The yacht was especially pristine. One of the Standart officers, Nikolai Sablin, recalled that there had been a flurry of activity that morning. He described a frenzied senior boatswain, who: ‘rushed around like a madman on the upper deck’ issuing urgent instructions: ‘“Pour, well done, more, more water and scrub… better squeeze, but remember do not make any noise… all quiet, scrub… as if you do it to yourself.” Then he rushed from the foredeck to the poop, with his round belly, and small quick steps where the lads seemed to be making a noise.’
Noisy cleaning had become an issue after the Tsar overheard a minister complaining about the din created by the crew in the early morning: ‘When I wake up… it seems to me as if they are building a stone house of a few floors above my head, they then break it down and build it again and then break it down.’ The crew were ordered to somehow curb their noise without cutting back on the rigorous ‘scrub and scour’.
The imperial family had, over the years, developed a passion for their pared-down life aboard the Standart. The Tsar liked to sit on deck, smoking or playing dominoes; the Tsarina adored being cocooned on board with the family: ‘Boysie’ [the Tsar], ‘my little girlies’ [the four Grand Duchesses] and ‘Baby love’ [the Tsarevich]. On the frequent occasions when she was too poorly to sit at table, she would install herself in an armchair on the bridge. A strategically placed window enabled her to keep a watchful eye on proceedings.
The four girls formed bonds with the officers. The courtier, Mossolov, described their relations decorously: ‘The young officers could better be compared with the pages or squires of dames of the middle ages.’ Each of the children was allotted an officer, a ‘dyadya’ (uncle), to look after them on board. The captain was ‘dyadya’ to the eldest, Olga. The officer, Nikolai Sablin, who later wrote an account of his ten years on the Standart, was allotted Tatiana. He confessed, however, to having a particularly soft spot for Maria, who, as he reported: ‘liked to sit a little, have a read and eat sweet biscuits’.
Standart officer Nikolai Sablin, ‘dyadya’ to little Tatiana
The Tsar and Tsarina on the Standart
The Tsar’s aide-de-camp, Count Grabbe, was in no doubt about the imperial children’s enjoyment of their yachting holidays: ‘To be at sea with their father – that was what constituted their greatest happiness.’
On their way to Reval, the King and Queen and their daughter, Victoria, endured an exceptionally challenging time at sea. Queen Alexandra and Victoria didn’t seem to have much luck with their voyages; they were the ones who had suffered such a rough crossing on the Osborne, on their way to Balmoral in 1896.
Admiral Sir John (Jackie) Fisher gave a dramatic description of the Victoria and Albert’s travails in a letter to his wife, Kitty: ‘We had a horrible knocking about in the North Sea. The Queen lay on deck like a corpse. Princess Victoria beckoned me to her and said she had been continuously sick and could not keep down a biscuit… everything in my cabin went mad. The armchair went head over heels through the door.’
At one point, during a lavish tea, the Queen had been thrown across the room. As Hardinge wrote: ‘Suddenly there was a tremendous wave and, to my horror, I saw the Queen thrown backwards violently on her back… followed by the tea urn, teapot, etc, all on her lap…. it was a most unpleasant incident.’ Ponsonby added: ‘She was thrown, chair and all into the corner… Here was a real mess, teacake, biscuits, bread and butter, sugar, etc, all collected in a heap.’ He was impressed by the Queen’s sangfroid: ‘I persuaded her to have tea brought to her elsewhere – she retired laughing as if it was a good joke.’
After contending with sea swells, the Victoria and Albert was beset by fog in the Kiel canal. Ponsonby recalled: ‘Cruisers and torpedo destroyers told to keep as far away as possible from the yacht’. The Victoria and Albert was, at this point, being preceded ceremoniously by torpedo boats and followed by HMS Minotaur, HMS Achilles and four British destroyers.
In Harold Nicolson’s biography of his father Arthur, the then Ambassador in Russia, he gives an account of the Reval meeting, using ‘private and semi-official correspondence’. The ascerbic Ambassador maintained a detached view of proceedings. He was unimpressed, at this point, by the acrobatics of the German torpedo boats. While the British naval officers watched in admiration, Nicolson described how the boats aimlessly ‘twisted and turned’.
Detachments of German cavalry trotted alongside the Victoria and Albert, on the canal banks. The Danish-born Queen Alexandra, known for her anti-German sentiments, made a point of retiring to her cabins. Ponsonby described the progress of the yacht which: ‘seemed to be hardly moving but cavalry [was] trotting to keep up…. [Queen] Alix stayed downstairs.’ Hardinge made a sardonic but, it turned out, accurate comment about alterations then being made to the canal: ‘The Germans were widening the canal so two warships could pass each other. Work would be complete in five years, so no war from Germans before 1913.’
Shortly before their arrival at Reval, Bertie summoned Arthur Nicolson to his cabin. The King took a pride in making himself comfortable at sea, giving audiences in a chintz armchair, surrounded by family photographs in silver frames. The scent of a pot of Liliam speciosum vied with the smell of expensive cigars.
A pressing problem had emerged: Bertie’s Russian uniform was too small. The King may have felt constrained at Leith in 1896, but he was now in urgent need of a tailor. He traditionally ate too much. It was said that, after a dinner of many courses, he would retire with a cold chicken next to his bed. By the early 1900s he had a 48-inch waist and his nickname was ‘Tum Tum’.
The Russian head of security, Spiridovich, gave a disparaging description of the King’s subsequent difficulties: ‘The tailor from the Standart did what he could to rectify the problem, but was only partly successful, meaning the King, strapped up in his tunic, which was visibly too tight for him and wearing the little dragoon’s cap, appeared far from imposing.’
The officer, Nikolai Sablin, also reported shortcomings in the King’s dress: ‘His shoulder loops [were] under the epaulette straps and instead of wearing high boots he had patent leather boots with laces and patent leather gaiters. They didn’t match the Russian uniform but they looked comfortable.’
No wonder the King now grilled the Ambassador on what efforts the Tsar would be making. As Nicolson put it: ‘Whether the Emperor would wear the uniform of the Scots Greys or whether he would appear as a Russian admiral; what decorations he would wear and in what order.’ The Tsar was, of course, already wearing his controversial Scots Greys uniform.
Bertie, nicknamed ‘TumTum’, who by the early 1900s had a 48-inch waist
Dowager Empress Marie, Edward VII and Alexandra
The King questioned Nicolson closely on various aspects of Russian culture: the leading writers, musicians and scientists. He asked about Russia’s progress on railways and, most importantly, its politics: what exactly were the present relations between the government and the Duma? Was the Duma a thing one should mention? Or not? He also wanted information about the Prime Minister, Stolypin, asking whether M. Stolypin spoke ‘French or German or even English’.
Benckendorff had already noted that the King was eager to meet Stolypin, convinced that the meeting would create a good impression in London. Stolypin, it transpired, was equally eager, insisting: ‘A rapprochement with GB is desirable, not only in the sphere of conventions but also in the domain of trade.’
The distributing of medals was an ongoing issue. Would the elderly Count Fredericks, for example, be content with a KCVO? The King’s eye was, at this point, drawn ‘with angered insistence’ to Nicolson’s Nova Scotia baronetcy badge. ‘What is that bauble?’ he snapped, adding, ‘Never wear that bauble again.’ The imperturbable Ambassador apparently wore it ever after.
The Tsar recorded his first sighting of the royal yacht without much fanfare: ‘Before 10am we saw the English detachment, coming near us from the sea, accompanied by a division of Essen’s destroyers.’ Ponsonby w
as equally blasé: ‘The V and A arrived to find two Russian yachts and a small fleet anchored.’ Nicolson reported slightly more picturesquely that the Victoria and Albert was ‘anchored in the small but tense roadstead of Reval’. He added that English and Russian flags flew and there was an ‘unsettling thunder of artillery’.
The sun shone, however, and the Russians trumpeted what they referred to as: ‘Tsar’s weather’. The Standart officer, Sablin, usually rather downbeat, was full of excitement: ‘Fresh breeze tempered the heat, the weather favourable for the parade and firing of naval guns’. The Victoria and Albert dropped anchor between the Standart and the Polar Star. Sablin watched the British yacht’s manoeuvrings in awe: ‘With great skill, the Victoria and Albert stopped at the buoy, dropping anchor right at the spot and sinking a weathervane. At the same time [the yacht] lowered all its boats, and flags were raised very fast and flawlessly – the English captain did very well… The English vessels were painted light blue and looked very impressive.’
Despite all the preceding correspondence, as Ponsonby revealed, plans were being altered up to the last minute. Protocol, for instance, dictated that the King should greet the Russians on board the Standart. However, the Tsar was keen to pip his British relations to the post, arriving at the Victoria and Albert at 11.30 sharp. The King’s talks with Nicolson were cut short. As Nicolson wrote: ‘A man came to say imperial barge approaching.’
Ponsonby was put out: ‘King said the ladder and steam launch were to be got ready as soon as we anchored – but we had no chance as Tsar’s boat already put off and alongside before we could lower the ladder.’ He admitted that the break with protocol ended happily, as the Tsar came on board and: ‘greeted his uncle and aunt most affectionately’. Nicolson noted that the band played both national anthems, and the Anglo-Russian alliance appeared to flourish: ‘Everybody kissed everybody else.’
Nikolai Sablin was one of the officers who had transported the Tsar to the Victoria and Albert. By this time, Sablin, aged 27, had been on the Standart for two years. Photographs exist of him on deck and in rowing boats, smiling broadly. But a chequered military career had left him prone to moods, with a tendency to be overly critical.
As the launch drew up close to the Victoria and Albert, he seemed to lose his earlier enthusiasm: ‘It was my first time on the English yacht, as I was replacing the flag officer who was still sick. Unfortunately, I saw nothing beyond the ladder but what I saw was enough for me to see how different it was from our boat and the others.
‘The Victoria and Albert is a floating palace. On the upper deck you won’t see a sailor or an officer. The soft furniture and flowers were throughout and in the middle of the ship, around the funnels. There was an area used by the family but the stern was used for everyday needs such as the royal kitchen, rooms for the entourage and so on. Carpets throughout and specially arranged corners, there were also little cabins, like the ones on the beaches, all expensive and first grade. Everything looked nautical and tasteful. In contrast to the Standart, the Victoria and Albert was certainly not a military ship; it was a yacht, an excellent boat designed for sailing with comfort and convenience.’
Sablin may not have been aware of the contribution of such comforts to the King’s undoubted success as a diplomat. Bertie proved to be on particularly good form at Reval, not least in the way he addressed Stolypin on all the topics he had previously discussed with Nicolson. The Russian minister was duly impressed, proclaiming: ‘On voit bien que c’est un homme d’ état.’ He later told Hardinge that he could see why the King was ‘regarded as the first statesman in Europe’. The exacting Nicolson insisted on qualifying the compliment: ‘King Edward, though too superficial to be a statesman, was a supreme diplomatist.’
The head of the Russian chancellery, Alexander Mossolov, was very taken with the King’s relaxed approach, giving a particular nod to Bertie’s insistence on visitors being allowed to sit: ‘Our Princes were accustomed, from their earliest childhood, to standing for hours and hours; after meals they formed a “circle” dead-tired.’
The British royal party now returned to the Standart. With all the morning’s scrubbing and scouring, Spiridovich recalled a prevailing unease: ‘We were very anxious about the manner in which we had to receive the English…. There was also agitation amongst our sailors, who objected to being subservient to their guests, the English sailors.’
The King’s greetings to the Russian crew went slightly awry. Sablin couldn’t understand much English and wouldn’t have known what the King was meant to say. But he managed to spot a few glitches.
Ponsonby reported that the King, ‘who knew the custom’, successfully managed to greet the guard of honour with ‘Good morning, children’ in Russian. But, according to Sablin, the wilful Bertie then couldn’t resist going off script. As he reported: ‘The King and the Tsar approached aligned tall guards. Suddenly, the King stopped near an 8-vershok Peter the Great, standing at the right flank and said aloud “What a fine man.” The guards, all as one, said: “Good morning, Your Royal Highness”. The solemn sounds of the English anthem drowned out his answer and the King went on along the front of the crew.’
Sablin insisted he was among several crew members put out by Bertie’s lofty attitude: ‘The Russian hosts were treated most graciously and in a friendly manner. But it was felt that Edward showed some condescension towards his nephew – he seemed to be patronising him.’ He insisted, further, that the King was too intimate with the rest of the family: ‘But he was on familiar terms with the Empress, as if she were ONE OF THEM… he warmly hugged and kissed the Empress and then took a closer look at our Princesses, who looked a bit embarrassed. Then he walked over to the heir, took him in his arms and kissed him.’
In fact, Sablin’s critical descriptions of the King’s manner are not borne out by any of the other accounts. The general view was that the two monarchs seemed to get along very well. Nicolson reported wryly that the King managed to make the Tsar feel every bit the ‘highly successful nephew’. This he achieved, according to Nicolson, simply by steering clear of the ‘political conversations’ the Tsar so dreaded: ‘The mere fact that he [Bertie] avoided all political questions inspired the timid little autocrat with confidence, gratitude and relief.’
Bertie and the Tsar on deck
The King reportedly managed to make the Tsar feel every bit the ‘highly successful nephew’
There had been arguments, before the meeting, about whether the Tsar should be challenged on the controversial issue of Jewish pogroms. On 3rd June, Lord Rothschild and his two brothers, Alfred and Leopold, wrote to the King complaining about the plight of Jews in Russia. They pleaded with the King to raise the issue with the Tsar.
Knollys had replied immediately: ‘The King desires me to let you know, in reply to the letter which you, Alfred and Leo have written to him, that he will speak to Sir Charles Hardinge and Sir Arthur Nicolson respecting the question which you have brought before him. The subject would be a very delicate one for him to bring before the Emperor of Russia, and it is, moreover, one of considerable political importance. His Majesty feels, therefore, that it would not be constitutionally correct or proper for him to speak to the Emperor or to his advisers on the matter unless he did so with the full concurrence of Sir C. Hardinge and Sir Arthur Nicolson, both of whom accompany him to Reval.’
In the end, the King and Nicolson both managed to raise the matter with Stolypin. To the Rothschilds’ disappointment, however, Stolypin’s replies never went beyond vague assurances. British politicians were divided in their view as to whether the matter should have been raised at all. Some felt the King had overstepped the mark, others that he had shown moral courage.
Further controversy surrounded another of the King’s Jewish friends, Ernest Cassel. The pair had dined together the night before Bertie left for Reval and Cassel had expressed an interest in a Russian loan. Hardinge was among those who expressed worry that the King might pull strings on Cassell’s behalf. Bu
t, as it turned out, the King did no more than ask the Tsar to receive his friend if he visited St Petersburg. What the Tsar felt about the request, after taking issue with Bertie’s ‘queer guests’ at Sandringham, is not known. When the prickly Kaiser heard about the shenanigans, however, he described his Uncle Bertie as ‘a jobber in stocks and shares’ who counted on making personal profit out of a Russian loan.
The King, at this point, generally seemed to prefer to stick to pleasantries. Members of the Russian party were struck by how much more relaxed the Tsar seemed with the King than he was with the Kaiser. As Hardinge reported: ‘Several of the Tsar’s suite, personal friends, commented to me upon the marked difference in the Emperor’s spirits and attitudes during the King’s visit to Reval compared with what they were at the Emperor’s recent visit to the German Emperor at Swinmunde, where he felt anxiety all the time as to what might be unexpectedly sprung upon him.’
Mossolov felt that the English court compared favourably to the German court: ‘Except when on duty, no account was taken of rank. What a contrast there was between the visits of Wilhelm II and the reception of the King and Queen at Reval.’
The Imperial Tea Party Page 9
