The meeting was intended to be an informal, family affair, adding a final flourish to the Anglo-Russian agreement of the previous year. King Edward VII would be accompanied by Queen Alexandra and their daughter Victoria, by then aged 40.
The Tsar, also 40, would be with the 36-year-old Tsarina and all five of their children. Little Olga was now a slim 12-year-old; beyond the broad, Slavic brow so admired by Lady Lytton, there were few traces of the chubby baby of Balmoral. Her younger sister, Tatiana, aged ten, was tall and slight, with a particularly fine, pretty face. The two elder daughters had rather plaintive expressions, while the third, eight-year-old Maria, was sensual looking with fuller features. The youngest, Anastasia, aged six, had a beguilingly sharp, characterful look, befitting her reputation as the family joker. She gave the impression of being the least biddable. The sisters would be joined by the dark-haired, cherubic three-year-old Tsarevich, Alexis.
The news of the meeting greatly cheered Miss Eager. Three years after leaving the Romanovs, she was successfully running a boarding house in London’s Holland Park. But she still nurtured fond memories of the Russian court. She took the opportunity of sending Tatiana an 11th birthday greeting: ‘I am so glad that Uncle Bertie, Auntie Alex and Auntie Toria are going over to pay you a visit.’
There was no mention of her favourite subject, politics, but there was a typically bleak addendum: ‘Do you know that they [the British royals] passed quite close to my house lately, going to visit the Great Exhibition which has been opened here. And though they did not pass my house, but only the end of the street, I put up flags, and put scarlet bunting with ER and a big gilt crown round my balcony… I wonder did they see it, but I am afraid not.’
The Foreign Secretary, Edward Grey, gave reassurances concerning the Reval meeting in the House of Commons. He insisted that there were no plans to negotiate any new treaty or convention. He would not even be attending: in his place would be Charles Hardinge, a former Ambassador to Russia.
The president of the Duma gave his approval of Grey’s speech. Izvolsky insisted that the Russians, generally, had been impressed by its ‘tone of moderation and firmness’. On 2nd June, a British diplomat in St Petersburg, Hugh O’Beirne, wrote with further good news: ‘Moderate Liberal politicians … believe that an increase of English influence can only tend to further the Liberal cause.’
The leader of the Russian cadet party declared that the only objectors to the meeting were: ‘on the extreme right of the Duma and the extreme left’. There was, indeed, one party leader who raged that Reval: ‘condones the worst deeds of the ruling class’. His fellow objectors, however, seemed to content themselves with thanking their British supporters. These comprised, first, the radicals who put forward a motion protesting against the meeting’s classification as a state visit. And, secondly, the Labour MP for Leeds, Mr J. O’Grady.
The Russian press was mostly positive, though O’Beirne admitted that there had been the odd outburst. A week before the meeting, he wrote: ‘Papers in this country have been practically unanimous in welcoming the King’s visit in terms which for friendliness and cordiality leave nothing to be desired… It seems scarcely worthwhile to notice the utterances of the Russkaya Znamia [The Russian Banner] which indulges in a virulent attack on Great Britain and her policy. This is the discredited organ of the violently reactionary “Association of the Russian People” and its opinions may be safely neglected.
‘Another reactionary paper of little standing, the Sviet, displayed a certain amount of coolness in regard to the visit and, referring to the questions asked in Parliament, spoke of the traditional enmity of England.’
He added that two German papers remained sceptical: ‘Perhaps I should mention also the two papers issued in St Petersburg in German, the Petersburger Zeitung and the Herold, [which] make no pretence of feeling gratified at the prospect of the King’s arrival… Herold protests against “Anglomania raging around it”.’
The Tsar was buoyed up after hearing that the meeting had been discussed in the House of Commons. As Izvolsky told Hardinge: ‘The Tsar was extremely glad that the debate had taken place, since it had shown to the world that the two great political parties in England shared the same friendly feeling towards Russia, and dissentients, having been free to speak, spoke to say all that they wanted against him and his government, the air had been cleared as after a thunderstorm.’
The Tsar was, once again, wide of the mark. The air was not clear and dissentients at Westminster were growing in number. On 4th June, 59 of the 284 members present cast their votes against the meeting. The Tsar’s human rights record was still presenting a problem. Russia’s prisons were grossly overcrowded, and beatings, though officially forbidden, were regularly carried out. Death sentences were on the rise: official figures put the numbers sentenced to death between 1906 and 1909 at 2,694.
Ramsay MacDonald now called the Tsar a ‘common murderer’ and accused those attending the Reval meeting of ‘hobnobbing with a blood-stained killer’. Keir Hardie, the first Labour MP, backed the radicals’ motion, protesting against the meeting’s classification. He echoed the angry Russian party leader, insisting that the visit was: ‘condoning the atrocities perpetrated by the Tsar’.
Feathers continued to be ruffled, as three ‘dissentients’ found their names removed from a list of guests for the royal garden party at Windsor on 20th June. The MPs were Keir Hardie, Victor Grayson, an independent member, and Arthur Ponsonby, a Liberal. The penalising of Ponsonby was particularly controversial, as he was the brother of Bertie’s melancholic-looking assistant private secretary, Sir Frederick (Fritz) Ponsonby.
During the ensuing row, the Liberal Whip, Alexander Murray, warned that the story might be leaked to the press: ‘and he [Arthur Ponsonby] will be held up as a martyr to principle, for these Fleet Street scribblers will gloat over his exclusion’. Calm was finally restored after Arthur Ponsonby was induced to apologise and the King to accept the apology. As Bertie wrote: ‘I accept Mr A. Ponsonby’s explanation and regrets expressed in his letter and look upon the incident as closed.’
The Russian Ambassador, Count Alexander Benckendorff, discussed the ructions with Grey and the Prime Minister, Herbert Asquith. He reported that the politicians put protests in Britain down to propaganda disseminated by political exiles. The politicians hoped that the Reval meeting would expose the British public to more positive ‘first-hand accounts’ of ‘Russian realities’. Whether Benckendorff shared this happy hope is not known.
For all Grey’s moderation in parliament, it was the British who set stiff stipulations for the visit. Meetings would be held offshore, on the royal and imperial yachts: the Victoria and Albert, the Standart and the Polar Star. As Benckendorff wrote to Izvolsky: ‘The British insisted on the greatest secrecy. They stipulated that the King would arrive at the Russian port on his yacht and remain on board.’ In fact, he did transfer to the Russian yachts. No unauthorised craft could be closer than 1,200 feet. Only representatives of the press and three steamers carrying serenaders were allowed to move in the waters after sundown.
In a repeat of last-minute exchanges preceding the Balmoral visit, details seemed to be settled just days before. On 19th May, the British Inspector General of the Forces wrote to the Ambassador, Sir Arthur Nicolson: ‘It would be of the utmost service if you could let me know the approximate dates on which the King will leave for and return from his visit to the Russian Emperor.’ The meeting dates were finally confirmed as the 9th and 10th of June. Or, according to the Russian Julian calendar, (now 13 days behind) 27th and 28th of May.
In a letter headed, confusingly, with both dates – 18/31 May – Izvolsky wrote to the chargé d’affaires with the dress codes. Thankfully his subsequent schedule gave the dates solely according to the British calendar. On 9th June there would be lunch on the Polar Star (dress: frock coat) then dinner on the Standart (full dress). On 10th June, lunch would be served on the Standart (frock coat) and dinner on the Victoria and Albert (fu
ll dress).
The line-up was, for a long time, uncertain. On 26th May, Hugh O’Beirne wrote, in some dismay, to the equerry, Sir Colonel Arthur Davidson, who had been with the imperial couple at Balmoral: ‘I had counted on being able to send you the list you require by this post as I had been promised the necessary information by this evening. The promise has not been kept.’
On the 31st May, Izvolsky notified O’Beirne that the Tsar’s sister, Grand Duchess Olga, and his brother, Grand Duke Michael, were due to attend. In fact the Grand Duke pulled out. Others listed included Benckendorff and the prestigious Russian Prime Minister, Pyotr Stolypin. Amongst staff from the royal household would be the imperial family’s newly-appointed physician, Dr. Eugene Botkin; the head of the court chancellery, Alexander Mossolov; and Count Vladimir Fredericks, an elderly and absent-minded court minister who had served Alexander II and III.
On the 1st June, O’Beirne was ready with a further list of names: ‘Herewith I send you the official list of those personages who will accompany the Tsar… at Reval… You will see certain corrections have had to be made in the list I have sent you.’ He signed off, before adding: ‘Since writing have been given the names of officers commanding the guard of honour by Nilov [Admiral Constantine Nilov].’
Bound up with the dizzying lists of ‘personages’ was the vexed issue of who should receive which medals. On the 22nd May, Davidson requested guidance from the Ambassador, Arthur Nicolson, adding: ‘Anything like a wholesale distribution NEVER takes place. It would be as well therefore to obtain a rough list beforehand of those officers on whom it is suggested the King should bestow decorations.’ Bertie’s dislike of a wholesale distribution would contrast with the Tsar’s largesse.
Meanwhile, Nicolson himself received some advice from Davidson: ‘With regard to dress, you will of course bring all your uniforms and, for the yacht, blue serge suit for day time and dining jacket for evening.’
Schedules and protocols had to be choreographed, as before, alongside intricate security arrangements. Rumours were emerging, once again, of planned attacks on the increasingly beleaguered Romanovs. The Russians’ head of security, General Alexander Spiridovich, reported: ‘The security service had heard a combat organisation [were] preparing an attack.’ He added that there were other, more detailed, warnings of a group in Finland intent on murdering the Tsar.
Problems were exacerbated as the Romanovs made yet another of their last-minute travel alterations. Days before the meeting, the temperature in St Petersburg had fallen to freezing and there had been a freak snowstorm. Chary of a rough crossing, the Tsar decided that the imperial family would be better off travelling by train. Elaborate arrangements were duly put in place: half of the passengers travelling with the family were police or detectives; 7,000 Russian soldiers would line the track.
Officials, including Stolypin and Izvolsky, would be obliged to stick to the original plan, braving the sea on the cruiser Almaz.
In Reval itself, plans were haggled over at the Catherinental Palace, as Russian, German and Estonian officials vied for the final say. This jostling for power intensified with the Governor of Reval making several failed attempts to bring the Russian navy under his command. All were finally agreed, however, that houses and boats should be minutely searched, and that the port would teem with detectives. Hotel managers had to report the arrival of any strangers within an hour: failure to do would result in a £3,000 fine.
No one without a permit would be allowed through the dock gates. One merchant was even forbidden from sending provisions to the Standart. There would be rigorous stop-and-search policies. At one point, Frederick Ponsonby was obliged to step in to protect a group of female serenaders from being strip-searched.
To add to the complexities, there was a thuggish-looking Russian called Evno Azev at the helm of the Russian security operation. When Ponsonby was asked by the British head of security who to consult, ‘to ensure their majesties’ safety’, his reply was unhesitating: ‘I told him to see the head of Russian police, Azev.’
In fact, Azev was a sort of double agent. He belonged to a revolutionary group, in which he was known as ‘Frenchman’ or ‘Fat One’. In his memoir, the Russian head of security, Alexander Spiridovich, seems confused about Azev’s role. He describes him as heading an organisation preparing an attack on the Tsar, while also alluding to ‘rumours of his [Azev’s] connivance with the police department’. Ponsonby later admitted: ‘Afterwards he [Azev] became an agent provocator.’ Azev’s double life had not proven easy. On one occasion, a police handler had presented him with a jar of vodka containing the head of a suicide bomber whom he was meant to identify.
As it turned out, Azev’s wheeler-dealer days were numbered. Just four months after the meeting at Reval, Prince Kropotkin and Vladimir Burtsev travelled from London to attend a ‘trial’, held in Paris, to determine whether or not Azev was being paid by the Tsar’s secret police, the okhrana. On the very day of the trial, the terrorists were awaiting news of yet another plan, formulated by Azev, to assassinate the Tsar. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the plan, to be executed on the new naval cruiser Rurik, came to nothing.
The revolutionaries established that Azev did indeed appear on the police payroll under further aliases: ‘Vinogradov’, ‘Kapastin’, ‘Philipovsky’ and ‘Raskin’. He was condemned, in his absence, to be hanged in a cave in Italy.
For all the British strictures, the demands of the royal yacht seemed modest. On 29th May the Commodore of the Victoria and Albert sent a telegram to Buckingham Palace: ‘All cabins taken… counting on two police inspectors coming as usual’.
The clandestine nature of the imperial family’s journey to Reval was later referred to by The Daily Telegraph: ‘Utmost secrecy surrounded their departure – court officials and Duma leaders were unaware of the royal plans.’
It would be the first occasion, for some years, that the imperial family had been seen in public. As Spiridovich wrote: ‘[It was the] first major trip made by the Tsar since the uprising [Bloody Sunday]… the first time he was leaving the municipality of St Petersburg.’ According to the Tsarina’s lady-in-waiting, Sophie Buxhoeveden: ‘The Emperor was asked by ministers not to undertake any journeys by land in the years between 1905 and 1909.’
Following Bloody Sunday, the imperial family had become ever more isolated, retreating to their palace at Tsarskoe Selo, 15 miles from St Petersburg. The massacre had provoked public outrage, and the fall in their popularity had accelerated as rumours spread of visits to the palace by the so-called ‘man of God’.
Rasputin’s first visit to the palace had taken place just months before the meeting at Reval. The three-year-old haemophiliac Tsarevich, Alexis, had fallen over in the Alexander Palace park and Rasputin had been summoned after doctors failed to stem the bleeding. The Tsarina’s conviction that Rasputin was the only one who could save her son began with this initial apparent cure. The Tsar’s sister, Olga, saw Rasputin in the children’s bedroom shortly afterwards. Though she had not taken to him, she was struck by the way he prayed with the children: ‘When I saw him I felt that gentleness and warmth radiated from him… It was all very impressive.’
Unfortunately, Alexis’s illness was never made public and so Rasputin’s role as the boy’s healer was not generally known. Controversy continued to dog the ‘holy man’s’ frequent and unexplained visits. The imperial couple tried to avoid opprobrium by meeting Rasputin at the house of the Tsarina’s companion, Anna Vyrubova. Five days before the imperial family left for the meeting, the Tsar wrote in his diary: ‘After dinner we went for a ride and stopped by Anya V’s where we saw Grigori and spoke with him for a long time.’ Alexander Mossolov, one of the courtiers at Reval, was amongst the ‘holy man’s’ detractors. He later made references to ‘Rasputin the sinister’ and railed against his table manners: ‘He set to, without knife or fork.’
Tuesday 9th June 1908
The Tsar’s diary: ‘In the uniform of the Scots Greys I went off to visit Uncl
e Bertie and Aunt Alix. It was pleasant to meet them.’
The Tsar, Tsarina and their five children arrived, exhausted, at Reval station, at 7am, after travelling overnight from Peterhof. The Tsarina was described as being dressed in blue and looking more than usually out of sorts. ‘We slept poorly from not being used to the railroad,’ complained the Tsar in his diary. He had doubtless forgotten how ‘beautifully’ he had once slept on the railroad travelling south from Scotland.
The Romanovs were driven from the station to the quay, in what the Tsar referred to as a ‘motorvan’. Crowds of waving children lined the streets, all the way to the imperial pavilion. There had been difficulties over the children, with the nervous governor of Reval raising a series of objections. But Spiridovich, who had been behind the scheme, had eventually triumphed. He was pleased with the result: ‘It is impossible to describe the children’s enthusiasm as the imperial family passed by. Their Majesties… were very touched.’
Indeed the Tsar’s mother, the Dowager Empress, who was also attending the meeting, later asked the Prime Minister, Stolypin, who it was that had organised the welcome. Spiridovich was furious to hear that the tricky Reval governor now claimed the idea as his own. A Russian admiral, who had supported Spiridovich through the arguments, was equally rattled, exclaiming: ‘He’s lied to the Empress, that braggart.’ The Admiral added that he would no longer be providing the governor with a motorboat. ‘Refuse, refuse! That will teach… [him] a lesson.’
The New York Times was full of the general excitement: ‘The hill and the wooded shores of the bay were crowded with thousands and the arrival of the British King by sea and the Emperor of Russia by land was made the occasion of unbounded enthusiasm.’
The Tsar continued tranquilly: ‘We immediately boarded a launch and went off to our dear Standart.’ The ‘dear Standart’ was, at that point, the largest royal yacht in existence. It was said that every emperor, king and president in Europe had trodden, at one time or another, her polished decks. The competitive Kaiser, whose yacht was 500 tons lighter, had once hinted that the Tsar might like to hand over the Standart, by way of a gift. The Dowager had not been amused: ‘His joke… was in very doubtful taste. I hope the Kaiser would not have the cheek to order himself a similar one here [in Denmark]. This really would be the limit – though just like him, with the tact that distinguishes him.’
The Imperial Tea Party Page 8