The Empress Alexandra Fights Back

[Letter No. 82 Tsarskoe Selo, June 11th, 1915]

Letter No. 82 Tsarskoe Selo, June 11th, 1915
- Fancy, what I did last night in bed? I fished out yr. old letters & read through many of them, & those few before we were engaged - & all yr. words of intense love & tenderness warmed up my aching heart, & it seemed to me, as tho' I heard you speaking.

Letter No. 83 Tsarskoe Selo, June 12th, 1915
When I finish my letter, I shall get up;

Letter No. 83 Tsarskoe Selo, June 12th, 1915
Now my own Nicky darling, I must say goodbye. I regret having nothing of interest to tell you.

Letter No. 84 Tsarskoe Selo, June 12th, 1915
My very Own,
I begin my letter still to-night, as to-morrow morning

Letter No. 84 Tsarskoe Selo, June 12th, 1915
my letters must be cheery ones, but its a bit difficult when heart & soul are sad.

Stavka, 12 June, 1915
I thank you most warmly for both your sweet letters - they have refreshed me.  This time I left with such a heavy heart! I thought of all the various and difficult questions - of the change of Ministers, of the Duma, of the 2nd Category, and so on… Alas! I must finish; they are all gathering for dinner at the big tent. God bless you, my treasure, my consolation and happiness! [Literally, "treasure, consolation and happiness mine!"]…Nicky

Letter No. 84 Tsarskoe Selo, June 12th /13th, 1915
How can I thank you enough for your beloved Letter, I received upon our return from the hospital. Such an intense joy hearing from you, my Angel, thanks thousands of times.

Letter No. 84 Tsarskoe Selo, June 12th/13th, 1915
Now I must quickly send off this letter.

Letter No. 85 Tsarskoe Selo, June 14th, 1915
I am writing on the balkony,

Letter No. 85 Tsarskoe Selo, June 14th, 1915
Now I must end dear Love.

Letter No. 86 Tsarskoe Selo, June 14th, 1915
My own beloved Nicky,
So many thanks for yr. dear telegram.

Letter No. 86 Tsarskoe Selo, June 14th, 1915
Now I must go to sleep & finish to-morrow. -

Telegram, Stavka. 14 June, 1915
Warm thanks for dear letter…Nicky

Letter No. 86 Tsarskoe Selo, June 14th /15th, 1915
Have you the patience to read such long letters?

Letter No. 87 Tsarskoe Selo, June, 15th, 1915
My own beloved One,
Before going to Sleep, I begin my letter to you. Thanks for yr. wire, I received during dinner…

Letter No. 87 Tsarskoe Selo, June, 15th, 1915
I am eagerly awaiting your promised letter.

Stavka, 15 June, 1915
My tenderest thanks for your two sweet letters…Nicky

Letter No. 87 Tsarskoe Selo, June, 15th/16th, 1915
Just received yr. precious letter, for wh. heartfelt thanks.

Letter No. 87 Tsarskoe Selo, June, 15th/16th, 1915
Once more excuse this letter written with an aching heart & smarting eyes. Nothing is trivial now - all is grave.

Letter No. 87 Tsarskoe Selo, June, 15th/16th, 1915
- I must try & sleep too, its nearly one oclock.

Letter No. 87 Tsarskoe Selo, June, 15th/16th, 1915
Reading this letter you will say - one sees she is Ella's sister. But I cant put all in three words, I need heaps of pages to pour all out, & poor Sunshine has to read this long yarn but Sweetheart knows & loves his very own old wife. -

Letter No. 87 Tsarskoe Selo, June, 15th/16th/17th, 1915
Good morning, my Pet…Shall finish after luncheon.

Letter No. 87 Tsarskoe Selo, June, 15th/16th/17th, 1915
- Now this letter has become volumes & will bore you to read, so I better end it.

Telegram, Stavka. 16 June, 1915
I thank you most warmly for your letter, also Marie and Alexey...Nicky

Letter No. 88 Tsarskoe Selo, June 16th, 1915
My beloved One, Just a few words before the night.

Stavka, 16 June, 1915
I thank you with all my heart for your sweet, long letter…Nicky

[Letter No. 89 Tsarskoe Selo, June 17th, 1915]

Letter No. 89 Tsarskoe Selo, June 17th, 1915
My very own Darling,
I had just finished my letter, when yr. dear one was brought to me - thanks ever so tenderly for it. You don't know the joy yr. letters give me, as I know you have little time for writing & are so tired. Wify ought to send you bright & cheery letters, but its difficult, as am feeling more than lowspirited & depressed these days - so many things worry me.

Letter No. 89 Tsarskoe Selo, June 17th, 1915
Do my long, grumbling letters not aggravate you, poor wee One?
But I only mean all for yr. good & write fr. the depths of a very suffering, tormented heart.

Telegram, Stavka. 17 June, 1915
I am very grateful for letter and two telegrams. Thanks to Tatiana and Olga…Nicky

Letter No. 89 Tsarskoe Selo, June 17th, 1915
Such grateful thanks for dear telegram,

Letter No. 91 Tsarskoe Selo, June 20th, 1915
The train with your Feldjeger is 8 hours late, so shall only get your letter at 7.

Letter No. 89 Tsarskoe Selo, June 17th/18th, 1915
I just got yr. sweet telegr. for wh. thanks;

Telegram, Stavka. 19 June, 1915
My warmest thanks to you for your sweet letter, to Anastasia also…Nicky

Letter No. 92 Tsarskoe Selo, June 21st, 1915
My sweetest One,
Ever such fond thanks for your dear letter, I received yesterday before dinner

Stavka, 19 June, 1915
How grateful I am to you for your dear sweet letters, for all your devotion and love for me.  They give me strength. I embrace you closely, beloved mine! It is too hot to write on such a subject…Nicky

Letter No. 92 Tsarskoe Selo, June 21st, 1915
I suppose this is my last letter to you, unless I hear a man goes to meet you.

Telegram, Stavka. 20 June, 1915
I thank you heartily for your sweet letter; also Mane and Alexey…Nicky

Letter No. 93 Tsarskoe Selo, June 22nd, 1915
- Excuse beastly dull letter

Letter No. 94 Tsarskoe Selo, June 22nd, 1915
My very own beloved One,
The letter I wrote in such haste to-day, I fear will have caused you little pleasure & I regret, that I had no time to add nothing nice.

Letter No. 94 Tsarskoe Selo, June 22nd, 1915
I fear I aggravate you by all I write, but its only honestly & well meant, Sweetheart - others will never say anything, so old wify writes her opinion frankly, when she feels its right to do so. One longs to help keeping of any disaster, but often ones words, alas, come too late, when already nothing can be done.

Telegram. Stavka. 21 June, 1915
Countless thanks for sweet letter and telegram. I had no time to write…Nicky

Letter No. 94 Tsarskoe Selo, June 22nd, 1915
It was a joy to get your telegram from Bielovezh

Letter No. 94 Tsarskoe Selo, June 22nd, 1915
-Now I must try & sleep, its late.

Telegram,  Stavka. 23 June, 1915
My warmest thanks for dear letter…Nicky

Letter No. 95 Tsarskoe Selo, June 24th, 1915
- You cannot imagine the cruel suffering of not being with you - I know I could help & guard off things sometimes & here I am, eating out my heart fr. far, feeling my inability of being any use, only writing disagreable letters to you, my Love.

Letter No. 95 Tsarskoe Selo, June 24th, 1915
- Alas, have nothing cheerful or interesting to tell you.

Letter No. 95 Tsarskoe Selo, June 24th, 1915
Eagerly awaiting yr. letter about Bielovezh. -

Stavka, 23 June, 1915
I thank you for your dear letter. Yesterday I enjoyed myself in Beloveje. It was quite strange to be there alone, without you and the children. I felt so lonely and sad, but was none the less glad to see the house and our charming rooms, to forget the present and to live through past days…
This letter has become rather lengthy, and I have no time for more…Nicky

[Letter No. 96 Tsarskoe Selo, June 25th, 1915]

Letter No. 96 Tsarskoe Selo, June 25th, 1915
My Sweetheart,
I thank you ever so fondly for yr. dear, long letter I was overjoyed to receive.

Letter No. 96 Tsarskoe Selo, June 25th, 1915
I fear I anger & trouble you by my letters - but I am alone in my misery & anxiety & I cant swallow what I think my honest duty to tell you.

Letter No.97 Tsarskoe Selo, June 25th, 1915
You will "hang her" when you get such long epistles from me - but I must write all.

Telegram, Stavka. 24 June, 1915
I am infinitely grateful for dear letters - yours and Marie's - which came at 9, instead of in the morning…Nicky

Letter No.97 Tsarskoe Selo, June 25th -26th, 1915
Then this will be my last letter to you, fear even it may not reach you before you leave, as trains so slow.

Telegram, Stavka. 25 June, 1915
Thanks for sweet letter; Tatiana also…Nicky

Telegram, Stavka. 26 June, 1915
Thank you heartily for your dear letter, and Alexey's...Nicky

Stavka, 26 June, 1915
My warmest thanks for your three dear letters. I could not write before, as I was busy with my beastly papers, which I get at the most inconvenient hours. This was caused by great numbers of military trains going from Vilna to Bielostok…
This is my last letter to you, my dear little Birdy - I am truly happy to be returning home to my family…Nicky

Goodness Griffh. I am attempting to catch up on this very, very long thread, which seems almost impossible. Thank you very, very much for taking the time to type all of this out. I have found it very helpful.

I too am having to play catch up! Wonderful information Griffh!

Mary R.

Aloha all!

I so enjoy reading these little snippets from Alix's letters to Nicky (and Nicky's also) -- it gives you a wonderful "word picture" of Alix laying on her sopha deep in thought writing these letters to Nicky - sometimes being interrupted by Ortino jumping on her lap!

It also is such a testament to the times of the art of letter writing - which by and large is a bygone craft.  Alix sometimes wrote multiple letters to Nicky (and who knows who else) during the course of one day -- something that we sitting at a keyboard typing out messages and emails are far away from.

There is such warmth and love in these letters -- it is such a confirmation of the strength of love between these two people. 

Mahalo once more for all of the work you are doing to bring this to us!

[Letter No. 89 Tsarskoe Selo, June 17th, 1915]

Oh Gosh Reagan, Mary R. and Janet you just make my heart sing.  It is a really long posting and I am sorry about that, however, I so want every word of the Empress to be heard because she is her own best defense. 

I just love your observations Janet about the art of letter writing and the word pictures of Alix on her sofa with her doggie or bouncing along in her train whilst trying to finish her letter or grabbing whatever stationary is at hand. 

Janet, I also had a similar thought that Nicky wasn't the only one Alix was writing to.  She kept up correspondence with her sister Victoria, her former governess Miss Jackson, and so many others.   

I couldn't help loving Nicky for his reassuring remarks to Alix every time she thought that she has offended him.  She expresses, even in the depth of her anxiety, such self-immolation and such deference to Nicky.  She never forgets that, though he is her husband, he is also her Sovereign. 

There is such graciousness and politeness between the two of them and it is especially apparent for these same letters from Alix, as we shall soon read, were filled with her deep concerns which were running counter to Nicky's decisions.  To mention just a few examples of Alix’ immolation and Nicky’s unfailing reassurance:

Letter No. 89 Tsarskoe Selo, June 17th, 1915
Do my long, grumbling letters not aggravate you…

Telegram, Stavka. 17 June, 1915
I am very grateful for letter...Nicky

Letter No. 96 Tsarskoe Selo, June 25th, 1915
I fear I anger & trouble you by my letters..

Telegram, Stavka. 26 June, 1915
Thank you heartily for your dear letter...Nicky

I have never read a single historian who has ever quoted Alexandra’s self-immolation, or her fear of offending her husband, or her own uncertainty.  In short most historians, by clever editing of the Empress’ War Correspondence have de-humanized the Empress in a vapid attempt to defend the mindless brutality that butchered her and her innocent family. 

Another thing that struck me, by implication, was how vastly different the world of 1915 was from the world of 20 years before, the mid-1890’s at the height of Victorian Idealism, when the Emperor and Empress were a young couple in love with each other and life. 

It seems that you can almost read between the lines of the Empress War Correspondence just how increasingly difficult it was for the Emperor and Empress to adjust to the “Brave New World,” which had already become hardened and disillusioned by the War.  I can’t help feeling this was why the Alix and Nicky were already beginning to find solace and refuge in memories of a more gentle time:

Letter No. 82 Tsarskoe Selo, June 11th, 1915
- Fancy, what I did last night in bed? I fished out yr. old letters & read through many of them, & those few before we were engaged - & all yr. words of intense love & tenderness warmed up my aching heart, & it seemed to me, as tho' I heard you speaking.
 
Stavka, 23 June, 1915
...Yesterday I enjoyed myself in Beloveje. It was quite strange to be there alone, without you and the children. I felt so lonely and sad, but was none the less glad to see the house and our charming rooms, to forget the present and to live through past days…Nicky

Oh please don't be sorry for the detailed postings, a good defense is extensive and thorough! I always found it interesting to compare the times during the engagement/early years of Alexandra's marriage to the later ones. So many lives changed!

Mary R.

Thank you Mary R. for your reassuring words spoken like a true historian; we can never get enough of what we love, can we.  I think that one of the interesting things about the difference in the twenty years that separated Nicky and Alix’s courtship and marriage from the era of World War was the shift away from the all things Victorian.  It was as if society was shaking off the ethic and idealism that the great Queen had embodied until her passing in 1901. 

What strikes me is that the dominance of the British monarchy and its influence on its own time declined with the accession to the throne of George V in 1911.  George V was the first British monarch in a hundred years whose accession to the throne failed to name his epoch. 

George V’s great grand Uncle’s accessions named the opening decades of the Nineteenth century, the Regency or Georgian period; George’s grandmother, Queen Victoria’s accession in 1837 gave identity to over half century of history, the Victorian Era; and finally George V’s own father, Edward VII accession in 1901 styled the first decade of the Twentieth Century as the Edwardian Era.  However historians never refer George V’s accession or his 20 year reign as the Georgian period.  That period was named by other influences, “The Great War,” the “Brave New World,” the “Art Deco era,” the “Roaring Twenties,” and the “False Dawn” of the nineteen thirties.  Actually, even the first three years of George V’s reign, 1911-1914, are still referred to as the Late Edwardian Era. 

I think that this subtle decline of British authority and influence after 1910 to some extent had a silent erosive effect on the prestige of the many thrones occupied by Victoria’s children, grandchildren and distant cousins, especially of those relations of Victoria that still clung to their Victorian standards as Alix so clearly did. 

It appeared that just prior to World War One, the polite world of Europe had grown tired of Victorian piety and privilege and its Christian idealism.  Of course radical elements among the intellectual, socio-political, and artistic communities of Europe had thrown off the Greco-Roman traditions and the Judeo-Christian ethics as early as mid-century and were looking to the Far East, Africa, and Asia for the basis of their new moral code and values.  Though this shift appeared in art, literature, and the social sciences, it was ignored by the polite world for most of the nineteenth century.  Most of the polite world viewed such attitudes as belonging to the “insane fringe” of society. 

However, in the opening years of the Twentieth century, one of the first real indications that fundamental changes in the moral code and values had suggested themselves to members of the polite world occurred in 1907 when one of their own, Eleanor Glynn published the first sex novel of the twentieth century, “Three Weeks.”


Elinor Glyn, London, 1908 [Sorry the picture is so fuzzy]

Because the publication of “Three Weeks” in June 1907 not only pointed to the inauguration of a new more permissive time, the book also had a surprising impact on the Empress of Russia and questions about Alexis’ paternity.  So I thought we might take a look at the author and the work and the near murder of Elinor Glyn during the time she was writing her next book about the Russian Court, “His Hour,” a work she had written after spending the season of 1910 in St. Petersburg as guest of the Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna the Elder.  I know that I am diverging again and honestly I am not trying to get out of my work with the War Correspondence but I think it is worth while to build as much historic context around the Empress as possible and especially as these points, while covered in general, have not been explored in this detail in the next post. 

Elinor’s nephew, Anthony Glyn, tells us that the idea for “Three Weeks” occurred to his Aunt Elinor in August of 1906 when she and her husband were quests of Lord Kintore for a house party he was throwing near Glamis.  Anthony relates that because the focus of the party was fishing his Aunt had:

…spent one uncongenial day sitting beside the river in the pouring rain, watching the male members of the party failing to catch salmon.  At teatime they abandoned the sport and went home to bath and change.  After tea they sat round the fire, Elinor idly watching a young man, a member of the party, lying on the hearthrug in his velvet smoking suit, playing with his rough-haired terrier.  He was yet another perfect specimen of the breed,  well born, educated at Eton and Oxford, handsome, virile, a sportsman, “intellectually and emotionally sound asleep.”  Elinor wondered vaguely what would happen if he were suddenly awakened to life, if he were to meet and fall in love with some intense, passionate woman, some like Sarah Bernhardt in Theodora. 

A picture seemed to form inside Elinor’s brain.  A number of unconnected impressions and longings of the past dropped into place in a jigsaw puzzle—her imaginary love scenes in Lucerne and Venice, the murder of Queen Draga of Serbia [1903], the tiger skin, the handsome boy lying on the hearthrug, Andreas and Theodora, Lancelot and Guinevere, Tristram and Yseult…

The minute the party dispersed she hurried back to Essex and there, in her Trianon, she began to write the novel which was to send her fame ringing round the world.  Her inspiration was white-hot.  “It seemed as though some spirit from beyond was guiding me,” she wrote later in an article.  “I wrote breathlessly for hours and hours…In a little over six weeks the book was finished.  [Ref: Anthony Glyn, “Elinor Glyn: A Biography,” pp. 117-119]

In short the book is about a Paul Verdayne, “perfect specimen of the breed, well born, educated at Eton and Oxford, handsome, virile, a sportsman, ‘intellectually and emotionally sound asleep.’”  When this young British nobleman, who had injured himself in a hunting accident, fell in love with his nurse, the rather utilitarian daughter of local Parson who was overly fond of hockey and running with the hounds, Lady and Lord Verdayne sent their son off to the continent.  On his trip he forgot all about the Parson’s daughter when he met by accident a fascination woman who was traveling incognito.  They lady in question turned out to be the ravishing wife of an unidentified Eastern European country and she was on a undisclosed mission to find an honorable young British noble who would agree to secretly father her child. 

In the novel her motives appear to be the unselfish desire to create an enlightened and wholesome British heir to her decedent and intolerant husband’s throne, an heir who by his superior genes would bring order and justice to her adopted country.  Of course the question of what would have happened to the Queen’s plans if she produced a daughter by this tryst was not explored by Elinor.  It was just a given that a truly virile young British nobleman would produce a male heir.  The Queen also realized that she would become a victim of her own plans and fall victim to her husbands rage, however she was equally confident that her sacrificial death would so ennoble Paul’s British sense of duty that he would agree to becoming the heir’s British tutor without ever being able to let anyone know his true identity as the child’s father. 

The Queen’s seduction of Paul started in Lucerne and was consummated in Venice.  It is worth quoting the seduction s scene in Lucerne because it became the romantic ideal for several generations and the most enduring image of the novel:

A bright fire burnt in the grate, and some palest orchid-mauve silk curtains were drawn in the lady’s room when Paul entered from the terrace.  And the loveliest sight of all, in front of the fire, stretched at full length, was his tiger—and on him—also at full length—reclined a lady, garbed in some strange clinging garment of heavy purple crêpe, its hem embroidered with gold, one white arm resting on the beast’s head, her back supported by a pile of velvet cushions, and a heap of rarely bound books at her side, while between her red lips was a rose not redder that they—an almost scarlet rose.  Paul had never seen one as red before.

The whole picture was barbaric.  It might have been some painter’s dream of the Favorite in a harem.  It was not what one would expect to find in a sedate Swiss hotel.

She did not stir as he stepped in, dropping the heavy curtains after him.  She merely raised her eyes, and looked Paul through and through.  Her whole expression was changed; it was wicked and dangerous and provocante.  It was quite true, as she had said—she was evidently in the devil’s mood.

Paul bounded forward but she raised one hand to stop him.

“No! you must not come near me, Paul.  I am not safe today.  Not yet.  See, you must sit there and we will talk.”

“I bought that chair in the town this morning at the curiosity shop on the top of Weggisstrasse, which long time was the home of the Venetian envoy here—and you bought me the tiger, Paul!  Ah! That was good!  My beautiful tiger!”  And she gave a movement like a snake, of joy to feel its fur under her, while she stretched out her hands and caressed the creature where the hair turned white and black at the side and was deep and soft.

“Beautiful one! Beautiful one!” she purred.  “And I know all your feelings and passions, and now I have got your skin—for the joy of my skin!”  And she quivered again with the movements of a snake. 

It is not difficult to imagine what Paul felt…   [Ref: Elinor Glyn, “Three Weeks,” pp. 61-63]

That is perhaps one of the greatest understatements in the history of romantic novels.  Soon other romantic novelists were giving Elinor a run for her money with such spin-off publications as “One Day” and so on. 

In 1915 Elinor lost her suit against a film company that made a vulgar farce of her novel entitled, Pimple’s Three Weeks,” because the court ruled that such immoral works such as “Three Weeks” could not be protected by copyright laws.   
 
By 1916 Glyn’s novel had sold over two million copies and this was before the flood of the cheap editions of the book that were introduced that year which would bring the number of books sold to five million by 1933.  “Three Weeks” not only enriched Elinor financially but she was the recipient of hundreds of tiger rugs from such distinguished admirers as Lord Curzon and Lord Milner.  Soon Elinor was immortalized by the popular rhyme that appeared shortly after the publication of “Three Weeks.”

Would you like to sin
With Elinor Glyn
On a tiger skin?

Or would you prefer
To err
With her
On some other fur?

               
Of course Elinor also received an enormous amount of biting censure from her peers and her book was banned in many cities in Europe and the Untied States, not withstanding Mark Twain’s approval of the novel stating that:

…so great a love was divine and beyond human control or law.  [Ref: Anthony Glyn, “Elinor Glyn: A Biography,” p. 137.

There was more fallout from the publication of the novel that directly touched Alexandra and the paternity of her three year old son.  It is not surprising, given Elinor’s description of the Queen’s rooms being draped with the “palest orchid-mauve silk curtains” and and the “heap of rarely bound books” at Queen’s side that, as Anthony Glyn tells us:

The book’s success had one further consequence…It was reported that the Czar had mentioned Three Weeks as being a book about his wife. 

…a man [Elinor] met the following year [1908] in America…said that Dowager Empress of Russia, despairing of an heir, has sent her daughter-in-law off on a yacht with “Paul” nine months before the birth of the Czarevitch…The American insisted on the story, asserting that the “Paul” was an Englishman and had in fact died in his arms.

Elinor was interested, but once again disbelieving.  The book, she assured him was entirely imaginary; it had no connection with the Romanoffs. 

It was not until 1910, when she went to Russia, that she came to realize that she might, in writing Three Weeks, have stumbled on something dangerously close to the truth.  [Ref: Anthony Glyn, “Elinor Glyn: A Biography, p. 139]

It was not surprising that Nicky, given the rumors that surrounded the birth of Alexis, would assumed that Alix was the character of  Queen in “Three Weeks.”  It was not unusual for Alix to be the subject of novels.  Richard Harding Davis had made her the heroine of his novel, “Princess Aline,” and the book’s publication in 1894 had enormous popularity all over Europe and America and was even read by Alix’s grandmother, Queen Victoria who perused it with delight.   

Now lets have Elinor tell us, in all of its detail, of the attempt on her life whilst returning from her first visit to Russia in 1910 in order to gather information for her novel.  She relates that in the autumn of 1909:

…I was staying in a French country house for a shooting party, when I received a telegram from the Grand Duchess Cyril of Russia, whom I had already met in Paris, suggesting that I should meet her at Munich, through which she and her mother-in-law, the Grand Duchess Vladimir, would be passing shortly.  Accordingly I went, and was rewarded by a perfectly charming invitation to come and spend the following winter in St. Petersburg, with a view to writing a book having the life of the Russian Court Society as its background…

Anything more charming than the manners of these two ladies it would be hard to imagine.  The young Grand Duchess was not beautiful like her sister, the Queen of Romania, but she possessed a peculiar, unconscious charm, and had the downright honest manner which is so flattering when it is the accompaniment of friendly words.  The Grand Duchess Vladimir was a most stately, magnificent looking princess, in deep mourning for her husband, who had died the year before.  [the Grand Duke had passed in Jan. 22/Feb. 4, 1909]

They had read and liked Three Weeks, and said that they could see from my study of “the lady” that I appreciated the Russian character, and would therefore be capable of making a sympathetic picture of their country. 

I was naturally delighted, and decided to go.  Russia had always attracted me, and from earliest youth I had felt that I should go there some day.

It was arranged that I should arrive on December 28 (by the English calendar) and that I should stay at the Hôtel de l’Europe, as the Grand Duchess explained that in this way I should have more liberty that if I stayed in the Palace.  She advised me to bring plenty of dresses, as it was reported that the Emperor and Empress were to emerge from their retirement at Tsarskoe Selo, and that there would be Court Balls, and much gaiety.   
 
I rushed back to England and ordered a rather extravagant trousseau at Lucile’s [Lucile’s was Elinor Glyn’s sister, Lady Duff Gordon’s, couture house.  Lucile’s fashions were in great demand among many of the young Russian aristocrats at the time], feeling that I must do honor to such a wonderful invitation.  Reboux of Paris also supplied a number of hats to go with Lucile’s masterpieces!  I was destined to be punished for these extravagances, however, for just as I left London I learnt of the death of the Grand Duke Michael, who had lived in Cannes, and whose son was married to Countess Torby and lived in England.  It was too late to change my plans, and I set off as arranged, anxiously wondering whether this news would make a great difference to the gaieties of which the Grand Duchess had spoken.  Alas!  I found on my arrival that Court mourning of the strictest kind had been ordered for two months.  The parties and balls I had looked forward to so much were all indefinitely postponed.

I spent the Saturday afternoon of my arrival wondering what I could possibly do about mourning clothes, as I had only two black dresses, one day and one evening one.  These were both very becoming, fortunately, and had to serve, while all my other splendours simply stayed in their cupboards.  Even the black Reboux hats could not be worn, I discovered, on arriving at the British Embassy for tea, as Lady Nicholson, our Ambassadress, informed me that the regulation headgear was a mourning bonnet of black crêpe with a long flowing veil.  She had very kindly ordered one for me, and I was somewhat consoled, on trying it on, to discover that it was really very becoming! [Ref: Elinor Glyn, “Romantic Adventure,” pp. 179-180]

In spite of mourning, as the honored guest of the Grand Duchess Vladimir, Elinor managed to attain entrée into the most exclusive salons and drawing rooms of St. Petersburg.  Not only that, the aristocracy vied with each other in to provide helpful details and material for her book.  The Grand Duke George chose all the Russian names to be used in Elinor’s novel and even the Emperor gave orders for the Winter Palace to be opened in order for Elinor to see it.  It was the Grand Duchess Nicholas of Greece who suggested that the hero for Elinor’s novel, “His Hour,” should be the dashing Prince Gritzko Witgenstien.  Elinor had met the Prince and had made notes about the him in her Egyptian journal and decided to return to England to gather up the journal and return to Russia to complete her book.  She tells us:

I was much congratulated by my Russian friends, when I reappeared amongst them, for having successfully performed the feat of getting from Russia to England and back within a week in the middle of February.  Actually there was more reason for congratulation than any of them knew—or perhaps I should say any but one, for undoubtedly someone must have known what would happen to me on that journey which was actually the most terrifyingly exciting adventure of my life. [Ref: Elinor Glyn, “Romantic Adventure,” p. 187]

It was at this point that Elinor shares the extensive details of the attempt on her life which apparently occurred as a result of the gossip that had connected the Empress with heroine of Glyn’s infamous novel, “Three Weeks,” when it was published in 1907.  Elinor begins her narrative by reflecting:

On looking back upon the whole series of events from this safe distance I am all the more struck by the cleverness of the scheme, which if it had succeeded would have avoided that awkward inquires which would presumably have followed had my disappearance taken place in Russia, under the nose of the British Ambassador.  In Warsaw I was unknown, and , as I was only supposed to be passing through in the train, the British authorities there were unaware of my presence in the country and some days would elapse before inquires would be made by my friends either in Russia or in England.  Clayton [her husband] would naturally imagine that I had delayed my departure from Russia and would wait a day or two for news before getting really alarmed.  In Russia it would be thought that I was safe in England and no anxiety would be felt if I did not return for some time.  The exact time and place of my demise would thus have been extremely difficult to trace had the plan been successful and blame would not easily have been attached to anyone in Russia.  Everything pointed to a deep-laid and carefully prepared plot, but to whom I owed the honour of these remarkable attentions I have never known for certain, although I can perhaps guess.  I have often longed to know what really lay behind the strange affair into which I stumbled so unsuspectingly.

Whether or no my guesses are correct here is the true story of what occurred. 

I had not visited Moscow on my way out of St. Petersburg, and my kind Russian friends therefore suggested that I should spend the day in sightseeing there on my way back to London, catching the night train from Moscow to Warsaw so as to waste no time.  I was delighted to agree, as I wanted very much to get an impression of the city before writing my book, and I was told that messages would be sent to the keepers of the various palaces and museums instructing them to give me special facilities for seeing over them.

I was not surprised, therefore, when an official, supposedly sent from the Vladimir Palace, called at my hotel, and explained to me that all arrangements had been made, not merely for my visit to Moscow, but also for my whole journey.  I merely thought it extremely kind of the Grand Duchess to take so much trouble about my comfort.

“A sleeper has been reserved on the night train from Moscow to Warsaw,” said the man, “And a room has been booked for you at the Hotel de l’Europe, where you will stay that night, as the best train for Berlin leaves the next morning.”

I wrote all this down so that there could be no mistake.

“In case there should be no cabs available at the station on arrival at Warsaw, a special carriage has been ordered to meet your train and take you to the Hotel.”

I though this wonderfully thoughtful, and suspected nothing strange.  He handed me my tickets, sleeping-care supplement, etc., as far as Warsaw, and said that I should find tickets for there to Berlin awaiting me at the Hotel de l’Europe.

I thanked him sincerely for the great trouble that he had taken to ensure the comfort of my journey, and he bowed, kissed my hand, and left.

The thought crossed my mind after he had gone that it was strange that I had never seen him before, as I knew most of the Court officials by sight by now; but I assumed that this was an underling who did not appear in the Palace.

This was the first journey, since my childhood days, on which I had ever set out quite unaccompanied.  I had always had a maid with me before, but by a peculiar coincidence my English maid who had travelled with me to Russia had been taken ill soon after arrival and I had been obliged to send her home.  She thought it was the cold climate and the hot rooms which upset her, but whatever it was, she got ill again every time she recovered from one attack, and I feared appendicitis, in those days still considered a dangerous illness.  Other explanations came to my mind when I came to think everything over.  The Russian maid who had been found for me I did not much like, and I had determined, for the sake of economy, to travel alone.

On arrival at Moscow any vague misgivings which I may have felt were set at rest by the discovery that the promised instructions for me to be given every facility for sightseeing had been sent to Moscow from the proper quarter.  I was greeted everywhere I went by bowing officials and given every honour.  I had always received this wonderfully kind treatment in St. Petersburg, where to my great astonishment each policeman seemed to know my carriage by sight, and usually held up traffic for me to pass.  The tickets reserving in my name a sleeper on the train to Warsaw that night, which had been handed to me by the strange official,, also proved to be quite in order, and I was not disturbed on reaching the Polish frontier.

When I arrived at Warsaw the next morning, it was dark.  There seemed to be no porters about, and I was obliged to carry my own dressing-case, which was fortunately all the luggage that I was taking…Waiting outside the station I found a single carriage drawn up; there were no other cabs in sight.  It boasted two quite good horses, and there were two men on the box in plain clothes.  The one beside the coachman got down and came up to me, bowed obsequiously, and said in what seemed to me a very Russian voice.

“Madame Glyn?”

I nodded, and feeling quite at ease, got into the carriage, which I naturally supposed to be the one which the official in St. Petersburg had promised to order for me.  The man did not ask me where to go, but remounted the box and we drove off.  At first I sat back in my seat not paying much attention to the streets as I was very tired after my day’s sightseeing and long journey.  After a time I began to feel alarmed, however, for I noticed that we were going very fast, and were passing through a sparsely populated pare of the town.  I felt sure that such streets could not be leading to the Hotel de l’Europe.  A dreadful sense of apprehension swept over me, and I wondered what to do.  Clearly these must be some mistake, I thought at first, and I imagined that this could not after all be the carriage which had been ordered for me.  Yet the man on the box had mentioned my name and there had been no other carriage visible at the station.  It was all very peculiar and I began to feel really frightened.  I remembered with a pang of horror that the official who had made the arrangements had not been one of those whom I knew.  Was it possible that he had not come from the Palace at all?  Could someone have impersonated a Palace official?  Had the Grand Duchess never intended to arrange anything more than the Moscow permits, as I had originally understood, and the man who saw me have been a complete imposter?  This was much the most likely thing, although I still found it hard to believe that anyone would take so much trouble to do away with me.  I determined to save myself if I could, and I opened the window and yelled at the coachman.  “Hotel de l’Europe” I shouted again and again.

He paid no attention, but instead, whipped up his horses so that we should travel too fast for me to be able to get out of the carriage without injury.  I could see in the dim light reflecting from the snow that we were passing out of town, and should soon be in the open country.  Clearly there was no “mistake”.  I was not intended to reach the Hotel de l’Europe that night.

I leaned as far as I could out of the window, regardless of the bitter frosty air which whipped my cheeks, and screamed and screamed as loudly as I could.  There seemed to be no one in sight and I began to give up hope.  Then suddenly I heard shouts from behind me, and the carriage pulled up.  Two men in uniform, Polish police I supposed, appeared, and a long altercation ensued between them and the two men on the box.  At the man who had met me got off the carriage, and one of the gendarmes got up in his place.  He made the coachman turn the horses round and drive back into town, and at last we arrived at the Hotel de l’Europe.  There he got down and helped me out of the carriage.  I was glad of his support for I was feeling distinctly weak about the knees.  He put his finger to his lips with a significant look, and bowing, returned to the carriage I had left and mounting the box once more drove off.

I was not at all surprised to find that the hotel had received no instructions whatever from St. Petersburg to reserve a room for me, as I had been intended to reach it.  It was completely full and there were no rooms to be had nor was any sleeper reserved for me on the Berlin express.  The astonished porter explained that the train for Germany left that night, in about an hour, and not the next morning as I had been told by the bogus Russian official.  I hurried back to the station, where, to my unspeakable joy, I caught the sight of Lord Somerleyton (then Sir Savile Crossley) and flung myself at him, craving his protection for the rest of my journey.  The kind man made his servant give up his sleeper to me, and too tired even to wonder what would happen to the poor valet, I climbed into the Express extremely grateful to be alive.

While in London I told Lord Redesdale about my adventure.  He advised me not to return to Russia if I could help it, as it was a mysterious place, and evidently there was someone there—and someone powerful at that—who found me in the way.  In any event he advised me strongly to say nothing about my adventure.  I told him that I was bound to go back, or I could not finish the book which I had undertaken to deliver on a certain date, and finding me determined, he promised to go to the Foreign Office and ask them to look after me as much as possible.

Perhaps as a result of his kind offices my journey back to St. Petersburg was quite uneventful; I was given the warmest welcome by everyone on my return and proceeded to forget my gruesome experience in a whirl of gaiety. 

I did not tell my dear Grand Duchess of my adventure, realizing that she could know nothing about it and that I should only embarrass her by mentioning it.  Nothing but trouble could follow such a disclosure, I plainly saw, and after all, why should I complain, considering that adventures of all sorts were what I had visited this strange country to seek?     [Ref: Elinor Glyn, “Romantic Adventure,” pp. 187-192]
   
Elinor goes on the describe the glamour of Russian Imperial Court at the official functions in honor of the King of Bulgaria in February and March of 1910, not to mention the festivities of the grand ducal courts, the gay little parties after the Ballet, and the various aristocratic merriments such as Count Orlovski,s “Salon de l’Ambassadre Pologne.”

Forgive this diversion into an aspect of the changing moods and modes that divided the period of the Emperor and Empress’ marriage from the World War.   I so love the texture of the changing times and I think that Elinor description of her adventures in Russia capture something of the transition from Victorian virtues to the “modern” values that gained transcendence in the Teens.  You know one of the things I so adore about my library is that many of my books have notations from prior owners and they are often as delightful to read as the book is itself.  I think that the anonymous owner of Elinor’s autobiography has caught the spirit of her book.  On the fly leaf, over what appears to be a dedication, they have written:

Such Nonsense!  Such be-Knighted nonsense!  And yet Elinor Glyn's narrative gives us a glimpse of the complex layers of intrigue that existed in Russia in 1910, the very year that Rodzianko, by his own admission, had gathered around him a decicated group of conspirators that were determined to destroy Rasputin and thereby the Empress herself.  In that sense, perhaps Elinor's autobiography is not such be-Knighted nonsense after all.