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thepaleys · 5 months ago

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Marianne - The Most Scandalous of the von Pistohlkors Siblings

Marianne von Pistohlkors was born in 1890 and was known by many names throughout her life. Her family called her "Babaka", her friends called her "Malanya".

In 1908, at the age of 17, she married Lt. Col. Peter Petrovich Durnovo, the son of the Minister of Internal Affairs, Pyotr Durnovo, and a classmate of her older brother Alexander. They had one son, Kyrill, born in November 1908. During that time, she was known as Mrs. Durnovo.

There are different versions as to why the couple got divorced just three years after their marriage. Some say Durnovo had a drinking problem and was abusive, others say Marianne was having an affair with none other than Rasputin:

"She was married first to the guards hussar Durnovo. She was acquainted with Rasputin. Once Durnovo, having suddenly appeared at a small gathering of the Elder's admirers, caught the moment when the Elder was embracing his wife. With a strong blow the hussar knocked the Elder down, took his wife away, and Rasputin, lying down, shouted: "I will remember you" - A.I. Spiridonovich

Either way, the couple was divorced in 1911, but it didn't take long for 22-year-old Marianne to find a new husband: a year after her divorce, she married Christopher Ivanovich von Derfelden, another officer and collegue of her brother Alexander. From then on and during most of WWI, she was known as Marianne von Derfelden. And it would be under that name that she would be implicated in one of the most famous murders of history.

Marianne was considered a very attractive woman. She was also witty, inteligent and social, which made her very popular in Saint Petersburg high society in the final years leading up to World War One. One of her most famous stunts was to attend a costume ball given by Kleinmichel dressed as an Egyptian in which she performed a provocative dance with a naval officer (who was not her husband).

Two photographs of the evening were published in a famous social magazine and were a tremendous success.

At the time, Marianne was also an amateur actress and model.

After World War One started, Marianne became a nurse and drove ambulances around the city. On January 5, 1916, she received the St. George Medal for her efforts.

Since her mother and stepfather had returned to Russia in 1914, Marianne had also developed a close friendship (some even refer to it as flirtation) with her step-brother, Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich. They attended the same parties and had the same circle of friends. They also were among the Saint Petersburg aristocratic groups that hated Rasputin and thought he was a bad influence on the Empress.

This was a time when the rumours in Petrograd society were particularly wild and farfetched, so the nature of Dmitri and Marianne's relationship varies between "friendly", "flirtatious" to "they were lovers and took pictures of themselves reenacting Kamasutra positions" and "they participated in orgies thrown by Prince Felix Yussupov in his palace".

Whatever the nature of their relationship, the truth was that Marianne was deeply involved in the conspiracy to murder Rasputin. It had never been fully proved that she was the Yussupov Palace, but she knew about the plans and there were rumours that some of the meetings to organize the murder took place at her apartment.

When it was discovered that Dmitri was one of the co-conspirators and was sent to the Persian front as punishment, Marianne was one of the few people who went to the train station to say goodbye, which ultimatly alerted the authorities to her participation and Empress Alexandra ordered her house arrest. Her telephone was taken and her house was searched [apparently, when the guards asked for a key to open a closed drawer, she told them 'you'll only find love letters'], but nothing was discovered and she was set free on three days later.

A few days after Dmitri's departure, the French Ambassador, Maurice Paléologue, met Marianne at a restaurant and this was what he wrote about the meeting in his memoirs:

Dining at the Restaurant Contant this evening, I saw pretty Madame D----- at the next table with three officers of the Chevaliers-Gardes; she was in mourning. During the night of January 6-7, she was arrested on suspicion of having taken part in the murder of Rasputin, or at any rate known of the preparations. Thanks to the high influences which protect her, she was simply kept under observation in her flat and released three days later. When a police officer asked her for the key of her bureau in order to secure her papers, she replied sweetly and simply: "You'll only find love-letters." The remark is Madame D----- personified. Twenty-six years of age, divorced, remarried at once, then separated from her second husband, she leads a wild life. Every evening, or rather every night, she holds high revel until morning: theatre, ballet, supper, gypsy singers, tango, champagne, etc. And yet it would be a great mistake to judge her solely by this tawdry dissipation; at bottom she is warm-hearted, proud and an enthusiast. Rasputin's murder, of the preparations for which she knew, came as a thunderbolt to her. The Grand Duke Dimitri seemed to her a hero, the saviour of Russia. She went into mourning on learning the news of his arrest. When she heard that he had been sent to the Russian army front in Persia, she swore to continue his patriotic work and avenge him. Since the police evacuated her residence four days ago, she has been concerned in all the ramifications of the plot against the Emperor, carrying letters to some and passwords to others. Yesterday she called on two colonels of the guard to win them over to the good cause. She knows that the agents of the terrible Okhrana are watching her, and is fertile in resources to throw them off the scent. Any night she expects to be incarcerated in the fortress or sent to Siberia; but she has never been so happy before. The heroines of the Fronde, Madame de Longueville, Madame de Montbazon and Madame de Lesdiguières must have known this unreal exaltation, by virtue of which the conscientiousness of a great peril rekindles a great love. When she finished dinner she passed close to my table, followed by her three officers. She came up to me. I rose to shake hands. In rapid tones she said: "I know that our mutual friend came to see you yesterday and told you everything . . . He's extremely anxious about me. It's only natural . . . he loves me so much! Anyhow, he thought you would be ready to help me in case of disaster and was anxious to make certain. But I knew what you'd say. What could you do for me if things went badly? Nothing; that's obvious . . . . But I'm grateful for the nice things you've said about me, and I'm sure that at the bottom of your heart---though not as ambassador---I have your approval . . . We may never meet again. Good-bye!" And with these words she sped away swiftly and silently, escorted by her chevaliers-gardes.

As mentioned in the quote above, by 1916, Marianne was already separated from her second husband and would soon marry again, this time in October 1917 to Count Nikolai Konstantinovich von Zarnekau, a son of Prince Konstantin of Oldenburg.

Perhaps because of the preassures of the revolution [Marianne later revealed that her life with Nikolai was marked by poverty], this marriage was even shorter than the others and, by 1918, she was already in a relationship with Andrei Nikolaevich Lavrentiev, a Russian actor and theater director.

According to her mother’s recollections, Marianne warned her family several times about the impending arrest, having received information from a commissar who was infatuated with her. “She was quick, … tactfully and easily met Kuzmin. He fell madly in love with her. And he freed us for her sake,” wrote Olga Paley. On August 9, 1918, the Danish envoy H. Scavenius proposed a plan through Marianne to save the Grand Duke: Pavel Alexandrovich, dressed in an Austro-Hungarian uniform, was to hide in the Austro-Hungarian embassy, but the latter refused to change into the uniform of a state hostile to the Russian Empire. Despite all her efforts, she still failed to save her family.

After the death of her son and husband, Olga Valerianovna and her younger daughters illegally emigrated to Finland with the assistance of P. P. Durnovo, Marianna's first husband. Her father and brother Alexander left the country with their families.

Marianne, however, remained in Russia until 1921. She became an actress at the Bolshoi Theater under the stage name Maria Pavlovna in honour of her late stepfather. In 1921, she moved with her lover to Riga, where they remained for several years. In 1936, under the stage name Marianne Fiori, Marianne moved to New York and would remain in the United States until her death. In 1961, she was married for the fourth time to Mikhail Aleksandrovich Paltov, the son of chamberlain Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Paltov , formerly a captain of the Life Guards Horse Grenadier Regiment.

#romanov #paul alexandrovich #imperial russia #russian aristocracy #marianne von pistohlkors #grigori rasputin #grand duke dmitri pavlovich #prince felix yussupov #irina paley #natalie paley

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lizzybeth1986 · 11 months ago

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Too Little, (But Perhaps Not) Too Late

Book: The Royal Romance

Rating: PG

Pairing: Kiara & Penelope (platonic). Hints of Hana x Kiara.

Word Count: 3, 085 words.

Summary: At King Liam and Duchess Esther's bachelorette party, Penelope has something to say to her best friend Kiara.

A/N: This is supposed to take place during the events of TRR3 Ch 16 (the MC's bachelorette), but with significant changes that will be a part of my series Petals and Thornes. Penelope's surname is Drammir, the bachelorette is not in Vegas but at Côte d'Or in Cordonia, and by this point in the story Kiara and Hana are secretly a couple.

Tagging @kiaratheronappreciationweek for KTAW Day 5: Friendships, @choicesficwriterscreations for FotW, @choicesjunechallenge2024 for Ending/Beginning, @choicescommunityevents for Best Friend Day.

"Un Soixante Quinze, s'il vous plait."

Kiara has been to Côte d'Or - and this nightclub - enough times that every bartender there knows without even looking at her that her favourite is a slightly tart French 75; Deirdre smiles, her eyes trained on a violet-coloured bottle somewhere.

"I'll do you one better, Lady Kiara. How about some Empress Gin and a dash of lime?"

Kiara's laughter is a silent gurgle in her throat rather than the court-appropriate tinkle or a loud cackle (that for some reason, Hana seems to love so much), the amusement making her eyes light up. "That'll be fun."

Far more fun at least than watching half the court pair up for dancing from the sidelines, knowing she can't do the same. Yet.

She tries to make her sideways glance towards the other side of the bar look casual, but damn if Hana doesn't make it hard. In a black velvet minidress studded with diamanté, like stars in the night sky, she looks good enough to eat. There is a faraway, dreamlike feel to the way she stares, unseeing, at the opposite wall; Kiara shudders. The same dreams haunt her too, night and day.

Olivia seems to be sashaying her way to the spot where Hana stands, and Kiara turns away, swallowing. That woman has a knack for noticing everything and using that skill against everyone around her in the worst ways. Neither she nor Hana need the additional humiliation of being caught by Olivia Nevrakis of all people, before they're truly ready.

She jumps as she hears a jaunty hello right behind her. It's Penelope - practically prancing her way to Kiara from her spot on the dance floor, flushed and ridiculously happy, several tendrils of hair out of place, lips and cheeks rosier than usual. Kiara instinctively searches the crowd for her brother Ezekiel, and finds him talking to a minor noble some distance away, the dishevelment of his hair barely noticeable.

Kiara smiles back at Penelope. Clearly this night isn't going to be just a celebration of King Liam and Queen Esther's very obviously romantic union, but also a chance, for the many couples that have cropped up in the past few months, to be open about their love in the wake of that passionate love story. Cordonia seems to be changing, Kiara thinks, with a brief pang (she tries...really hard this time...not to look over at Hana again), right in front of her very eyes.

Penelope's attention has already shifted to the way Deirdre masterfully mixes Kiara's drink. The gin and the simple syrup had already been mixed and shaken before Penelope made her appearance; Deirdre's now getting to what Kiara knows Penelope would consider the fun part. She squeezes out a wedge of lime, quietly stealing a glance at her audience of two as the drink's hue changes from clear to a rather vibrant shade of purple.

"Ohhhh," Penelope's gasp comes out in a burst of pleasure.

"Empress 1908 Gin," Kiara whispers to her, "they infuse the concoction with butterfly pea blossoms. They change colour if you add anything acidic to it."

Penelope handwaves the information away with the carelessness she gives most pretty things - it only matters that they look pretty; she couldn't care less for the process that gave her that incredible sight.

Much as Kiara doesn't like to admit it...the word "careless" does seem to be the apt word to define how Penelope goes through her life.

Carelessness in court. Carelessness in her everyday life. Carelessness with belongings, with tasks, with people. Even the ones she genuinely believes (and she does. Truly) she loves.

Part of it - Kiara is aware - has to do with how overwhelming court life, on its own, can be for her. Penelope may have exaggerated some of the hardships she seems to face, but this she has never once lied about.

Navigating court is hard enough, even for Kiara herself, but too often Penelope exudes the appearance of a doe entering a den of lions. For every one thing she manages to get right, Penelope has to fear the hundred things she'll do wrong. At some point you just get resigned to the possibility that a good day might be one where you made fifteen mistakes rather than fifty.

But anyone who stays around Penelope long enough knows that there is a inherent lack of urgency about her, a certain reluctance to think things through, a certain comfort with being tended to, getting pampered, being let off out of sympathy even as her choices wreak havoc. A tendency to consider only her comforts and no one else's.

It isn't meant maliciously. These things just don't occur to her.

Kiara meets Penelope's eyes once, then nods and turns to Deirdre with an order for a strawberry daiquiri. Penelope passes her a grateful glance, relieved at having that decision taken out of her hands.

Kiara sighs. There are a great many things you learn to get used to as Penelope Drammir's best friend - her indecision and passivity being one of them. She shakes her head as she absently twirls her stirrer over her drink. The days Kiara allows herself to think of how annoyed she used to feel (way back during the engagement tour) around Penelope are few and far between, and she does feel guilty of doing her friend a disservice whenever she does. Of being ungenerous, judgemental.

Of abandoning empathy. Even if empathy is a gift she hardly expects to get herself from...well, from anyone.

Kiara steals another glance towards the other end of the bar. Hana and Olivia are standing side by side, their backs facing the bar, their eyes never leaving the dancing couples. From time to time Olivia seems to say something (and Kiara almost bites down her cheek to stop herself from going there and rising to Hana's defense, in case it's something nasty). If Hana is affected, you couldn't tell - so nonchalant is her stance against the bar.

Hana's words from a week ago - warm and soothing and smelling of melted chocolate - still ring in Kiara's ears. You deserve to have people you can lean on, Kiara. As much as anyone else. You need to be able to depend on your friends sometimes too.

Her hand barely ghosts over her side, but Kiara doesn't allow it to linger there. She allows the words to wash over her, like balm. Like some sort of elixir that she hopes will heal her, slowly, spreading its warmth and sweetness in small trickles, taking away the hurt and resentment and self-derision bit by bit.

When she's calm enough to turn to Penelope's side again, she catches her friend staring.

Her eyes no longer on her dairiquiri; she stirs it absently, very much the way Kiara just did a few minutes ago. Those very eyes are suddenly a deeper blue, a darker shade, her gaze more intent and more serious than anything she has ever seen from Penelope in all the years they've known each other.

Kiara takes a nervous sip of her drink (sweet. tart. refreshing), her laughter betraying a slight discomfort. "You're staring at me like I've grown an extra head."

Penelope's gaze doesn't shift back to her usual - the unfocused flitting of the eyes from corner to corner. The intensity of it makes Kiara shift a little in her seat. For all her faults, seeing Penelope be her usual thoughtless, fickle-minded self - always distracted by the newest shiny object or the antics of the nearest dog - has always been reassuring.

"I...I haven't been a very good friend to you, Kiki, have I," Penelope says, quietly.

She says it as if it isn't a question but a statement, as if she has thought enough about it that it has become an already-unquestionable fact in her mind - that for a few moments Kiara finds it hard to say anything in response.

"What makes you say that, Nena?" She says, using that old affectionate nickname that Penelope only allows family and close friends to use with her.

Penelope fiddles with the shell bracelet she usually wears with the dress she's wearing, a sumptuous affair in her house colours - completely inappropriate for Esther's bachelorette (they're all supposed to wear dark or muted colours so the bride could shine in her sparkly gold outfit). But because it's Esther - who honestly couldn't care less - Penelope managed to get away with it.

Much like she has managed to get away with a great deal of things, Kiara realises with an unfortunate twist in her gut. A terrible court performance. Being involved in smearing another courtier's name (learning about that last engagement tour, realising Penelope was comfortable expecting friendship from the woman she did that to and never even bothered to let Kiara know almost ended their friendship for good). Wanting Esther and her friends to pamper her within an inch of her life if they wanted her to accompany them for their tour, even though her past conduct demanded - ethically - that she at least offer unconditional support.

(And never, ever once asking about how Kiara was healing after she was released from hospital. But that was something, perhaps, that she couldn't lay blame on Penelope alone for. For the longest time, her injury really seemed to matter that little to most).

And whether or not Penelope seems to realize how good she has had it without making enough effort from her end, yet...she certainly seems to have made a good enough start right now.

Penelope's voice goes a little softer, her eyes suddenly unable to meet Kiara's. "I think it's all the time Zeke and I have been spending together," she says, one fingernail tracing the seam of a fake shell. "He's been feeling a bit guilty himself, you know. He always tells me he's the older one, he's the one who should be taking care of you...but it's you always playing that role instead."

Kiara winces. "Well... he's never asked that of me, has he?"

Has it been like that, really? Has it? All she knows of her relationship with Zeke is how often she loses patience with him when his reluctance to move out of his safe zone creates problems, either for himself or their family. It's the one thing she has always felt a little guilty about - as much as she has felt whenever she got frustrated with Penelope.

"That's the worst part, he says. That he let you adopt that role, and never give you the same level of support. That of course you find him a little hard to understand, but that never stopped you from trying to help. And of course you never ask for any help in return, but there were so many times you should have gotten it from him anyway," Penelope's sigh comes out in a shuddering breath, and Kiara notices a redness creeping up to her cheeks from her neck. "I never realised until he said that, that I've treated you that way too."

When Penelope looks at Kiara this time, her lashes are spiky with tears. Kiara tries to swallow the lump in her own throat, suddenly overwhelmed.

For a while now, these were thoughts Kiara did have. Thoughts she'd tried to quash in the many, many hours she spent struggling to move in that hospital bed without feeling that pain on her side, thoughts she fought off after being reminded - again and again and again - how she got hurt there. Thoughts that terrified her so much she suppressed them, experiencing a mixture of relief and disappointment when no one, not even her close friends, seemed to find what happened to her important enough to remember.

These were thoughts she could only allow herself to have for no more than a few minutes. They would damn near destroy her if she thought about them any longer than that.

These were the thoughts that made her want to kick herself for being so ungenerous and petty and judgemental. To hear those same words, the words she only allowed herself to think in her darkest, most bitter moments, from Penelope's mouth - without blame, without censure - and to know that Zeke has felt it too...there is a burn in Kiara's throat that she knows won't leave for a long, long time.

Oh, no, Nena, a part of Kiara still wants to say, you're a wonderful friend. Those words, constantly at the tip of her tongue whenever Penelope gets into one of her melancholy, self-pitying moods, seem to haunt Kiara again, urging her to keep their friendship the way it is. Unequal. Unbalanced. Practically one-sided. Kiara forever as protector, Penelope forever as protected. It must be better that way.

Hana's words come back to her - a balm to her bruised spirit.

You need to depend on your friends too.

"I may not have been the friend you needed all this time, Kiki," Penelope whispers, "but from today, I promise you I'll really try."

As Kiara does in the rare occasions she finds herself overcome with emotion, she lets out a wavering, watery laugh.

Will Penelope truly change that? She doesn't know yet. But damn does it feel good that she cares enough to try.

All this time, all this guilt and self-blame...for not being the kind of friend most people would insist Penelope needed. All this resentment, because people would certainly think long and hard about what it meant to be literally anyone else's friend and catering to their needs. Olivia's. Penelope's. Even (ugh) Madeleine's.

But not Kiara's. Never Kiara's.

"I don't know how to respond to this yet, Nena. But I need you to know that I appreciate this. Truly."

Putting her daiquiri down, Penelope crushes her in an impulsive hug that almost sends tiny purple droplets of Kiara's drink flying onto her outfit. Neither of them notice.

They part, reluctantly, and spend the rest of their time together drinking in companiable silence as the vibrations from the nightclub's loud music thumps on the floor beneath them. When the tune changes to a slower, more romantic tune, Kiara can't stop herself from taking a peek at the other side of the bar.

Penelope follows her gaze, and smiles when it lands on Hana. "You should go there."

"Hmm?" Kiara murmurs, barely hearing Penelope. Hana and Olivia are still talking, but the vibes feel far more chilly than they seemed to be a few minutes ago. Now Hana is the one slightly smiling, like the cat who got the cream, and Olivia looks surprisingly...pale? Perhaps a little ill?

Definitely not as smug as she seemed when she sauntered her way to Hana's side.

She isn't sure how that came about, but the possibility that Hana may have had something to do with it does fill her with an odd sort of pride. The kind of pride that makes her want to point to Hana in front of a crowd of twenty-plus nobles and announce, as loud as she can, "that's my girlfriend!!"

Penelope giggles so hard she almost snorts her drink out of her nose. "Go get your girl, Kiki."

Kiara stares at Penelope for a minute, then self-consciously runs her palms over her own outfit. "Am I that obvious?"

Penelope is still giggling. "Only right now, and only because I'm literally standing next to you."

Kiara laughs, relieved. This love she shares with Hana will still be her - their - secret. She wants it to stay that way, just a little bit longer.

The strains of the love song currently playing feel a little out of place for this nightclub, but Kiara's feet are almost itching for a slow dance in someone's arms. Head over heels when toe to toe. This is the sound of my soul. By the way Hana is looking at her now - alone at the bar again - Kiara can tell she wants it too.

Penelope places a hand on Kiara's shoulder, taking her leave with a grin and a conspiratorial wink. "Zeke must be looking for me. Have fun, Kiki!" Clearly in a mood for generosity, she kisses Kiara on the cheek before she leaves.

(For a woman who has never slept with, well, anyone before, Hana seems to be quite adept in the art of seduction already. Kiara has to bite the inside of her cheek just to fight the urge to whisk her to her hotel room for the rest of the night)

When she reaches Hana's side, the other woman's gaze moves over her in the most leisurely pace known to man. Slow, sensual, soaked in knowing, promising more than just one dance.

The soles of Kiara's feet tingle just from imagining the possibilities. She knows what they're going to be doing at least an hour (Kiara's being generous - she probably might not even last that long) from now.

"Lady Hana," Kiara says, holding out her hand and inwardly laughing at her own playful formality, "I believe I owe you a dance."

Hana breaks character, laughing delightedly. "A dance would be a good start."

Hana rests her head on Kiara's shoulder, her face nestled close to her collarbone. Her face is nestled close enough to Kiara's collarbone that she could breathe in her perfume if she wanted; she can feel Hana's long, deep inhale reverberate through her own body as she does. As Kiara runs a hand down Hana's back, she begins to sigh in tandem to the music too, drunk on her love for this woman. Ah ah ah haa haa. I know this much is true.

Even with her eyes closed, Kiara can feel the lights - deep purple and sea green - dancing behind her eyelids. The feel of Hana's palm against hers. A whiff of Gucci Bloom that comes and goes - that Kiara registers, instinctively, as the presence of her best friend stealing another dance with her brother. Kiara sighs happily.

Tomorrow might be as hard to live through as yesterday was, as this morning was, as every morning has been since this tour began. But every once in a while, she's gifted with tiny miracles.

This evening - every bit of it - has been a tiny miracle. And if this tour has taught her anything, it's that the tiny miracles are often the most memorable ones.

Almost as if they can both sense a desire to come closer, Hana and Kiara tighten their arms around each other almost imperceptibly.

Kiara smiles, again. Tomorrow may be different. But today...today has been beautiful. Today has been perfect.

This night of miracles does seem to be in any hurry to leave, and she's going to embrace it with both hands.

References:

French 75 - a cocktail made from gin, champagne, lemon juice, and sugar. It is also called a 75 Cocktail, or in French simply a Soixante Quinze.

Learn more about Empress Gin gin French 75 here.

The song Hana and Kiara are dancing to at the end is "True" by Spandau Ballet.

A/N1: I hint at a scene that is not part of canon but that will eventually show up at this point of the story when I write it in Petals and Thornes (basically Hana and Olivia talking. I won't be talking about it here, but it will be a major scene from Hana's PoV at this point in the story).

A/N2: Often, when the fandom speaks about the Kiara and Penelope friendship, there tends to be a lot of sympathy for Penelope and criticism for Kiara. But when you take a closer look at canon, the opposite applies. The narrative tends to center this friendship on Penelope alone, with Kiara needing to constantly worry and protect her, and Penelope rarely ever showing the same regard or concern for Kiara. It's a grossly imbalanced friendship, and I did want some acknowledgement of that.

A big thank you to @thecapturedafrique for suggesting this title 😁😁

#kiara theron #the royal romance #the royal heir #the royal finale #kiaratheronappreciationweek #KTAW #KTAW 2024 #KTAW Day 5 #KTAW Day 5: Friendships #content: fanfic #lizzybeth1986

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