritual aid she so desperately needed but apparently could not find either at court or with her husband.