‘The young Grand Duchesses enjoyed their church visit and returned to the wharf at 5pm, laughing and talking…’ reported the County Press.
During the afternoon, newspaper correspondents were invited on board the Standart, closely supervised by the first secretary of the Russian embassy and the ubiquitous Superintendent Quinn. The group was transported out, in style, on a steam boat attached to HMS Excellent, to be greeted by saluting sailors. The County Press lapped it all up, pronouncing the Russian Admiral Chagin: ‘the embodiment of courtesy and geniality’.
The journalists were shown round the Tsar’s two studies and the grand dining room, before inspecting the Tsarina’s private apartments, decorated with her favourite chintzes. In the drawing room, they spotted English books, including works by Shakespeare. The Tsar read regularly in English and would later while away many hours in captivity reading A Short History of the English People.
British naval officers and their wives were treated to champagne aboard several of the Russian boats. Spiridovich later admitted he was stumped by a request from one of the visitors: ‘On one of our cruisers, the English asked for “Russian eau de cologne”, although we are not sure why exactly.’ Could the officers and their wives have been taken with Izvolsky’s violet cologne? Or Dr. Botkin’s? The doctor’s scent was so distinctive that the young Grand Duchesses were able to trail him around the Alexander Palace, by following their noses.
Visitors to the Polar Star might well have come upon Izvolsky at his correspondence. It was on that day that he wrote another of his billets doux to Lady Savile, this time on beautifully annotated paper, headed with a picture of the Polar Star: ‘Dear Lady Savile, best thanks for your two kind notes. I shall follow your directions and arrive at Newark on Saturday… It shall be such a pleasure to see you, yours sincerely Izvolsky.’
Some of the Russian sailors went ashore again, with those from the imperial yacht distinguished by the black and gold ribbons which adorned their caps.
Sablin revisited the High Street, glad to find all the shops now open; he wryly noted branches of grand Oxford Street and Bond Street shops displaying luxuries: ‘fatal for a wallet’. He registered a surfeit of ‘marine items’: ‘for the ladies they were selling cushions with signal flags in very rich silk… brooches in the form of distinctive marine lanterns… bracelets with white enamel, in the form of lifebuoys’. He also unearthed some first-class equipment for the Standart: ‘mats for the boats, of excellent quality, white cable for the kayaks, small fenders for motor boats’.
The Britannia returned to the Cowes dock at 5.40, in good time for dinner, which was to be hosted by the imperial family on the Standart. The invitation specified that the dinner would take place ‘a 8.30 heures le soir’. The Russian and British dates were both noted: ‘21 Juillet/3 Aout’.
In a letter to her ailing son Bertie, May, the Princess of Wales, pronounced the formidable Standart: ‘a beautiful yacht and most comfortable’. The yacht had undergone a special overhaul for the royal dinner. Sablin found such preparations irksome, and he insisted the imperial couple shared his view: ‘For the evening reception we turned the yacht into an unrecognisable salon, with the help of our artist, mechanical engineer N.N. Ulyanov. Throughout it, we hung electric bulbs hidden in multi-coloured light fabric, brought lots of flowers and arranged sofas on the quarterdeck. Their Majesties disliked that entire “masquerade” in the words of the Emperor.’ The Tsar was, in fact, rather taken with the decoration: ‘The quarterdeck was beautifully festooned with garlands.’
Sablin repeated the gripes he had originally expressed at Reval: ‘But that’s why the life on the Standart was so different from that of Victoria and Albert. They [the British] had receptions and visits all the time and their entire yacht was decorated with carpets and flowers, while the Standart stood there like a great warship, with guards at the ramps and naval officers serving properly, as the Emperor loved it and demanded it to be that way.’ Sablin would have deemed the informal efforts on the Victoria and Albert pointless, as, in his opinion, the British never quite mastered the art of ‘hearty hospitality’.
One guest, the Kaiser’s German naval agent in St Petersburg, Captain Hinze, was generally viewed with suspicion. Sablin’s opinion of him was, as usual, at odds with the others: ‘He [Hinze] was the Kaiser’s eyes and ears at the event. The British and our suite were unhappy with him being here. But Captain Hinze appeared to have a charming personality: very well-educated, secular, cheerful, helpful and one cannot say that he was an enemy of Russia – on the contrary, performing his duties, he always tried to soften them and enjoyed love and respect in Petersburg society as well as among us, the marine officers.’
The menu was impressive to the point of indigestibility: ‘Potages Grand Veneur, Tortue Anglaise, Petite Patés, Truite Taymene, Homard et Moutarde, Longe de Veau Monglas, Filets de Canetons Bigarrade, Sauce Comberland, Punch Victoria, Roti-Dindonneaux et Brianneaux, Salade, Fonds d’Artichauts, sauce Ivoire et petits pois, Pêches Cardinal, Napolitaine glace, Dessert’. Georgie’s and May’s diary entries, however, were muted. ‘Dined in full dress on board Standart with Nicky and Alicky, the whole family and suites,’ wrote Georgie. His wife was equally sparing: ‘David [the 15-year-old future Duke of Windsor] on board the Standart for dinner. The children appeared before dinner.’ It was David, of course, who, as a toddler, had been deemed to have created a bond with the baby Olga at Balmoral.
The Standart boasted a strong musical contingent, travelling with a full brass band and balalaika orchestra. The County Press was enthusiastic: ‘A Russian string band played during dinner and afterwards charming music was played by a special mandoline [sic] band.’ The reticent May managed a compliment in her diary: ‘The band played so well.’ But Earl Spencer was intransigent: ‘The crew played a Russian instrument sounding like a mandolin. Boys sang, Not very well. All the music so utterly sad.’
Wednesday 4th August
Georgie wrote in his diary: ‘They came to Barton and had tea with us outdoors, their five delightful children came too.’
The third day was equally fine. ‘It was everything that could have been desired, the sun shining brilliantly,’ gushed the County Press. May agreed in her diary: ‘Glorious day… sat out’. Georgie echoed his wife: ‘A lovely day, nice breeze’. The imperial family held a Te Deum to celebrate the birthday of the Dowager Empress Marie. The service was held in the Standart’s own ornate chapel.
Hours later, the choir boys were parading the streets of Cowes, dutifully waving Union Jacks. Presumably it was felt that they would be better employed waving flags than singing: Earl Spencer might have agreed. Cowes was still very much ‘en fête’ and the young Russian choristers would have mingled with professional entertainers, including itinerant musicians and ‘strong men’. Among the prominent acts that year were a contortionist, Miss Nellie Scorey, and a Miss Dorothy Payn, judged ‘mirth-provoking’ by the County Press in her recital of ‘The Winkle and the Pin’.
At some point, during that morning, contrary to earlier newspaper reports, rumours began to circulate that the Tsar would, after all, be coming ashore. As word spread that he was to visit Osborne in the early afternoon, boats began to gather around the bay.
It is not known exactly when the authorities finally agreed to allow the Tsar to land, but there was much deliberation over where he would take his momentous steps. ‘The greatest precautions were taken to protect his royal person from the designs of undesirable persons,’ reported the Evening Post. The decision was finally taken to hoodwink the public into believing that the Russian party would land at Trinity Pier, at East Cowes. The ploy involved the arrival of a fleet of smart motorcars carrying dignitaries including the commissioner, Sir Edward Henry, Superintendent Quinn and Admiral Fisher, who would doubtless have relished taking part in a scam. The Straits Times later disparagingly referred to: ‘the well-organised scheme to keep the Tsar well away from visitors’.
By about 3.15, an expectant crowd had gat
hered at the pier and the County Press reported that: ‘Everyone was on the tip-toe of expectancy’. Two police patrol boats steamed up the entrance to the River Medina, red flags flying at the bow. The patrol boats were followed by royal barges from the Victoria and Albert and the Standart. Excited spectators rushed to the gates of the wharf, only to watch as the procession sailed past. The Straits Times described the mood: ‘Those who had cheers to give prepared to deliver them. The cheer was strangled at its birth. The gates were closed with a clang.’
When, 15 minutes later, they heard a royal salute, the crowd realised they had been duped. The Tsar had landed further up the coast. The landing stage at Kingston was selected because it was on private land. Henry Lucy was scathing about the subterfuge: ‘After a long wait the crowd caught a glimpse of the royal barge, in which the Tsar was seated, as it swept past the pier, proceeding to an isolated spot to the eastward, where His Imperial Majesty hurriedly stepped ashore.’
If the Prince and Princess of Wales were aware of the ruse, they failed to mention it in their diaries. Georgie wrote breezily: ‘All landed at Kingston up the river with N and A’. May was equally blasé: ‘Went with parents to fetch Nicky and Alix and landed with at Kingston’. The Tsar either failed to notice the ploy, or thought nothing of it.
The bathos of the Tsar and Tsarina’s return to Osborne was caught by The Straits Times: ‘The car went up the leafy lanes… seen only by a handful of privileged observers and watchful men at crossroads wearing serge suits and yachting caps and trying their best not to look like policemen.’ Henry Lucy wrote dismissively: ‘He [the Tsar] visited England and left its shores without setting foot upon them, save in the way of a hasty, furtive visit to Osborne House. In connection therewith, the police precautions were ludicrous in their nicety.’
Lucy described how the beleaguered Tsar ‘drove off at speed to Osborne House as if the furies were behind him’. The Straits Times described the car disappearing ‘like a flash’. The King, characteristically unruffled, spent the drive chatting and smoking a cigar.
Those few lucky enough to spot the party would note that the Tsar, the King and the Prince of Wales were wearing matching yachting outfits: white topped caps, navy blue jackets, white drill trousers and white boots.
Back at Trinity Wharf, the thwarted crowd was rewarded with the appearance of the Romanov children, who climbed gaily into their car: ‘A most happy and light-hearted little party they were, and they waved their hands and blew kisses in reply to the cheers,’ reported The Straits Times. The Evening Post gave more details: ‘There were the Grand Duchesses Olga, Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia, all in white, with puggaree veils round their soft straw hats.’ In a reverse of paparazzi tradition, two or three of the camera-happy girls took snapshots through their car window. The reporter was particularly taken with the five-year-old Alexis: ‘There was the Tsarevich in a white sailor suit, a chubby little fellow who is obviously the darling of his sisters. His podgy little attempts at a salute were the most amusing feature of the progress.’
Osborne House had ceased to be a royal residence after the death of Queen Victoria. By the time of the Tsar’s visit, the estate had been converted into a naval college and convalescent home. The Tsar noted baldly in his diary: ‘We looked over the newly constructed naval building, and then the palace of the deceased Queen where I had stayed 15 years ago – a sanitarium for officers was built there.’
The gates were closed an hour before the Tsar’s arrival; police were stationed all round the inside and outside of the grounds. Earl Spencer had been an habitué of Osborne in its earlier days. He now found himself feeling nostalgic. ‘I in the motor with the King, the Emperor, Baron Fredericks. Up to Osborne College… All looked so familiar.’
It was young David, the future Edward VIII, who greeted the cars at the main entrance, then showed the party the gymnasium and dormitories of the College. He was replacing his younger brother, Bertie, whose whooping cough had so worried Dr. Botkin. Georgie made a brief reference to his son: ‘David arrived looking very well from Dartmouth.’
Years later David, by then Duke of Windsor, recalled: ‘This was the one and only time I ever saw Tsar Nicholas. Because of the assassination plots, the imperial government would not risk their ‘Little Father’s’ life in a great metropolis… I do remember being astonished at the elaborate police guard thrown around his every movement… This certainly made me glad I was not a Russian prince.’ He had been further struck by the Tsarevich’s ‘large frightened eyes’ when he had attempted to interest the little boy in the pattern of his school day. The Tsarina, he remembered, ‘wore such a sad expression on her face’.
Following his jolly interlude with baby Olga at Balmoral, David had occasionally heard his grandmother, Queen Alexandra, saying that the young Grand Duchess would make a suitable bride for him. He decided now that he preferred Tatiana. He insisted that he was impressed by the way she tended her younger brother, Alexis, but it might also have helped that Tatiana was generally considered the prettier of the two.
The Romanov children enjoyed playing on the rolling lawns in the sunshine. Earl Spencer found the heat too much: ‘The sun very hot’. He preferred to revisit haunts indoors: ‘Looked at the room where we had sat with the Queen in ’95 after dinner listening to a German officer playing the PF [pianoforte]’.
The Tsar and Tsarina visited the state apartments, which were unlocked specially for them. The Tsarina saw her beloved grandmother’s deathbed, preserved exactly as it had been when she died. At the time, she had written to her sister, Victoria: ‘I cannot really believe she has gone, that we shall never see her any more. England without the Queen seems impossible.’ Donald M. Wallace recalled noticing: ‘a tremor in the Tsarina’s voice as she talked about the late Queen’.
She must have seen the portrait of her mother, Princess Alice, which still hangs on the wall of the dining room in which her parents were married. The portrait had been finished after her death from diphtheria, aged just 35, in 1878.
Before leaving Osborne for tea at the neighbouring Barton Manor, the Tsar signed the visitors’ book with his customary flourish: ‘Nicholas II Emperor of Russia’.
A Persian carpet had been laid outside Barton Manor and photographs were taken of the families. In one, the ten-year-old Maria leans against cousin Georgie, who has his arm around her. In another, Georgie rests his hands on the little Tsarevich’s shoulders. In a third, Georgie and Nicky pose together, looking uncannily alike, both gazing intently at the camera. The Tsar leans towards the Prince, who puts his hand through his cousin’s arm.
The shy young Tsarevich had resisted advances from the King and was not much more forthcoming with his cousin David. At Barton Manor, however, he came out of his shell, plying Sir Edward Henry’s chauffeur with questions about the workings of the car. The party walked to the Swiss Cottage, which Nicky and Alix had visited in 1894. For the Tsarina, it would have been another poignant jolt from the past. Her mother, Princess Alice, and her siblings had once tended vegetables at the cottage, using miniature gardening implements; cooking had been accomplished on a tiny kitchen range.
While the imperial family was at Osborne, Sablin ventured further afield, to Portsmouth, where he found an unexpectedly hospitable consul offering a convivial ‘Five o’clock’ with ‘a lot of pretty women’. Sadly, these particular members of what he called ‘the beautiful half of the human race’ could only speak English. ‘Unfortunately, my English has always been bad and the British are very poor with foreign languages. So I spoke only with the consul, who knew French well.’
Georgie and Nicky with their sons
The English and Russian royal families at Barton Manor
Tea at Barton Manor
Izvolsky, meanwhile, received a journalist from Reuter’s Press Agency on the Polar Star. Rising above his low spirits, he shrugged off the protests preceeding the Tsar’s arrival, focussing, instead, on his fruitful talks with Edward Grey. The Tsar’s visit, he insisted, was goi
ng very well.
He may have spoken too soon. The King and Tsar left Osborne at about 6.30; shortly after leaving, their car was forced to swerve, to avoid a private motorist. The monarchs reacted with surprising good humour: even the Tsar managed a smile. They were probably both relieved that their venture on to dry land was nearly over. Earl Spencer failed to mention the swerve at all, recounting only a subsequent difficulty on one of the yachts: ‘Low water – so an inclined plain was all we had. The Queen was uneasy at it.’
On the last night, the parties were divided. The Tsar dined on the Victoria and Albert with the King, while the Tsarina entertained the Queen on the Standart. The Tsar gave only the barest details of his final evening: ‘I went to the English yacht to a dinner for the members of the royal yacht squadron. I spoke for a long time with many people, and returned tired at 11.30 to our ship.’ Georgie’s entry was in the same vein: ‘Papa gave a dinner on board to Nicky and members of royal yacht squadron… Sat down 38… bed at 12.’ Like Earl Spencer on Monday night, he suffered with his feet: ‘very tired after all the standing’.
Dining with the ladies on the Standart, Earl Spencer clearly felt himself banished to a sort of salon des refusés. He found his second Russian dinner no more appealing than the first, despite the best efforts of the chef. The French seems to contain some more obvious slips: ‘Potage crème Princesse, consommé de volail [sic] aux quenelles, petits pates, Troncons de sterlet au Montrachet, Selle d’agneau de Pauillac printannier [sic], Parfait de foie gras aux truffes, Soyis au champagne, Roti-Poulardes du Mans et Gelinottes, Salade, Pointes d’asperge Sce. Mousseline Poires Duchesses, Comtesse Marie et bouchées, Dessert’. And the Tsarina was on poor form. As he wrote: ‘Sat on left of the Empress. Not a good dinner. The Empress tired and less talkative. but told me several things about her life at home. She ate nothing but a few vegetables.’ She brightened up solely when the subject shifted to their shared interest in outfits: ‘She told me what she wore at the opening of the Duma.’ His concluding comments were unenthusiastic: ‘Afterwards the same music… Got to my cabin at 11.50.’
The Imperial Tea Party Page 16