An unusual woman in the life of an unusual man

Hetman Pavlo Skoropadsky is one of the most well known figures in the dramatic history of Ukraine. Thanks to the efforts of my fellow historians, there is now a considerable amount of information about him. However, until now everything that has been written about this prominent figure concerns his military and political career, whereas his private life is little known. But even the little that we do know provides convincing proof that it was no less dramatic than his military exploits and political victories.

THE FIRST VICTORY

Pavlo Skoropadsky, the future hetman of Ukraine, was born in 1873 into an aristocratic Ukrainian family that was descended from Hetman Ivan Skoropadsky. The boy’s future was immediately and forever decided when his parents resolved that he would devote his life to military service. Skoropadsky later said that despite the absence of generals among his ancestors, Tsar Alexander II of Russia issued an edict permitting him to enroll in the prestigious Corps of Pages, which the young man did in 1886.

It would be an exaggeration to claim that the scion of the glorious Cossack hetman’s family earned straight As in school. Certain subjects did not come easily to him, and he had to retake some exams several times. At one point, the cadet could not cope with his course load and took a year off from school, which he spent almost entirely abroad. Eventually, his academic difficulties were overcome, and the future imperial general started climbing the career ladder without falling behind his peers. In 1892 he was promoted to the rank of chamber page, then to cornet, and in 1897, to the rank of lieutenant.

Things were developing equally rapidly in the young officer’s personal life. In early 1897 he planned to marry the 18-year-old Aleksandra Durnovo, the daughter of the famous general Petr Durnovo, who was a brother of the future Russian interior minister.

It is hard to pinpoint where and in what circumstances the young people met. Their acquaintance was the prelude to 48 years of married life. It is likely that the young officer and his fiancee, a lady-in-waiting at the Russian imperial court, met at a high society ball.

Aleksandra’s father was a major obstacle to their personal plans. He did not try to conceal the fact that, for a number of reasons, he did not consider Skoropadsky to be a match for his daughter. In the first place, he was not pleased by what he deemed the low, provincial Little Russian origins of his potential son-in-law. Second, Durnovo suspected that Skoropadsky wanted to marry his daughter for money rather than true love. The young officer’s numerous attempts to prove otherwise were fruitless- Durnovo refused to give his blessings to the young couple.

Documents attest to the fact that in pursuing their happiness and being deeply in love with one another, Pavlo and Alina, as he would later call her, ventured a desperate move. On Jan. 11, 1897, they were officially pronounced husband and wife without a blessing from Alexandra’s father. (Skoropadsky asked for his blessing again in April 1897, but we do not know whether his request was granted.) The young couple’s daring act rested on one fundamental justification: had they not done this, the general’s daughter and the young officer from Ukraine would never have enjoyed a long life together, which turned out to be a very happy one despite serious trials.

LOVE AND SEPARATION

For the next seven years Pavlo and Alexandra lived in happiness and prosperity. This was the happiest time of their life together. The future hetman’s family was rapidly expanding. In the space of a few years his wife bore four children: two daughters, Maria and Yelyzaveta, and two sons, Petro and Pavlo. In the summers the couple often stayed at the Skoropadsky family estate in the village of Trostianets in Poltava gubernia. Their luxurious mansion had a museum-size collection of memorabilia connected to Ukrainian military history, and the Skoropadsky family had long distinguished itself by its sincere love for Ukraine and its people. With great curiosity and awe, Alexandra studied the portraits of Ukrainian hetmans and other Cossack military leaders, held ancient weapons in her hands, and leafed through rare books.

However, as someone observed long ago, the best things in life are short-lasting. In early 1904 the Russo-Japanese war broke out. Skoropadsky could have easily served on the home front. However, patriot that he was, he immediately applied to be sent to the front.

On a train heading for the Far East, he felt overwhelming pain at the prospect of being separated from his beloved wife and children. He had only one way of bridging the ever increasing distance between them-he could think about Alina and write letters to her. Between April 4 and May 31, 1904, he sent his wife 31 letters, vivid testimony to the depth of his feelings.

Reading her husband’s letters, Alexandra had an almost physical sensation of the cold waters of Lake Baikal, which her husband had crossed, the heat of the endless Manchurian steppes, the hardships experienced by the soldiers and officers of the Russian empire, and her husband’s sincere love for her. In one of his letters Skoropadsky wrote that he could not wait for evening, when he would be free to write her another letter.

At the front Skoropadsky was appointed aide-de-camp to General Keller. After his superior died in front of his eyes, he was appointed commander of a Cossack company stationed near Chita. Soon after, he was awarded the golden arms of St. George for his excellent leadership and courage.

Skoropadsky was fortunate to receive another reward that he undoubtedly valued much more than all his medals and orders. In late 1904 a train from distant St. Petersburg brought his wife Alina, who did not shrink from embarking on the long and difficult journey to see her husband. The young couple spent an unforgettable month in a little house at the edge of Chita. Time flew by, and his wife took a train back to the northern capital. On her way home she thought of only one thing-would her husband come back from the war? Unlike many other women, she was fortunate to have her husband return home safe and sound, as well as victorious.

In the next few years Skoropadsky made a brilliant career in the imperial army. In 1905 he was promoted to aide-de-camp to Nicholas II with the rank of colonel. In 1911 Colonel Skoropadsky was appointed commander of a regiment in the tsar’s highly prestigious House Guards with the rank of major general and became a member of the tsar’s entourage. The Skoropadskys entered a nine-year stretch of happiness, primarily because the couple and their children were once again united. But these happy years passed quickly and in 1914 the First World War broke out.

It should be emphasized that even though Skoropadsky was fairly close to the Russian tsar by virtue of his position, he was no courtier. Essentially, he remained a true battle-field officer and a stranger to the scheming that marked the life of St. Petersburg’s high society. He returned to the battle front, where in 1916 he was promoted to the rank of lieutenant general for his expert leadership and military victories. In January 1917 he was entrusted with the 34th Army Corps, which operated on the South-Western front.

In 1916 another son was born and was named after his father Pavlo. In keeping with his past custom, Skoropadsky virtually showered his wife with affectionate letters and took care of his wedding ring like the apple of his eye. His wife replied in kind. Love letters became such a big part of their lives that any delays in delivery caused them great anxiety. At one point Skoropadsky received a letter from his worried father-in-law inquiring mainly where his daughter was and why she had not written him in so long.

In addition to letters, General Skoropadsky sent his wife something else. Since the beginning of the First World War he had kept a military diary. However, the conditions at the front did not afford him the opportunity to record his entries in a refined style with nice, or at least legible, handwriting. He entrusted this task to his wife, who acquitted herself well, despite her numerous duties as a mother of many children. The historian Heorhii Papakin estimates that Alexandra copied in her neat and pleasant hand the contents of no fewer than 80 war notebooks kept by her husband. These invaluable sources on the history of the First World War were lost during the Civil War. However, some historians have not lost hope of finding the Skoropadskys’ joint work.

CARE FOR ONE ANOTHER

Skoropadsky’s glittering military career in the Russian imperial army was destined to end in early 1917, when the February Revolution dethroned Nicholas II. The couple was overwhelmed with genuine anxiety for each other. This is understandable, as they were the elite and the foundation of the “pre-revolutionary social order that had rotted to the core.”

In February 1917 Skoropadsky was ardently looking forward to mid- March, when his wife was supposed to join him in Kyiv. However, on March 1, 1917, he wrote her a letter to try and dissuade her from making the trip because of “the increasing turmoil.” He advised Alina not to go to the Trostianets estate either, where, under the new circumstances, the “wife of a landowner” had no guarantees of an open-armed welcome.

These precautions were entirely reasonable. The very day that Skoropadsky sent that letter, his wife heard a sharp rap on the door of the apartment in St. Petersburg where she lived with the children. The visitors were a few armed people, who introduced themselves as representatives of the revolutionary forces. Pointing their guns at Alexandra, they ordered her to surrender all the weapons in the house. When she said there were none, the intruders started an unceremonious search of the apartment. They left empty-handed, but after a while guns and revolvers were heard firing nearby, and bullets began hitting the upper part of the building. Without wasting a second, Alexandra took the children to the back of the apartment. It turned out that the revolutionaries had mistakenly assumed that the attic was a hiding place for representatives of the “old formation,” policemen and gendarmes armed with machineguns.

However, the turbulence of those days did not diminish the tenderness of the couple’s correspondence. In his letters Skoropadsky often addressed Alexandra as “my dear Alinushka,” and she responded with “my dear Pavlyk.” Writing to her husband, Alina also asked him to take good care of himself and emphasized that even in the extreme case (she was referring to the possibility of losing both her husband and her father) she would be able to raise their children on her own, help them become worthy individuals, and provide them with a bright future.

Life went on, and after the tsarist government was overthrown, the couple had to find a place for themselves in the new situation. In one of his letters Skoropadsky advised Alina not to cling to the past and to “evolve faster.” However, judging from the facts, her evolution along these lines was not as rapid and smooth as he would like. For a long while Alina refused to acknowledge the February Revolution and the Provisional Government. She reacted badly to any accusations leveled at the overthrown Romanov dynasty, sharply criticized her father for his desire to serve the new Russia in truth and good faith, and saw her own undeniable merit precisely in the fact that she had not helped the revolution in any way.

It should be stressed that Skoropadsky successfully continued his military career in the new circumstances. He retained his rank of lieutenant general, recognized the Central Rada, and permitted his corps to be Ukrainized as the 1st Ukrainian Corps. Again, just like before the revolution, the only bright spot in Skoropadsky’s endless routine was the many heartwarming letters from his Alina. Later, his wife and one of their daughters joined him at his headquarters in Medzhybizh. Skoropadsky would always remember the warm, clear autumn days, the blue sky, and the car rides with his wife and daughter down the gray strip of highway.

It was now October 1917, and a long period of separation for the Skoropadsky family was looming.

(To be continued)