JOURNEYS TO THE CRIMEA AND RUMANIA--PRESIDENT POINCARÉ’S
VISIT--DECLARATION OF WAR BY GERMANY
(APRIL-JULY, 1914)
In the spring of 1914 the Imperial family went to the Crimea, as in
preceding years. We arrived at Livadia on April 13th, a bright, sunny
day. In fact, we were almost dazzled by the sunshine, which bathed the
high, steep cliffs, the little Tartar villages half buried in the bare
sides of the mountains, and the staring white mosques which stood out
sharply against the old cypresses in the cemeteries. The contrast with
the landscapes we had just left was so striking that, although this new
country was familiar, it seemed quite fairylike and unreal in its
wondrous beauty under this halo of sunshine.
These spring days in the Crimea were a delicious relief after the
interminable St. Petersburg winter, and we looked forward to them months
before they came.
On the excuse of settling in, we all took holiday the first few days,
and used it to enjoy this marvel of nature to the full. Then regular
lessons were resumed. My colleague, M. Petroff, accompanied us as
before.
Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s health had improved in recent months; he had
grown a good deal, and he looked so well that we were all in high
spirits.
On May 8th the Czar, wishing to give his son a treat, decided that we
should take advantage of a day which promised to be particularly sunny
to pay a visit to the “Red Rock.” We left in a car, the party comprising
the Czar, the Czarevitch, an officer from the _Standard_, and myself.
The sailor Derevenko and the cossack on duty followed in another car. We
gradually ascended the slopes of the Jaila mountains through beautiful
forests of pine-trees, whose enormous trunks rose tall and majestic to
the leafy dome above them. We soon reached the end of our journey--a
huge rock sheer above the valley, and looking as if it had grown rusty
in the course of ages.
The day was so fine that the Czar decided to continue the drive. We
descended the northern slopes of the Jaila mountains. There was still
plenty of snow about, and Alexis Nicolaïevitch had huge fun sliding on
it. He ran round us, skipping about, rolling in the snow and picking
himself up, only to fall again a few seconds later. It seemed as if his
lively nature and _joie de vivre_ had never been displayed to better
advantage before. The Czar watched his son’s frolics with obvious
pleasure. You could see how happy he was to realise that the boy had
recovered the health and strength of which he had been deprived so long.
Yet he was still haunted by the fear of accidents, and every now and
then he intervened to moderate his transports. Although he never so much
as referred to the disease to which the Heir was a victim, it caused him
perpetual anxiety and concern.
The day drew to a close, and we were quite sorry to have to start back.
The Czar was in high spirits during the drive. We had an impression that
this holiday devoted to his son had been a tremendous pleasure to him.
For a few hours he had escaped from his Imperial duties and the
attentions, exquisitely
[Illustration: EXCURSION TO THE “RED ROCK” ON MAY 8TH. (THE CRIMEA,
SPRING OF 1914.)]
[Illustration: THE FOUR GRAND-DUCHESSES (LEFT TO RIGHT: ANASTASIE, OLGA,
TATIANA, AND MARIE). STANDARD, 1914.
{_Facing page 92._]
polite though they were, of those about him. Thanks to the fact that
this little trip had been quite impromptu, he had even dodged the
vigilant care of the palace police, a thing he felt was always about him
(though this duty was performed in the discreetest possible manner), and
hated thoroughly. For once, at any rate, he had been able to live like
an ordinary mortal. He seemed rested and relieved.
In ordinary times the Czar did not see much of his children. His work
and the demands of Court life prevented him from giving them as much
time as he would have wished. He had handed over their bringing-up
entirely to the Czarina, and in the short time he spent with them in
family intimacy he liked to enjoy their company without restraint and
with a mind free from all cares. At such times he wanted to be free of
the immense burden of responsibility upon his shoulders. He wanted to be
simply the father and forget that he was the Czar.
Nothing of any importance occurred to break the monotony of our life
during the following weeks.
About the end of May there were rumours at Court that the Grand-Duchess
Olga Nicolaïevna was about to be betrothed to Prince Carol of
Rumania.[18] She was then eighteen and a half. The parents on both sides
seemed in favour of the match, which was very desirable at that moment
on political grounds also. I knew that M. Sazonoff, the Minister for
Foreign Affairs, was doing his utmost to bring about the betrothal and
that the final arrangements were to be made during a visit which the
Russian Imperial family were to pay to Rumania in the immediate future.
One day at the beginning of June when I was alone with Olga Nicolaïevna
she suddenly asked me a question with that confident and disingenuous
frankness which was all her own and the legacy of the relations which
had been established between us when she was quite a little girl:
“Tell me the truth, monsieur: do you know why we are going to Rumania?”
In some confusion I replied:
“I believe it’s a courtesy visit. The Czar is going to return the visit
the King of Rumania paid him some time back.”
“Oh, that’s the official reason ... but what’s the real reason? I know
you are not supposed to know, but I’m sure everyone is talking about it
and that you know it....”
As I nodded in assent, she added:
“All right! But if I don’t wish it, it won’t happen. Papa has promised
not to make me ... and I don’t want to leave Russia.”
“But you could come back as often as you like.”
“I should still be a foreigner in my own country. I’m a Russian, and
mean to remain a Russian!”
On June 13th we embarked on the Imperial yacht _Standard_ at Yalta, and
the next morning we arrived at Constanza, the great Rumanian port on the
Black Sea where the celebrations were to take place. On the quay a
company of infantry with its colours and band received us with military
honours, while a battery of artillery posted on the hill above the fort
gave us the prescribed salute. All the ships in the harbour had their
flags out.
Their Majesties were received by the old King Carol, Queen Elizabeth
(“Carmen Sylva”), and the princes and princesses of the royal family.
After the customary presentations we went to the Cathedral, where a _Te
Deum_ was celebrated by the Bishop of the Lower Danube. At one o’clock
the members of the two families took luncheon together privately, while
the suite were the guests of the President of the Council of Ministers.
The royal luncheon was served in the pavilion which “Carmen Sylva” had
had built at the pierhead. It was one of her favourite residences, and
she spent a considerable part of every year there. She was fond of
sitting for hours, “listening to the sea,” on the terrace which seemed
suspended between the sky and the waves, where the great sea-birds only
could break in on her solitude.
In the afternoon Their Majesties gave an At Home on board the _Standard_
and then attended a great review.
At eight o’clock in the evening we all assembled for the gala banquet,
which was served in a beautiful room built for the purpose. It was
certainly charmingly decorated, with its ceiling and walls of white
stucco sown with little electric lamps most tastefully disposed and its
palms and plants and profusion of well-arranged flowers. The whole thing
was a blend of colour and line which was highly pleasing to the eye.
The Czar, with Queen Elizabeth on one side and Princess Marie[19] on the
other, was in the centre of a long table at which eighty-four guests
were seated. The Czarina sat opposite him, between King Carol and Prince
Ferdinand.[20] Olga Nicolaïevna was next to Prince Carol, and replied
with her usual natural charm to his questions. The three other
Grand-Duchesses, who found it none too easy to conceal their boredom on
such occasions, lost no chances of leaning to wards me and indicating
their sister with a sly wink.
Towards the end of the meal, which proceeded with the usual ceremonial,
the King rose to give the Czar a toast of welcome. He spoke in French,
but with a strong German accent. The Czar replied, also in French. He
spoke pleasantly, in a musical, well-modulated voice. When dinner was
over we went into another room, where Their Majesties went round talking
to the guests, and those to whom this favour was not accorded lost no
time in collecting in groups as affinity or mere chance dictated. But
the evening was cut short, as the _Standard_ had to leave Constanza the
same day. An hour later the yacht put to sea and set sail for Odessa.
The next day I heard that the scheme for the marriage had been
abandoned, or at any rate indefinitely postponed. Olga Nicolaïevna had
won.[21]
On the morning of June 15th we arrived at Odessa. The Czar reviewed the
troops of the garrison, who were presented to him by General Ivanoff,
commanding this military area.
The next day we stopped for several hours at Kishineff in Bessarabia in
order to be present at the unveiling of a monument to the memory of
Alexander I., and on the 18th we returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo. Two days
later the Czar was visited by the King of Saxony, who came to thank him
for his appointment as honorary colonel of one of the regiments of his
Guard. During the visit the troops paraded before the palace. It was the
only ceremony which marked the King’s short stay. On June 23rd he bade
farewell to the Imperial family.[22]
Shortly afterwards we left for Peterhof, where we embarked on July 14th
for a short cruise in the fjords of Finland. The _Alexandria_[23] took
us from Peterhof to Cronstadt, where the _Standard_ was waiting for us.
As we were going on board the Czarevitch jumped at the wrong moment, and
his ankle caught the bottom of the ladder leading to the deck. At first
I thought this accident would have no ill effects, but towards evening
the boy began to be in pain and his sufferings rapidly increased.
Everything pointed to a serious crisis.
When I woke next morning we were in the heart of a Finnish fjord. It was
an exquisite spot. The sea was deep emerald green, flaked with white by
the waves, and dotted with small islands of red granite crowned with
pines whose trunks flashed in the sunshine. In the middle distance was
the shore, with its long fringe of yellow sand and its dark green
forests which stretched away to the horizon.
I went down to Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s room. He had had a very bad night.
The Czarina and Dr. Botkin were with him, but quite powerless to
alleviate his terrible sufferings.[24]
The day passed sullenly and slowly. Since the previous evening I had
noticed that the suite were a prey to unwonted excitement. I asked
Colonel D---- what the cause was, and learned that there had been an
attack on Rasputin and that his life was in danger. He had gone to
Siberia a fortnight before, and on his arrival at his own village,
Pokrovskoïe, had been stabbed in the stomach by a young woman. The wound
might be fatal. There was great excitement on board, whisperings and
mysterious confabulations which suddenly stopped whenever anyone
suspected of being an adherent of Rasputin came near. Everyone else was
inspired by a lively hope of being at last delivered from that baneful
influence, but no one dare reveal his joy too openly. The villainous
_moujik_ seemed to have nine lives, and he might recover.[25]
* * * * *
On the 19th we returned to Peterhof, where the President of the French
Republic was expected. Our cruise was only interrupted, and we were to
resume our voyage after he left. Alexis Nicolaïevitch had taken a turn
for the better in the last two days, but he was still unable to walk,
and he had to be carried off the yacht.
In the afternoon of the next day the cruiser _La France_ arrived in
Cronstadt harbour with the French President on board. The Czar was there
to receive him. They returned to Peterhof together, and M. Poincaré was
taken to the apartments prepared for him in the palace. In the evening a
gala banquet was given in his honour, and the Czarina and the
ladies-in-waiting were present.
For four days the President of the French Republic was the guest of
Nicholas II., and many ceremonies marked his short visit. He made an
excellent impression upon the Czar, a fact which I was able to prove to
my own satisfaction under the following circumstances.
M. Poincaré had been invited to the Imperial luncheon-table, where he
was the sole guest. He was received without the slightest formality into
the family circle at the little Alexandria Cottage.
When the meal was over the Czarevitch came and showed me, not without
considerable pride, the ribbon of the Legion of Honour which the
President of the Republic had just given him. We then went out into the
park, and in a few minutes we were joined by the Czar.
“Do you know, I’ve just been talking to M. Poincaré about you?” he said
in his usual affable manner. “He had spoken to Alexis and asked me who
had taught him French. He is a remarkable man, with a splendid
intellect, and a brilliant talker. That’s always useful; but what I like
most is that there is nothing of the diplomat about him.[26] He is not
reticent, but plain-spoken and frank, and wins one’s confidence at once.
If only we could do without diplomacy humanity would make immense
strides.”
On July 23rd the President left Cronstadt for Stockholm, immediately
after a dinner given in Their Majesties’ honour on the _La France_.
The next day, to our utter amazement, we learned that Austria had
presented an ultimatum to Serbia on the previous evening.[27] I met the
Czar in the park in the afternoon. He was preoccupied, but did not seem
anxious.
On the 25th an Extraordinary Council was held at Krasnoïe-Selo in the
Czar’s presence. It was decided to pursue a policy of dignified but firm
conciliation. The Press was extremely angry at the step taken by
Austria.
The next few days the tone of the Press became increasingly violent.
Austria was accused of desiring to annihilate Serbia. Russia could not
let the little Slav state be overwhelmed. She could not tolerate an
Austro-Hungarian supremacy in the Balkans. The national honour was at
stake.
Yet while tempers were rising and the diplomats were setting the
machinery of all the chancellories in motion, heartrending telegrams
left Alexandria Cottage for distant Siberia, where Rasputin was slowly
recovering from his wound in the hospital at Tioumen.[28] They were
nearly all of the same tenor: “We are horrified at the prospect of war.
Do you think it is possible? Pray for us. Help us with your counsel.”
Rasputin would reply that war must be avoided at any cost if the worst
calamities were not to overtake the dynasty and the Empire.
This advice was consonant with the dearest wish of the Czar, whose
pacific intentions could not be doubted for a moment. We had only to see
him during that terrible last week of July to realise what mental and
moral torture he had passed through. But the moment had come when the
ambition and perfidy of Germany were to steel him against his own last
hesitation and sweep everything with them into the whirlpool.
In spite of all the offers of mediation and the fact that the Russian
Government had suggested closing the incident by direct negotiations
between St. Petersburg and Vienna, we learned on July 29th that general
mobilisation had been ordered in Austria. The next day we heard of the
bombardment of Belgrade, and on the following day Russia replied with
the mobilisation of her whole army. In the evening of that day Count
Pourtalès, the German Ambassador at St. Petersburg, called to inform M.
Sazonoff that his Government would give Russia twelve hours in which to
stop her mobilisation, failing which Germany would mobilise in turn.[29]
The twelve hours granted to Russia in the ultimatum expired at noon on
Saturday, August 1st. Count Pourtalès, however, did not appear at the
Ministry for Foreign Affairs until the evening. He was shown in to
Sazonoff, and then formally handed him Germany’s declaration of war on
Russia. It was ten minutes past seven. The irreparable step had been
taken.