Despite the huge number of guests – the all-in complete number, counting all the minor royalties from the kingdoms, duchies and principalities that made up Germany’s empire, was nearly a thousand – the wedding ceremony and celebrations were carried out with typical Teutonic efficiency. At five o’clock in the afternoon Sissy and her retinue walked in stately procession towards the palace chapel, followed by Ernst and his retinue. Inside, the chapel was packed to capacity, with several of the wedding guests not even able to squeeze inside.
There were emotional tears in May’s eyes as Sissy and Ernst made their vows and George whispered gruffly, ‘No need for tears if their marriage proves to be as happy as ours is.’
He often said such things, and she always thought of how they could be even happier if only they shared the same interests. George, however, was quite uninterested in art and books, and even his own family history, something she found fascinating, was, to George, jaw-droppingly boring. George only had two interests. The first was his stamp collection, and the second was tramping through woods, or over moors, with a shotgun tucked beneath his arm. And just as he couldn’t share her interests, she couldn’t share his. Like Toria’s cattiness, it was something she had come to terms with, but she did sincerely hope that Ernst’s and Sissy’s meeting of hearts was also a meeting of minds.
The wedding vows were concluded. Sissy and Ernst were man and wife and the organ began to play the opening bars of one of Luther’s greatest hymns.
‘Lobe den Herren, den mächtigen König der Ehren,’ every wedding guest but one sang in faultless German.
‘Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of Creation,’ George, who had barely a word of German, sang in a deep tenor.
After the end of the wedding breakfast that followed the church service, Ducky sought her out.
‘It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, May.’ she said, kissing her affectionately on both cheeks. ‘And I love the crown. Pearls and diamonds together. So pretty. Was it one of Granny Queen’s?’
‘It was. It’s the State Diadem, and I wear it at State Openings of Parliament and when attending foreign coronations and, although a wedding isn’t a coronation, I thought Sissy and Ernst deserved no less.’
‘Quite right – and why be satisfied with wearing a tiara when you have a closetful of crowns to choose from? Where can we go to have a little privacy?’
‘The palace is so crowded – nowhere but a bedroom. The one George and I have been allocated is quite near, and I could do with a break from the crush.’
‘And so,’ Ducky said fifteen minutes later as she made herself comfortable on a sofa with a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigarette in the other, ‘first things first. Alicky. Do you hear from her often?’
‘Not as often as I used to, but we do still write to each other.’
‘About Alexei?’
‘Yes and no. She writes about him in the same way she writes about Olga, Tatiana, Marie and Anastasia. Family doings.’
‘And never mentions his disease?’
‘She told me about it when it was first realized he had it, but no, she never mentions it in her letters, and neither do I. How can I?’
‘You can’t, but it is the source of all the problems the Russian monarchy is facing – because if it wasn’t for the family disease, Alicky and Nicky wouldn’t be hiding Alexei away at Tsarskoe Selo; Alicky would probably be behaving as an empress should behave and wouldn’t be so very, very unpopular; and there would be no need for Rasputin. And if it wasn’t for Rasputin, there wouldn’t be the widespread belief that he is ruling the country through Nicky.’
May stared at her, shocked. ‘I knew things were bad in Russia. George says that unpleasant man Lenin is at the bottom of the unrest in the country – but surely no one can believe a faith-healer is influencing the decisions Nicky makes?’
‘You’d think not, wouldn’t you? But they do. Six or seven months ago it looked as if Nicky appreciated the danger Rasputin was posing, even if Alicky didn’t, and he banished him to his home village in Siberia. It made a huge difference. Even Aunt Minny and Nicky’s Uncle Paul, and his brother Misha, thought the danger was over; and then Nicky and Alicky took the girls and Alexei to Spala.’
She paused, not at all the usual bouncy, vital Ducky that May was used to.
‘Did Alicky tell you about Spala, May?’
‘Yes. They go there every year, and she said she was looking forward to spending time there and getting away from the almost unbearable pressure of St Petersburg.’
Ducky put her untouched glass of champagne down. ‘I think I’d rather have a Scotch, if you don’t mind, May.’
May walked across to the drinks cabinet and said, with a deep sense of foreboding, ‘What happened at Spala?’
‘Alexei had a bleed. Botkin, the doctor who accompanies them everywhere, sent for Alexei’s blood specialist and his paediatrician and they came hot-foot to Spala, but of course there was nothing they could do.’
May had poured two tumblers of Scotch, one for Ducky and one for herself. Handing one of the tumblers to Ducky, she said, ‘And what happened? Quite obviously Alexei didn’t die.’
‘No. He didn’t. Alicky sent a telegram to Siberia asking Rasputin to pray for Alexei’s soul. Rasputin sent a telegram back telling her that Alexei wasn’t going to die, and within hours the haemorrhage had stopped and Alexei was on the road to recovery.’
Ducky took a drink of her whisky.
‘It means Rasputin’s ability to stop Alexei’s haemorrhages isn’t down to the laying on of hands or, as been suggested, to hypnotism, because this time when he stopped the bleeding he wasn’t even with Alexei.’
She stubbed her cigarette out and lit another one. ‘After Spala, Nicky finally told his mother, his brother Misha, who is next in line to the throne after Alexei, and his one surviving uncle, Uncle Paul, the truth about Alexei’s disease, although that hasn’t made things any better. Instead of them finally feeling sympathy for Alicky, they hate her for having brought the disease into the family. Plus Misha doesn’t want to be heir to the throne. His mistress, with whom he has a child, has finally obtained a divorce and, only weeks ago, after breaking his promise to Nicky that he wouldn’t do so, Misha married her. And if Misha falls by the wayside when it comes to inheriting the throne, the next in line is Kyril – a thought I don’t particularly want to dwell on. Ernie, whom I am once again on good terms with, says it’s a pig’s ear, and he’s right.’
There was simply nothing positive May could think of to say about the situation and, changing the subject, she said, ‘And Ella?’
‘Ella is the same darling she has always been, but her relationship with Alicky has suffered since she tried to speak sense to her about Rasputin.’
Ducky looked down at her dainty pendant watch. ‘We’ve been closeted up here for far too long, May. It’s nearly time for the Hohenzollern Wedding Torch Dance, and you can’t be absent for that. As the only empress here as a guest, you’ll have a main part to play.’
The Torch Dance was to take place in the white-and silver-decorated White Hall. Historically it was a polonaise that was always danced – apart from the first dance by the bridal pair – in groups of three.
Troops in scarlet-and-gold uniforms lined the walls of the hall and, as Sissy and Ernst opened the dance, the troops began passing flaming brands from hand to hand. Then Sissy made a second circuit of the floor, this time dancing with her father on one arm and her father-in-law on the other, and Ernst followed, dancing with his mother and with Dona. Then it was Nicky and George’s turn to accompany Sissy, and May and Willy’s sister danced with the bridegroom.
Forming similar groups of three, all the Royal Highnesses present joined in and the floor was a glorious, ever-shifting tapestry of European royalty.
When the dance finally came to an end, Heinrich, Irène’s husband, said to May, ‘If you have been worrying about a European war breaking out over the Balkans, you can stop doing so. You’v
e only to look around you, to see why. When the rulers of the countries who would be involved are family, war is impossible. Any talk of it is tosh. Utter tosh.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
28 JUNE 1914, SARAJEVO
Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and his wife, Sophie, were on the last day of a short official visit to Bosnia, a Balkan country that was part of the empire. Its neighbour, Serbia, believed that it should have sovereignty over Bosnia and, because of the royal visit, tensions were high.
In the intense heat of the afternoon the couple were being driven in an open-topped car through Sarajevo’s narrow streets towards the governor’s palace, where they were to have lunch. At a corner so tight the car had to slow almost to a halt to negotiate it, a young Serb stepped from the pavement and fired two shots. Sophie died instantly. Franz Ferdinand died half an hour later in the palace where the lunch prepared for him still lay on the table.
Willy was at a racing regatta in the city of Kiel and was aboard the Hohenzollern when an Admiralty launch pulled alongside and an officer shouted that he had a most urgent telegram for him.
Willy wasn’t interested in receiving it. What he was interested in was how well his racing yacht, Meteor, was performing.
The officer, knowing that the result of not getting an urgent message to Germany’s All-Highest would probably be a court-martial, folded up his despatch, put it in his cigarette case and lobbed it aboard the Hohenzollern.
‘What the devil?’ Willy said in annoyance, when a member of the crew nervously came to him with the cigarette case.
‘There’s a despatch inside it,’ the unfortunate crew member said apprehensively. ‘It is, perhaps, of some importance.’
Impatiently Willy ripped it open and then, seconds later, staggered. Assassinations were not uncommon – but they usually took place in Russia. Regicide! And so much closer to home than Russia! Fear and rage roared through his veins. He and Franz Ferdinand had been more than fellow royals; they had been close friends, and genuine grief added to his fear and rage.
The fear was for his own safety, for one royal assassination could very easily lead to another. The rage was at the thought of his friend and his gentle-mannered wife meeting their ends in a filthy Bosnian street.
‘Lower the imperial flag to half-mast!’ he thundered. ‘Head back to port.’
He needed to be in Berlin. He needed to be at the centre of things. And however Emperor Franz Josef, the Archduke’s uncle, decided to handle the matter, Willy needed to tell him that, whatever action he took, it was action that would have his full support.
Nicky was aboard his yacht, the Standart, enjoying a summer cruise off the coast of Finland with Alicky, Alexei and the girls. Both he and Alicky took the news of Franz Ferdinand and Sophie having been shot in a Bosnian street far more stoically than Willy had. For one thing, assassinations were regular occurrences in Russia and something they were desensitized to. For another, they had a far greater calamity to worry about, for they had just received news that Rasputin had been stabbed in the stomach by a madwoman and was fighting for his life in a Siberian hospital.
A telegram of condolence was sent to Emperor Franz Josef and their cruise continued, with Alicky praying several times a day for Rasputin’s recovery.
When Georgie received the news, his first instinct was to share it with May.
‘Terrible new, May dear,’ he said, disturbing her as she labelled gold teaspoons that dated from George IV’s reign. ‘Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife have been shot and killed in Sarajevo.’
May gasped, the blood leaving her face.
‘The telegram I’ve received from Vienna says they were on the last day of a short official visit. Shot down, May, like animals in the street.’ His voice cracked and broke. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about. Their poor, dear children. And poor Emperor Franz Josef! What a dreadful, dreadful shock for him.’
May pushed her chair away from her desk and rose unsteadily to her feet.
George said, ‘I must order a week’s court mourning and send a telegram to the Emperor immediately.’
May nodded agreement. ‘And it would be a caring gesture if you were to make a condolence visit to Ambassador von Mensdorff at the Austrian Embassy.’
‘I’m not sure about that, May. Doing so would be a breach of protocol.’
‘Which is why it would mean so much. Von Mensdorff is a cousin of a kind, because his grandfather was married to one of Granny Queen’s aunts. I think such an action on your part would be much appreciated by him.’
Trusting her judgement, George had done as she suggested and Ambassador von Mensdorff had been deeply touched by the gesture, as May had known he would be.
For nearly a month the usual trouble in the Balkans caused more tension than normal, but nothing too dreadful happened.
Willy was happy with the blank cheque of support that he had given Emperor Franz Josef, the day news of the assassinations had broken. In the following weeks he did a good deal of strutting about in military uniform, wearing a ferocious-looking spiked pickelhaube helmet and spouting inflammatory phrases such as ‘Serbia must pay for this cowardly, detestable crime!’ as he sabre-rattled to his heart’s content. For he was safe in his belief that Austria–Hungary could give the Serbs a short, sharp shock without risking Serbia’s friend, Russia, coming to her defence, for how could Russia do so?
‘Russia isn’t braced for war,’ he said confidently, standing with his legs apart and twirling his moustaches, ‘and Cousin Nicky hasn’t the balls for one.’
He was right in thinking that war with Austria–Hungary – or with any other country – was the last thing on Nicky’s mind. The attack on Rasputin had been so life-threatening that he was still hovering between life and death, which was of very great concern to Alicky.
Nicky’s mother, whose one fervent hope was that Rasputin would shuffle off to hell and never be seen again, announced that she was giving a ball at the Anitchkov Palace.
‘And I’m doing so for the enjoyment of Olga and Tatiana,’ she said waspishly to Nicky. ‘At their ages, they should be attending balls several times a week, not only once in a blue moon. And if Alicky is too sick, too tired, too bored, too busy saying prayers for that fiend Rasputin to attend the ball with them, tell her I quite understand.’
Although a ball given by Minny was the very last thing she wanted to attend, Alicky gritted her teeth and, for Olga and Tatiana’s sakes, accepted the invitation. The girls were ecstatic at the prospect of it, and between his concerns for Rasputin and looking forward to seeing his two eldest daughters knock St Petersburg society for six, the present upheaval in the Balkans barely entered Nicky’s head.
Georgie, too, had more pressing matters on his mind than how Emperor Franz Josef was, or was not, handling the aftermath of the assassinations of his nephew and his wife. Whereas Nicky’s chief concern was Rasputin’s long battle for life in far-off Siberia, Georgie’s was the threat of civil war in Ireland.
‘Ireland,’ he said to his private secretary, Lord Stamfordham, ‘is a bugger. How many more hundreds of years are we to go on being plagued by it?’
‘This time it is a question of the geographical limits that Ulster is to be given, sir,’ Stamfordham said, trying to sound soothing. ‘Not least in relation to Fermanagh and Tyrone.’
If Stamfordham hadn’t been present, George would have torn his hair out. He hadn’t the slightest desire to begin struggling with the political issues of Ireland. All he wanted to do was retreat to his stamp room and slam the door behind him.
‘Tell me again,’ he said, feeling a much-persecuted man, ‘the specific details as regards to Tyrone.’
On 23 July, almost a month after the assassinations, Austria–Hungary sent an ultimatum to Serbia and the focus shifted once again to the Balkans, and did so sharply.
‘An ultimatum? What kind of an ultimatum?’ Willy demanded, once again aboard the Hohenzollern and realizing too late that if it
was a war ultimatum, it was one that he would have to disassociate himself from fast, for Russia would come to Serbia’s aid and might be more braced for war than he had previously given her credit for.
‘The ultimatum states that the assassination plot was one that had been hatched in Belgrade,’ his private secretary said, reading the long cable with great care, ‘and that Serbian officials had been actively involved in it.’
Relief swept through Willy. Those facts had been obvious right from the beginning, and if it had taken the Austrians just shy of a month to set them down on paper, then he was panicking over nothing. The four weeks since Franz Ferdinand and Sophie’s deaths had taken the edge off his initial reaction to them and, volatile as ever, his instinct now was to disassociate himself from the situation.
With that decision made, he waved his private secretary away. He had heard enough, and this time he wasn’t going to hare back to Berlin. He was going to continue with his cruise up the coastline of Norway.
Unlike Willy, Nicky read every last dot and comma on every piece of official paper that crossed his desk, and he certainly did so when he was handed a copy of Austria’s ultimatum. He read the opening accusation about the plot having been hatched in Belgrade and of Serbian officers being involved, then read on to where it stated that all Serb nationalist publications were to be banned, all Serb nationalist societies disbanded, all agitators rounded up, all those involved in the plot brought to trial, and that Austrian officers were to be allowed to enter Serbia and conduct their own investigation and Austria was to oversee all legal actions.
Thinking he must be hallucinating, he read it again and then a third time. The demands were outrageous. No sovereign state could agree to them, and when Serbia didn’t do so, what was Austrian reaction going to be?
Even before he spoke to his Prime Minister, Nicky picked up the phone to speak to Willy, only to be told that the Kaiser was aboard the Hohenzollern and out of telephone contact. He sent a cable asking Willy for his thoughts on the ultimatum. Back came a cable saying that he knew nothing about it, and that the matter was between Austria and Serbia and was nothing to do with Germany. He also sent love and best wishes to Alicky.
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