The Tsar had not proven so popular. The Ambassador in Berlin, Frank Lascelles, wrote to the Prime Minister, Lord Salisbury: ‘I see by the newspapers that the brevity of the Emperor of Russia’s speeches and the fact of his having spoken in French has been somewhat criticised.’ One of Lascelles’ own gripes was that the Tsar overdid the presentations. He referred to the: ‘enormous number of decorations which the Emperor of Russia conferred’.
The Romanovs were at Breslau station when the Russian Foreign Minister, Prince Alexei Lobanov-Rostovsky, died of apoplexy. The news of the tricky minister’s demise was received with relief in some British quarters. It was seen by others as a bad omen.
The Standart docked at Leith shortly before 10am. Queen Victoria had wanted to keep the arrival quiet and informal. Her flamboyant son Bertie, the Prince of Wales, had disagreed, writing to Bigge that he hoped his mother would: ‘wish all honour to be done to them (the Emperor and Empress) in the eyes of the world, especially in those of Russia. I am so anxious that the arrival should be marked with every possible compliment for the Emperor.’
When Bertie had visited Russia, in 1866, for his sister-in-law’s wedding to the future Tsar Alexander III, he had been treated to parades, banquets and a wolf hunt. His exuberance had won the Russians over, as he danced reels at the British embassy in full Highland dress, declaring himself: ‘only too happy to be the means of promoting the entente cordiale between Russia and our own country’.
The Russians had much preferred Bertie to his more austere mother. The Queen, in her turn, never came round to the bear-like Tsar Alexander. She would not have been impressed by his ability to walk through doors without opening them or his virtuosity on the tuba. Indeed, she labelled him: ‘a sovereign whom she does not look upon as a gentleman’. Nor would she have approved of his reactionary views: he deemed parliamentary government ‘the great lie of our time’. She dismissed him finally as: ‘barbaric, Asiatic and tyrannical’.
Following the death of Tsar Alexander, Bertie had returned to Russia, to support his sister-in-law, now the Dowager Empress. Some of the British party had found the elaborate funeral rituals overwhelming. Bertie’s equerry complained to the Queen of: ‘the 39th repetition of the same mass’. Bertie’s son Georgie, later George V, wrote to his wife, May, of his unease: ‘Every day, after lunch, we had another service at the church… after the service was over we all went up to the coffin, which was open and kissed the holy picture which he holds in his hand. It gave me a shock when I saw his dear face to close to mine.’ Bertie, however, never grumbled, even after finding himself obliged to spend his 53rd birthday on a funeral cortège.
His efforts were acknowledged when he was awarded a Russian title: colonel in chief of the 27th Dragoon Regiment of Kiev. The Queen’s Lord Chamberlain, Charles Carrington, was one of the first to see Bertie in his Russian uniform. He had not been impressed by the sight, feeling it called to mind: ‘a fat man in a huge shaggy greatcoat looking like a giant polar bear’.
Bertie won his argument regarding the Romanovs’ welcome, and the ceremony featured six battleships, two cruisers and two gunboats. At a 21-gun salute, a flotilla of steamers, tugs and small boats rushed into the harbour. Cheering onlookers lined the decks of the larger vessels, while crowds of spectators gathered in the docks.
However, references to poor weather remained unavoidable. The Times paid a laconic tribute to the beleaguered crowd: ‘An easterly wind was accompanied by drenching rain and for several hours there was a ceaseless downpour.’ The Scotsman weighed in: ‘It was one of those days that does Scotland no favours.’ The Tsar wrote one of his cursory diary notes: ‘The weather deteriorated… and it rained,’ while Carington sent the Queen a series of stoic telegrams: ‘Their majesties look remarkably well, unfortunately it is raining’… ‘all well weather still rainy’… ‘all went off admirably weather bad’.
It was Bertie, now 54, and his brother, Arthur, the Duke of Connaught, 46, who went to greet the young imperial couple on the Standart. The two men were brought out on a tender as the yacht was dropping anchor. The Queen had written to her son about the importance of greeting the Tsar: ‘The arrivals at Leith being in State and your having met Nicky’s grandfather (Alexander II) at Dover on the occasion of his visit in 1874 I think you could not do otherwise now.’
In the spirit of British and Russian harmony, Bertie and Nicky each wore the uniform of the other’s country. There were mentions, in several accounts, of Bertie finding his Russian dragoons uniform uncomfortably small. He did have a weight problem, Queen Victoria herself wrote: ‘He is grown so large and almost quite bald.’ Her lady-in-waiting, Lady Edith Lytton, may have been protesting too much when she now insisted that his distinctive grey and red greatcoat was: ‘not the least tight’.
Nicky had been appointed colonel in chief of the Scots Greys at the time of his wedding, in 1894, writing an enthusiastic letter of thanks to ‘Granny’, as he called Queen Victoria: ‘Words fail me to express my surprise and the pleasure I felt upon receiving the news that you had appointed me colonel in chief of the beautiful Royal Scots Greys, just the regiment I saw and admired so much last summer at Aldershot. I shall be happy and proud to appear one day before you in their uniform.’
In fact, it turned out that Nicky’s discomfort almost matched his uncle’s: he hated having to appear in front of his 350-man crew in the wrong outfit. As he complained in a letter to his mother: ‘You will understand how unpleasant it was to have to say goodbye to our officers and crew in a foreign uniform.’ The Tsar’s favourite item of clothing was a long red shirt, less suited to Balmoral, or even the Russian court, than Old Muscovy.
To add to his difficulties, the Tsar did not agree with his fellow countrymen on the subject of Bertie. He found his ‘dear U(ncle) Bertie’ rather overbearing and may well have had mixed feelings as the pair exchanged greetings. During his visit to Britain for his cousin Georgie’s wedding, three years before, he had described his reservations to his mother: ‘Uncle Bertie is in very good spirits and very friendly, almost too much so.’ Lady Lytton was struck by Bertie’s ebullience, reporting that he was ‘very nice to everyone all day’. Bertie was only too aware of the stark contrast between him and his quieter nephew, privately pronouncing Nicky: ‘weak as water’.
Lunch was held on board the Standart. The Tsar sat at the head of the table, with the Tsarina on his left and the Duchess of Buccleuch on his right. Lady Lytton, then 54, and a former Vicereine of India, was painfully struck by the youth of the Tsar. ‘One longed for haute politique to be discussed and when one looked at the very young Tsar it seemed more than ever ridiculous of the papers to say that all depended on him for decisions in the Eastern question.’
Nicky, then 28, was slight and, at 5ft 5, fractionally smaller than his wife; he had soft, delicate features. Alix’s sharper features had a brittle, fragile quality. Lady Lytton added: ‘There was no whispering and the Emperor and Empress being so young makes them so little alarming compared to old royalties.’ At just before 2pm, the party boarded the tender to be taken ashore. Carington had earlier sent a telegram to Bigge: ‘Vessel can’t get alongside train at Leith so carriages necessary. Will the Queen lend her saloon carriages?’
The Tsar had turned down the original idea of a state procession along Edinburgh’s Royal Mile. But he agreed to a welcoming ceremony at Leith and the Romanovs were duly greeted by the Lord Provost at Victoria Jetty, to the accompaniment of both national anthems. The jetty had been decorated with red, white and blue bunting, intertwined with imperial standards and black and gold ribbons. A telegram marked ‘Very urgent’ had been sent, on 16th September, from the secretary at the Russian embassy to the equerry-in-waiting at Balmoral: ‘Russian national colours are red, blue, white, Russian imperial colours black and yellow’. The weather proved literally a dampener, as saturated decorations flapped limply in strong winds.
The guard of honour comprised members of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders and, of course, the
Royal Scots Greys. Bertie had given Bigge a clear instruction: ‘Prince of Wales submits the suggestion that the Scots Greys do greeting despite expense.’
The Lord Provost presented the imperial couple with an engraved golden box, while the wife of the provost of Leith gave the Tsarina a large bunch of orchids. Lady Lytton was not impressed by the imperial couple’s responses: ‘The Emperor very shyly whispered a few words of thanks but he ought to learn to do this sort of thing better. She smiles but neither of them takes trouble enough to bow to all assembled as our Queen did SO well.’
Lady Lytton couldn’t have known that Alix, a martyr to real and imagined ailments, was in recovery from a debilitating headache. As the Tsar had recorded in his diary two nights before: ‘I had dinner at 8pm with the officers – without Alix – she had a headache!’ She had ended up spending the preceeding day in her cabin: ‘Alix continued to stay in bed, afraid to get up.’
The couple were driven, in an open carriage, along North Junction Street to Leith railway station, cheered by the valiant crowd. As Carington had assured Bigge: ‘2,000 volunteers will line the whole route from Leith Port.’ According to The Times, the young Tsarina wore a delicate white dress, large hat and a white ostrich feather boa. The Graphic compared the Tsarina’s flimsy outfit unfavourably with the Duchess of Connaught’s: ‘Charming and graceful as the Russian Empress is, she alighted from one sea voyage in a… fawn mantle trimmed with white ostrich feather collar and a bonnet of white and blue… the Duchess of Connaught wore “a real English costume” – a dark brown tweed tailor-made dress and coat’.
The official paper giving instructions to the courtiers for the journey, specified levee dress, as opposed to the more formal full dress. ‘Levee dress will be worn at Leith and on arrival at Balmoral.’ The men’s coatees (tail coats), complete with embroidery on collar, cuffs and pocket flaps, would probably not have been much more waterproof than the Tsarina’s fawn mantle.
Though barely visible, the heavily swaddled baby, Grand Duchess Olga, created her own sensation. The Daily Telegraph had made much of Olga’s birth the previous November, insisting that the news was: ‘received with much friendly interest in this country, where all that concerns the present and future of Russia is the subject of intelligent and sympathetic appreciation’.
The newspapers were, indeed, full of friendly interest, with The Yorkshire Herald declaring: ‘The Grand Duchess takes very kindly to her new surroundings.’ The Huddersfield Chronicle spoke of the Tsarina’s ‘pride and joy at having a little daughter to bring with her… almost pathetic to witness’. The Leeds Mercury was ecstatic: ‘The sight of the imperial baby moved every female heart in the crowd and there was an animated display of pocket handkerchiefs.’
At Balmoral, the Queen continued with her monitoring of progress: ‘Heard of Nicky and Alicky’s safe disembarkation and of their departure from Leith’. At Leith station, the imperial couple boarded an 11-carriage train for the first leg of the journey to Ballater. The train would cross ‘Scotland’s Eiffel Tower’, the new Forth Bridge, before travelling through Kirkcaldy, Cupar, Dundee, Arbroath, Montrose, Lawrencekirk, Stonehaven and Aberdeen. Earlier Nicky had referred wistfully to his departure from the new yacht in his diary: ‘We bid farewell to the marvellous Standart.’ The Romanovs’ subsequent rail journey proved every bit as arduous as he had feared. He gave particulars in his diary – ‘cold, drizzling, shivering on the train’ – adding more detail in a letter to his mother: ‘The train was rather rocky, so that Alix was very nearly ill.’
When councillors heard that the train was to stop at Dundee station for water, they immediately organised a welcome committee. As the Dundee City Rifles played the Russian national anthem, Nicky stepped out on to the platform to receive a silver casket from the acting chief magistrate. The Tsar gave thanks, presumably in a shy whisper, before reboarding.
By late afternoon, the train had reached Ferryhill Junction, at Aberdeen, where the Russian party switched to the Great North of Scotland Railway. Officials here matched Dundee with a further reception, attended by a group of 100 dignitaries. Official instructions specified: ‘Tea will be served at Ferryhill junction’, but refreshments would have to be rushed, as the party arrived at 5.31, to depart at 5.50. The rumours of bomb threats had centred on this last leg of the journey, so special constables spent the 19 minutes searching compartments and checking passengers.
This second train arrived at Ballater at 7pm, by which time the station bunting was, as the Queen’s physician, Sir James Reid, noted: ‘sadly lashed’ by rain. Bertie’s son, Georgie, was waiting at the station, dressed, appropriately, in a kilt. The Tsar and Georgie were strikingly similar in appearance, with the same hairstyle, beard and moustache. When the Queen first met Nicky, at Georgie’s wedding, she had been struck by their general resemblance. ‘Nicky’, she wrote, ‘is so charming and wonderfully like Georgie.’ She cheerily noted that their physical likeness: ‘led to no end of funny mistakes’.
Nicky had not been so thrilled: ‘Everyone finds a great resemblance between Georgie and me. I am tired of hearing this again and again.’ He was very fond of Georgie, but he may have been slightly relieved to hear that his doppelgänger had been driven out of Balmoral by the crush of visitors. He and his wife, May, would be lodging down the road, at the estate of Glen Muick.
The beleaguered party now spent a further hour in the rain, travelling the last eight miles in five open carriages. The procession was led by the Scots Greys, followed by pipers, torchbearers and finally the carriages: one devoted solely to baby Olga and two attendants. Walking alongside were the Balmoral Highlanders and Crathie and Ballater Volunteers. Inspector Baxter of the Aberdeenshire Constabulary had given assurances that his rather meagre sounding contingent would be: ‘in good time and properly dressed and in tidy order… Full dress uniform with white gloves and leggings will be worn… Covering the distance between Crathie Post Office and Balmoral: Inspector Leslie and six Constables’.
As the procession approached Balmoral, the sound of the church bells vied with the bagpipes playing ‘The Campbells Are Coming’. A line of estate workers and kilted highlanders held burning torches along the roadside, while bonfires had been lit on the tops of the surrounding hills. The Marquis of Carisbrooke later pronounced the spectacle one of the ‘most impressive sights’ he’d ever witnessed. Fanciful postcards produced after the visit show the imperial party submerged in a smoky mist from the burning torches. A plume of smoke rises from a fire on the hill behind. As May called it, in a letter to her Aunt Augusta: ‘a true highland welcome’.
With the growing darkness and continuing rain, the travellers must have been relieved, finally, to catch sight of Balmoral’s distinctive crenulations and turrets. The Queen had always been very enthusiastic about the castle’s appearance: ‘New house looks beautiful’, she wrote, when the royal family first moved in. ‘An old shoe was thrown after us into the house for good luck when we entered the hall.’ Her children had not always been so enamoured, her son Leopold proclaiming it: ‘that most vile and abominable of places’. Upon arrival, the exhausted passengers disembarked, while kilted highlanders, according to one newspaper: ‘silently filed off through the shrubbery’.
The Tsar had given the impression that he was very keen to see Balmoral. Earlier in the year, when the new Ambassador in Russia, Nicholas O’Connor, had discussed the possibility of a visit, he wrote: ‘The Tsar recalled his happy days spent in Britain. The Empress has spoken to him so much about Balmoral he felt as if he were quite familiar with its beautiful surroundings.’ The Tsar’s clipped diary entry, that evening, however, made no mention of any beauty: ‘arrived at Balmoral under torchlight toward 8pm’.
He and Victoria rival each other in the brevity of their accounts of the long-awaited reunion. The Queen wrote: ‘We went down at 7.30pm into the visitors’ room and waited there till we heard the church bells ringing and the pipers playing… I was standing at the door. Nicky got out first and I embraced him,
and then darling Alicky, all in white, looking so well.’ Nicky wrote: ‘Granny with both the ladies and the children’s family staff personnel met us at the door.’ He did add, once again, slightly more detail in a letter to his mother: ‘Granny was waiting for us on the steps… Marvellously kind and amiable to us… I don’t think her much changed except that she seemed a little smaller, just as you found her.’
Fanciful postcards produced after the visit show the imperial party submerged in a smoky mist
While the Tsar found that the Queen had got smaller, she was delighted to report that Nicky and Alix were exactly the same. The new Tsar and Tsarina, travel-weary and probably drenched, certainly did not appear to be giving themselves airs. As she enthused: ‘Dear Nicky and Alicky are quite unspoilt and unchanged, as dear and simple as ever and as kind as ever.’
There was no indication, at this point, that the Tsar was any more taken with Balmoral’s interior than he had been by its exterior. The 70-room castle incorporated many of Prince Albert’s designs and was strewn with his memorabilia. As the Queen had once described it: ‘the place where everything, even down to the smallest detail is somehow associated with Him and His memory [sic]’. At the foot of the staircase was a full-size white marble statue of Albert. Antlers and hunting trophies contributed to what Georgie’s wife, May, described as the castle’s masculine atmosphere. Other such features included: ‘a smell of wood fire, stags’ heads (three shot by Albert) rugs, leather’.
The Imperial Tea Party Page 2
