The tsar himself found it hard to stomach his decision to end autocracy, which was tantamount to signing his own abdication. Nicholas described his action as a “terrible decision.” His “only consolation,” wrote a distraught Nicholas, was that “this grave decision will lead my dear Russia out of the intolerable chaos she has been in for nearly a year.”13 To a friend, the tsar was more blunt. With tears in his eyes, Nicholas II murmured: “I am too depressed. I feel that in signing this act I have lost the crown. Now all is finished.”14
For Tsarina Alexandra, far from being an enlightened act designed to move Russia toward more democratic and liberal principles for the benefit of the people, the manifesto was nothing but an act of appeasement that rewarded the enemies of autocracy. She knew that this concession granted by her husband shook the Romanov dynasty to its very foundations, for here was a classic example of what Barbara Tuchman has called “the bitter truth of history: that progress and gain by one group is never accomplished without loss of some permanent value of another.”15 As a witness to the torturous days of negotiations and soul-searching her husband went through, Alexandra remarked that “these days had been like a very difficult labor.” The tumultuous events of the recent past were more than enough to try the nerves of even the most patient and fatalistic of rulers. For the tsar, one thing was certain: especially where the disastrous Russo-Japanese War was concerned, had it not been for the support Nicholas received from Alexandra, he could not have survived the incredible stress of that fateful year. In essence, the tsar owed his sanity to his wife. “Without her,” he confessed to one of the family’s close friends, Anna Viroubova, “I could never have endured the strain.”17
Tsarina Alexandra and the Dowager Empress Marie accompanied Nicholas II to the opening in April 1906 of the Duma (Parliament). The mere fact that the tsar was opening what in theory was a consultative legislative body was itself a significant blow to autocracy.
Princess Galitzine, a member of one of Russia’s aristocratic families, who watched the tsar that day, was overcome by the feeling that “something great was crashing—as if all Russian tradition had been annihilated by a single blow.”18 Even more frightening was the fact that most of the Duma’s members watching the proceedings did not hide their contempt for the tsar and his supporters. “They looked at us as upon their enemies, and I could not make myself stop looking at certain faces, so much did they seem to reflect an incomprehensible hatred for all of us,” admitted the Dowager Empress Marie.19 Sandro echoed these sentiments, recalling, “I saw burning hatred in the faces of some of the parliamentarians.”20 His wife, Xenia, was even more critical: “The Duma is such filth, such a nest of revolutionaries, that it’s disgusting and shaming for the rest of Russia in front of the whole world.”21 Xenia had every right to feel anxious. As one contemporary account had it: “out of the nearly 493 members, 380 have been elected. Of these, the Government can count on the support of 20.”22
The situation in Russia continued to be so chaotic that “murder, armed robbery, and bomb-throwing” remained “as common as ever.” The October Manifesto and the Duma’s opening had done nothing to calm the agitated masses. Added to this was the government’s inability to deal with such crises as the widespread famine that gripped the country. So unstable and violent had the nation become that the fact that “no important personage has been killed during the past fortnight” was thought significant news warranting inclusion by the British Embassy in its report to London.23 Such was the crumbling empire over which Nicholas and Alexandra still ruled.
Instability was not confined solely to Russia. Even in the relatively tranquil calm of Scandinavia, disputes that had been simmering for some time finally erupted. A bitter separation was set to wrench apart the two countries which, until 1905, had constituted the Kingdom of Sweden-Norway
Ever since 1811, Norway and Sweden had been joined in union, with the kings of Sweden as head of state. It was an unequal partnership, for Norway had long been dominated by Sweden. Since the middle of the nineteenth century, Norwegians had made their unhappiness known, viewing the kings of Sweden-Norway as not being Norwegian enough. In order to placate their junior partners, the Swedes introduced concessions; but by 1905, matters had come to a head. The final issue prompting the Norwegians to seek full independence centered on the seemingly benign issue of Norway’s right to consular representation. When King Oscar II of Sweden refused his consent to this latest disagreement, a row broke out.
As the months dragged by, it became evident that Norway would split from Sweden. The question then arose as to what type of government Norway would decide upon—a republic or a kingdom. For those wishing to set up a kingdom, the candidature of Prince Charles of Denmark looked ideal. When first approached by British diplomats about accepting the throne of Norway, Charles had brought up the fact that “he would find it a great personal sacrifice.” Furthermore, “he knew nothing of the Norwegian people and their form of society.” Charles was deeply immersed in his work at the Danish Navy; “would he not be happier in such a career, or possibly in the British navy?”24 Charles obviously enjoyed his life in the navy, while Maud, who preferred to stay away from the limelight, feared that becoming a queen might end the kind of privacy she craved.
The year 1905 was to prove memorable for Tsarina Alexandra in other ways. Two individuals who were to become close made their mark. Anna Taneeva (later Viroubova) entered the hallowed halls of the Alexander Palace early that year. The other individual who came into the tsarina’s life that year and who was to have a more profound impact on Alexandra and, by extension, on Russia itself, was a mysterious peasant from the Siberian village of Pokrovskoie by the name of Grigory Rasputin. The tsar recorded the couple’s fateful meeting with Rasputin in his diary, stating simply, “We’ve made the acquaintance of a man of God, Grigory from the Tobolsk Guberniya.”25
Rasputin entered the tsarina’s life at a propitious time for him. Though some might have found this peasant too unseemly, with his straggly looks and disturbing eyes that penetrated through anyone he stared at, to the tsarina he was a God-fearing man from the hinterland—the very embodiment of the holy and simple Russian peasant who unquestioningly loved his sovereigns.
Rasputin was to play a prominent role in Alexandra’s life as a tragedy of huge proportions began unfolding. Ever since the day Alexei began to bleed at the navel, she had been tormented over her son’s health. Confirmation that her precious boy was a hemophiliac hit the child’s mother with savage force. The fact that she had transmitted the disease added to her mortification.
This never-ending cycle of fear for her son’s life led to the rapid collapse of Alexandra’s already fragile health. For days on end, she could be found in the Mauve Boudoir lying on her sofa, suffering from very real and acute pains in the head, back, legs, or heart.
From the time the diagnosis was pronounced, anxiety over Alexei’s welfare was to consume the tsarina until the day she died. And so, to her sciatica and other ailments was added nervous exhaustion. Only those in closest contact could see the toll her ill health was taking on her. In 1907, one of the tsarina’s ladies found her mistress “looking miserable.” Asked how she was feeling, the tsarina replied, “Oh, I am so ill, I don’t know why, but I am miserable.”2
It was one of the few times Alexandra openly complained about her health. For as with nearly every misfortune that befell her, the tsarina accepted her latest tribulation without complaining, telling her sister, Victoria: “Don’t think my ill health depresses me personally. I don’t care, except to see my dear ones suffer on my account, and that I cannot fulfil my duties. But once God sends such a cross, it must be borne.” And though burdened by bad health, Alix still found much to be grateful for. “I have had so much, that, willingly, I give up any pleasures—they mean so little to me, and my family life is such an ideal one, that it is a recompense for anything I cannot take part in.”27
As Alexei grew into a lively and enchanting child, Nicholas and Al
exandra continued to keep their son’s affliction to themselves. Even the grand duchesses’ tutor, Pierre Gilliard, did not know the true nature of Alexei’s illness until he had been employed for eight long years. Yet when he was first introduced by the tsarina to Alexei, Gilliard instantly detected that there was something about her son that preoccupied Alexandra. “I could see,” he recalled of that day, that the tsarina was “transfused by the delirious joy of a mother who at last has seen her dearest wish fulfilled. She was proud and happy in the beauty of her child”—a child who was “certainly one of the handsomest babies one could imagine, with his lovely fair curls and his great blue-grey eyes under their fringe of long curling lashes.” But at that first meeting, continued Gilliard, “I saw the Czarina press the little boy to her with the convulsive movement of a mother who always seems in fear of her child’s life.” There was in Alexandra’s face a look of “secret apprehension so marked and poignant, that I was struck at once.”28
Anna Viroubova was also kept in the dark about Alexei’s illness until one day, by chance, she witnessed the tsarina’s near hysteria when her son became entangled with a chair. When Alexandra saw Alexei screaming “like a wounded animal,” she ran toward him and shouted at Anna: “Leave him, stop, his leg’s caught in the chair!” Anna was perplexed at what seemed an overreaction. Sensing her friend’s confusion, Alexandra said, “I’ll explain in a minute.” Then, as the tsarina carefully extricated Alexei’s leg and calmed him down, Anna noticed that the boy’s leg was “bruised and swollen.” Only then did Alexandra break down; in tears, she finally told Anna of her son’s “dreadful disease.”29 The disease that afflicted Alexei was to have a devastating impact not only on the boy but on his mother, and, ultimately, the Russian Empire itself.
Ten
DESTINY BECKONS
KING ALFONSO XIII S KINGDOM HAD ARRIVED AT A CROSSROADS AS tensions within society contributed to a long-drawn-out battle for Spain’s soul. For decades, the country had endured problems that undermined its internal stability and the dynasty. When in 1898 Spain suffered the humiliating losses of Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines—among the last vestiges of what had once been a huge empire—it was obvious that Alfonso XIII’s kingdom had become a spent power. In addition, a bankrupt treasury, rampant corruption, unproductive farms, rigged elections, and lackluster trade figures beset what had once been a mighty imperial power.
Unenviable, then, was King Alfonso’s task when he came of age in 1902 and assumed the reins of power. Alfonso was never to know a moment’s peace ruling his kingdom. In the first four years after reaching his majority, he had to deal with “no less than fourteen ministerial crises, and with eight different Prime Ministers.”1 The rest of Alfonso’s reign would prove no less volatile. Just as in Russia, Spain’s hothouse politics would wreak havoc on the country’s dynasty—in the process bringing down the happiness of Queen Victoria’s youngest granddaughter.
In 1905, Spain’s king toured Europe and earnestly embarked on a search for a bride. At nineteen years of age, King Alfonso was still a young man with plenty of time left before settling down. However, as head of the Spanish House of Bourbon, and as a reigning king without any direct descendants, the pressure to marry quickly and start a family was strong. The king’s hunt for a wife prompted fevered speculation in the Spanish and European press. Alfonso found it all so amusing that he would arrive at breakfast saying, “to which princess are the newspapers marrying me today”2 There were certainly many eligible ones, but the idea of having a British princess as Queen of Spain took hold, especially among those of a liberal inclination in Spain. Before heading home, Alfonso stopped in London for a hectic seven-day visit. Princess Ena’s cousin, Patricia (“Patsy”) of Connaught, was already deemed the most likely to catch Alfonso’s attention. His London trip would determine whether the dark-haired Patsy, now eighteen, just might be the next Queen of Spain.
Confident in his powers of seduction, Alfonso duly laid siege to his intended target. But before he could exercise his charms on the Connaught princess, a bevy of other princesses were demurely paraded during a dinner at Buckingham Palace, all granddaughters of Queen Victoria. The young ladies were well aware they stood a good chance of becoming the next Queen of Spain—all, that is, except a certain Battenberg princess. Only Ena thought that she would go unnoticed. She behaved with far less affectation than her eligible cousins and seemed all the more natural. Seated next to Alfonso was Princess Helena, one of Queen Victoria’s daughters, who answered the king’s questions about each of the guests he scrutinized during the elegant formal dinner. When Alfonso’s attention fell on Ena, his eyes followed the mysterious princess’s graceful movements. Intrigued, Alfonso asked Princess Helena: “And who is that young lady with the nearly white hair?” Helena replied that she was none other than Ena of Battenberg. When the hot-blooded Spanish king laid eyes on Ena, the effect was intoxicating—and disconcerting. She immediately succumbed. Even years later, the memory of that moment stayed fresh in Ena’s mind. She recalled being seized by a sudden sense of embarrassment, so that the thought that went through her mind was: “Oh God, he’s taken me for an Albino!” Alfonso’s penetrating gaze made a strong impact and she “blushed shamelessly”3
Patsy, however, proved uncooperative. She had already made up her mind before King Alfonso’s visit that marriage to him was out of the question, so she ignored the king’s attentions. Alfonso soon got the message: he would have to look elsewhere for a wife. Undaunted, his roving eye attached itself to another of Queen Victoria’s attractive granddaughters.
During a second evening reception, this time at the palatial Londonderry House, Alfonso caught sight of Ena again. Tall, blond, dignified, she stood out as a beauty. Other eligible princesses were out in force too, but it was Ena who made an impact on the Spanish king. Unable to remember her name, Alfonso referred to her as the fair-haired one. This time, his attentions paid off. His feelings were reciprocated. Any bruises Alfonso may have nursed because of Patsy’s rejection were suddenly banished by thoughts of Ena. Alfonso and Ena’s final evening meeting took place during a ball at Buckingham Palace. It was only during this time that the two of them could converse freely. Since Alfonso’s English was barely passable and Ena’s Spanish nonexistent, the couple spoke French.
As they twirled on the dance floor, Alfonso asked Ena if she enjoyed collecting postcards, a hobby then in vogue with wellborn ladies. Surprised by the question, Ena answered, “Yes, yes, I collect postcards,” even though she hardly did. “Well,” answered Alfonso, “I shall send you some on condition that you reply.” By the end of the ball, Alfonso daringly asked Ena, “I hope you will not forget me.” Unsophisticated and naturally reserved, the princess replied, “It is very difficult to forget the visit of a foreign sovereign.”4 Her unromantic reply revealed Victoria Eugenie’s reserved and uncoquettish nature. Though she was already fond of him, Ena was much too timid to give him the fiery, passionate answer he might have expected. It was the first indication that Alfonso and Ena were, in temperament, a mismatched couple.
Glimpses of Alfonso at this time make it difficult to fathom what might have attracted Ena to the spindly youth of nineteen. No doubt chivalrous attentions from a king were irresistible to most young women; yet physically, there was still much to be desired in the young Alfonso. Only years later, with maturity, did the king’s slight frame fill out completely. One of the things Ena must have found irresistible was his smile, for which Alfonso became famous. This well-known smile, when “accompanied by a slight twinkling in the eyes, transformed his face” so that one felt totally dazzled.5
As eligible as she was as a royal bride, an elusive but sinister shadow nevertheless hovered over Princess Ena of Battenberg. That shadow was the possibility that she might be a carrier of hemophilia. Ena’s own brother, after all, was a hemophiliac.
The issue did not escape the notice of Alfonso’s Spanish advisers. Once his intentions toward the Battenberg princess became obvious, a whis
pering campaign broke out in order to try and dissuade the eager king from marrying a descendant of Queen Victoria with a brother who was a hemophiliac. So besotted was he with Ena that he carelessly ignored these warnings. In his eyes, such a beautiful and obviously healthy-looking creature could not possibly carry that dreaded disease. But if she was a carrier, Alfonso was prepared to take the risk. He was, after all, one who never flinched from peril. All his adult life, the king gravitated toward danger. He clearly did not seek out the numerous assassination attempts against him, but when they threatened, Alfonso met them courageously. His hobbies included driving cars at fast speeds and playing a hard game of polo, in which he punished his horses and risked breaking his own bones. If he seriously heeded the rumors that Ena might be a hemophilia carrier, then surely here was the ultimate risk in subconsciously toying with the future of his dynasty.
Over the next few months, King Alfonso and Princess Ena exchanged letters. Alfonso, not forgetting the promise made on the dance floor at Buckingham Palace, regularly sent her postcards, to which Victoria Eugenie responded. The correspondence would last almost until the couple married in May 1906. Both wrote mostly in French; in this distant fashion, the serious business of courtship unfolded.
Upon Alfonso’s return to Madrid from London, the king admitted his infatuation with Princess Ena of Battenberg to his mother. For the intensely Catholic queen Maria Cristina, the prospect of gaining a daughter-in-law who was born a Protestant did not sit well. Nor did Ena’s morganatic blood on her Battenberg side. Maria Cristina insisted that her son look elsewhere for a bride. But Alfonso’s choice never faltered.
In the meantime, the exchange of postcards continued apace. Ena’s choice of cards revealed an eclectic taste. Modestly, the princess sent very few depicting herself; most consisted of scenes of London, the English countryside, and paintings by such prominent British artists as Romney Gainsborough, and Landseer, and much later on, as she traveled in France, scenes of Paris and Biarritz.
Born to Rule: Five Reigning Consorts, Granddaughters of Queen Victoria Page 18