The Romanov Sisters

by Helen Rappaport

  Mindful of the huge security problem for the police on the Isle of Wight, it was soon made clear that the tsar and his family would not stay on land but on board the Shtandart off Cowes, where it was much easier to protect them, surrounded as the yacht would be by two Russian cruisers and three destroyers as well as ships of the British fleet. Nevertheless, the most elaborate security arrangements were put into effect, with ‘every possible means of entrance, not only to Cowes, but to the Isle of Wight’ – landing stages, roads and railways, and ‘even the peaceful rural villages of the interior’ – being watched by hundreds of plain clothes detectives, backed up by a special ‘bicycle corps’ of thirty men. Many of the detectives adopted the token disguise of double-breasted yachtsmen’s jackets and white sailing caps, but as one newspaper observed, ‘this was really more of an advertisement of constabulary duty than a disguise. Instead of avoiding attention they invited it … As yachtsmen who wandered about in couples without visible means of support afloat they were marked men.’7 Cowes itself, as the Liberal peer Lord Suffield recalled, ‘was crowded with detectives on the watch for possible assassins, and everyone seemed to be in fear for the poor hunted Czar’. The detectives were not just British either; Spiridovich had brought his own Okhrana men. Suffield had found it all rather unnerving: ‘I do not know how any man can submit to such thralldom; it is too big a price to pay for being a potentate.’8

  On the evening of 2 August (NS) the Shtandart and its escort sailed towards Spithead in the Solent for a rendezvous with the British royal family on board their yacht the Victoria and Albert. The event was filmed and photographed too, as an impressive naval review and regatta of 152 ships was watched by both families, following which the royal yachts sailed into Cowes harbour to be greeted by an armada of gaily pennanted steam and sail boats and yachts of every description.9 Four days of intensive receptions and meetings followed, during which the only meal not shared with the British royals was breakfast. The strain of it all on the empress’s face was evident to Alice Keppel, Edward VII’s long-standing mistress. Up on deck in the Shtandart surrounded by a dense crowd of people the tsaritsa had ‘presented a frigid calm’, yet, strangely, Alexandra’s moral probity did not prevent her from inviting Mrs Keppel to join her below in her suite. As soon as the cabin door was closed behind them ‘there was a sudden lightening of the atmosphere’, recalled Alice. ‘Dropping her regal mask, the Empress had at once become a friendly housewife, “Tell me, my dear, where do you get your knitting wool?” she had urgently demanded.’10

  For the Romanov children, spared the strains of officialdom, the visit was an all too brief glimpse of an entirely new landscape, though for those protecting them it was yet another security nightmare. They had till now seen little or nothing beyond their homes at St Petersburg, Tsarskoe Selo and Peterhof. On the morning of 3 August all five of them made their first trip ashore, to East Cowes and a visit by open landau to Osborne Bay, just down from Osborne House (the large part of which had now become a naval officers’ training college). Here they played with their cousins on the private beach, paddling in the sea, collecting shells and digging sandcastles, much as their mother and their grandmother Alice had done before them. Olga and Tatiana made a second impromptu trip ashore that afternoon with their chaperones and a posse of detectives, and were delighted to be allowed to walk rather than take the carriage into West Cowes to do some shopping in the main street. It was such a rare thing for them to be able to move freely in this way; the cobbled high street of West Cowes might not be the glamorous Nevsky Prospekt, but Shtandart officer Nikolay Vasilievich Sablin noted that many of the shops were subsidiaries of the big London stores, open specially for the yachting season and the Cowes Regatta, and had plenty of luxury goods and souvenirs with which to tempt the girls’ pocket money. Olga and Tatiana were extremely animated throughout their visit. They talked in English to the shopkeepers and took great pleasure in spending their money in a newsagent’s shop on pennants of the various nations, commemorative picture postcards of their royal relatives and even of their own parents. After that they moved on to a jeweller’s where they snapped up gifts for members of the crew. They also treated themselves to some perfume from Beken & Son’s pharmacy.11

  West Cowes meanwhile had come to a complete standstill, for word had quickly spread about these charming young Russian visitors in their smart matching grey suits and straw hats. Soon the sisters were being followed round the town by a large crowd of curious holiday-makers and across the floating bridge into East Cowes, where they visited Whippingham Church and saw the chair Great-grandmama had sat in when attending services. Throughout their visit, as The Times reported on 7 August, Olga and Tatiana ‘behaved with complete self-possession, smiling when one or two enthusiasts raised a cheer for them’. They were still laughing and talking excitedly at the end of their three-hour visit.12

  The whole family came ashore the following day, the girls and Alexey bowing and waving at the crowd, on their way to see the private wing of Osborne House and the Swiss Cottage – a playhouse for learning practical skills, created in the garden for his children by Prince Albert – in which Alexey took particular delight. After enjoying five o’clock tea at Barton Manor with their cousin George, Prince of Wales, and his family, everyone sat for their photographs. The Princess of Wales thought the Romanov children ‘delicious’ and everyone commented on how unaffected and delightful they were.13 The two cousins, George and Nicholas, who had not seen each other for twelve years, seemed remarkably alike with their blue eyes, neatly trimmed beards and similar stature, particularly when they posed for photos with their two sons – David in his naval uniform (the future King Edward VIII was then at the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth) and Alexey in his own trademark white sailor suit.14 David had been delegated to escort his cousins at Osborne, that task having originally been earmarked for his younger brother Bertie (the future King George VI). But Bertie had gone down with whooping cough shortly before the visit and such had been the imperial doctors’ paranoia of exposing the tsarevich to any possible infection that he was bundled off to Balmoral and his role given to his brother. During the visit David took rather a shine to Tatiana (despite his grandmother having seen Olga as a possible future bride for him). He could see how protective she was of her timid little brother and could not help noticing a ‘frightened’ look in Alexey’s large, watchful eyes.15 But as for the ‘elaborate police guard’ thrown around the tsar’s every movement, he later recalled that it ‘made me glad I was not a Russian prince’.16

  During those four idyllic, sunny days in August 1909, when ‘all the world was on the water’ and the Solent was ‘like a sea of glass, the sun going down like a red ball leaving the evenings still and warm’, one stately ceremony had followed another. As General Spiridovich later recalled, ‘the colossal fleet’ that had gathered at Cowes ‘motionless and as if asleep, seemed a vision from a fairytale’ – the effect enhanced by the night sky illuminated by the lights from all the ships anchored off shore. The night before the Romanovs’ departure the bands played and there were fireworks and dancing, with the Admiral of the Fleet, Lord Fisher, partnering each of the girls in turn. Then everyone sat down to a final grand dinner – the ladies with Alexandra in the Shtandart – the men with King Edward in the Victoria and Albert. After a final lunch party on the 5th – the hottest, and most windless, day of the year so far – the Shtandart weighed anchor at 3.30 p.m. and, with Nicholas, Alexandra and their five children up on deck waving goodbye to their relatives in the Victoria and Albert, the imperial yacht headed off into the English Channel. As it disappeared from view, Superintendent Quinn of the Cowes police force was seen ‘offering a cigarette out of a gorgeous gold cigarette case, shining with newness, and bearing the intimation that it was “a present from the Czar”’. One of his colleagues was wearing ‘a scarf pin with the Imperial crown in diamonds, and still another sported a gold watch’ – all of them ‘gifts for their care’ from a grateful Russian emperor and
empress. But the British police were, nevertheless, intensely relieved that ‘the strain was over’.17

  All in all the Russian imperial visit to England was a triumph – an unforgettable coming together of two great royal families that would retrospectively become an indelible emblem of the dying days of the old world order. ‘The four Russian Grand Duchesses had enchanted everybody, and the poignant little Tsarevich melted all hearts.’18 But many shared the sobering thoughts of Sir Henry William Lucy:

  Thus it came to pass that the great autocrat, master of the lives of millions, was deprived of the privilege enjoyed by the humblest tourist from the Continent. He visited England, and left its shores without setting foot upon them, save in the way of a hasty, furtive visit to Osborne House.19

  The British and Russian royal families would never meet again.

  * * *

  By the time the Romanovs arrived home, Alexandra was once again prostrated. ‘How I am paying for the fatigues of my visits,’ she wrote to Ernie on 26 August, ‘a week already in bed.’20 Her health was causing serious concern for it had been in rapid decline since the winter of 1907 when Alexandra had called in her physician Dr Fischer forty-two times in the space of two months.21 Spiridovich had privately sought the opinion of an eminent Russian medical professor at around this same time. He had concluded that the tsaritsa had inherited something of the ‘vulnerability’ to nervous illness and ‘great impressionability’ of the house of Hesse and that there was a distinct ‘hysterical nature’ to her ‘nervous manifestations’. These took the physical form of general weakness, pain around the heart, oedema of the legs caused by poor circulation, and problems with her neuro-vascular system which manifested itself in red blotches on her skin – all of which were getting worse as she approached middle age. ‘As for the psychic troubles,’ the professor concluded, ‘these are principally expressed by a state of great depression, by great indifference to that which surrounds her, and by a tendency to religious revery.’22

  Dr Fischer had been called in again in 1908 to treat Alexandra for a bout of painful neuralgia that had been affecting her sleep.23 As a specialist in nervous disorders he had prescribed absolute rest. He had also felt very strongly that the presence of Anna Vyrubova – who now spent almost every day with the tsaritsa – was detrimental, if not harmful.24 He advised Nicholas in writing that he could not treat the tsaritsa properly all the time Anna was in such close proximity. But Alexandra would not countenance Anna’s removal and Fischer soon after requested leave to resign from his post. He was replaced in April 1908 by Dr Evgeny Botkin, who immediately suggested that an upcoming trip to the Crimea – where Nicholas was to review the Black Sea Fleet – would be beneficial to the empress’s health.

  From now on Alexandra would be loath to consult anyone but Botkin. His appointment as court physician was, however, something of a poisoned chalice: Alexandra was the kind of patient who only tolerated doctors who agreed with her own self-diagnosis. He played up to her view of herself as a chronic invalid who must bear her affliction, as Father Grigory had taught her, ‘in the nature of an offering’.25 Her confirmed invalidism became a useful tool when dealing with the misbehaviour of her daughters, who were clearly affected by her constant absences from family life. ‘When God thinks the time comes to make me better, He will, and not before’, she told them, and they had better behave themselves to ensure this happened.26

  In September 1909 the family headed for the Crimea by rail – the longest train ride any of the children had ever made and their first visit to the region, for Nicholas and Alexandra had not spent any real time there since Alexander III’s death in 1894. At the port of Sevastopol they joined the Shtandart and sailed round the Crimean coast to welcoming fireworks and illuminations at Yalta and a warm, holiday atmosphere, before travelling on to the old summer palace at Livadia, 53 miles (85 km) further south. During the holiday the children rode, played tennis and swam from their private beach, often with their favourite cousin, eighteen-year-old Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, who was now spending a great deal of time with the family. Nicholas was glad of Dmitri’s company as he had always had a soft spot for him, and they spent much time going off on walks and rides together.27 Alexandra kept to her bed for most of the time or sat on the veranda, receiving no one and often not even joining the family for lunch. Her recovery was very slow and affected everyone’s spirits. But she refused to see any specialists, trusting to Botkin and her own self-medication with carrot juice, ‘saying that this substance liquefied the blood, which was too thick’.28 Perhaps her rigorous vegetarian diet was beneficial; by the end of October she had recovered sufficiently to take gentle walks and drives with her daughters and go shopping with them in Yalta.

  That autumn at Livadia Alexey suffered another attack of bleeding when he once again hurt his leg. A French medical professor was called in and visited three times in secret. But he was a specialist in tuberculosis and ‘declared himself incompetent to diagnose what it was’, clearly not being told the child was suffering from haemophilia. Nor could another medical expert summoned from St Petersburg offer any palliatives.29 By this time, as Spiridovich noted, it was becoming increasingly difficult to disguise the fact that there was something profoundly wrong with the tsarevich, ‘which, like the Sword of Damocles, hung menacingly over the Imperial Family’. It was clear that in Alexey’s case, as well as her own, Alexandra had given up on conventional medicine and, under the influence of her spiritual adviser Grigory, ‘only counted upon the help of the Most High’.30 Alexey’s condition coupled with his mother’s poor state of health meant that the family remained in Livadia almost until Christmas. But as the brilliant, sunny Crimean autumn turned to a cold and wet winter, there were only endless games of dominoes, halma and lotto and occasional film shows to divert the members of the household from the stultifying boredom that consumed them.

  Their mother’s chronic ill health was an emotional burden that her daughters struggled to cope with. ‘God help that dearest mama will not be sick any more this winter,’ Olga wrote to Grigory in November, ‘or it will be so awful, sad and difficult.’ Tatiana was anxious too, telling him that ‘we feel bad seeing her so sick. Oh, if only you knew how hard it was for us to endure Mama’s sickness. But yes, you do know, because you know everything.’31 For the best part of six months that year of 1909 the imperial family had been almost totally absent from view in Russia. The four sisters were beginning to show the signs of their isolation from the real world and the natural interchange they needed with young people of their own age. Yet even now, Nicholas and Alexandra were planning the family’s continued retreat – for the sake of Alexandra’s and Alexey’s poor health. Before leaving Livadia that Christmas they commissioned the building of a new palace to replace the dark and damp existing main palace (although the nearby brick-built Maly Palace where Alexander III had died was left standing). In this new home they intended to spend the whole of every spring and summer. For ordinary Russians it would continue to be, as the peasant saying went, ‘a great height to God and a long way to the tsar’.32

  * * *

  New Year 1910 was a gloomy one in imperial Russia. For the first two months the court was in mourning for Grand Duke Mikhail Nikolaevich, the tsar’s great-uncle, who had died in Cannes on 18 December (NS) the previous year. In April Alexandra lost her mistress of the robes, Princess Mariya Golitsyna, a woman whom she had counted as one of her closest ladies at court and a personal friend; barely a month later she was plunged into black again on the death of her uncle King Edward VII.33

  In normal circumstances Nicholas and Alexandra would have led the public mourning in St Petersburg for Grand Duke Mikhail, but Alexandra was ill yet again. Everywhere that year ‘the conversation wore the topic of the Imperial Family’s seclusion threadbare’, with mounting concern being voiced about ‘the effect on public opinion and the nation of the long-continued absence from the capital of the Tsar and the imperial family’.34 As the US diplomat in St Peters-burg, Post Wh
eeler, recalled:

  They spent the spring and fall at Livadia in the Crimea. In the summer, when they were not at Peterhof, they were yachting on the imperial yacht, the Standart. The coast of Finland saw more of them than their own capital. In between they were at Tsarskoe Selo, the ‘Tsar’s City’ only a handful of miles away, but so far as St. Petersburg was concerned it might have been a hundred … Society was at a loose end. It was not a wholesome situation either for them or for the nation. So the talk ran.35

  St Petersburg had become ‘a city with a frown’, a sombre place oppressed by its history, concluded British journalist John Foster Fraser.36 The social life of the capital was moribund and increasingly corrupt, its aristocracy deeply resistant to political change or social reform and fixated on rank. An outmoded, Gogolian bureaucracy still divided the population into two main camps – officials and non-officials – with the mass of the population looking upon the members of the inflated tsarist bureaucracy as ‘vampires’. ‘The hatred is covered, smothered, but it is there all the time’, Foster Fraser argued.37 At the heart of this polarized system stood an elusive tsar – ‘timorous and brave, hesitant and resourceful, secretive and open-minded, suspicious and trusting’ – a man who, far from the bloodthirsty image projected, was kindly, sincere and modest, a devoted husband and loving father but who, as tsar, was utterly ill equipped emotionally or morally for the task with which an accident of birth had charged him. The burden of responsibility was ageing Nicholas fast; and so was the emotional strain of having an invalid wife and son. ‘Nature had framed him for a placid country gentleman, walking amid his flower beds in a linen blouse, with a stick instead of a sword. Never for a Tsar’, concluded Post Wheeler.38