My Life in Russia’s Service:

Chapter Seven

Exile and Return

A few days after our wedding I left for St. Petersburg to acquaint my father with this fact. He was pleased that we had taken this step, and next day I intended to tell the Emperor. In the evening of the day of my arrival, after dinner, my father, I, and some others were playing bridge when Father’s page announced that Count Fredricks, the Minister of the Court, had come to see him. I knew this late visit was ill-omened and also its meaning, but I did not anticipate the stringency of the measures which had been taken against me. They came as a great blow to all of us.[1]

Count Fredricks’s mission was to the effect that I was to leave Russia within forty-eight hours, that I was to be deprived of all my honours, that I was already struck off the Army and Navy list, and that I was henceforth to be ‘outlawed.

We were dumbfounded by the severity of this decision as the Emperor had at no time indicated or even vaguely hinted at such drastic steps, but had, quite on the contrary, whenever I had mentioned this matter to him, expressed his sincere hope that things could be straightened out. However, all this was condoned later on, as I have already said, and both he and the Empress were always more than kind to Ducky and me after my return from the exile which now began.

The next day Father, who was most indignant about the attitude of his nephew, went to see him, and when he realized that he could not alter anything, handed in his resignation as Commander-in-Chief of the St. Petersburg garrison and military area.[2]

My wife met me in Berlin, whence we went to Coburg. Owing to the draconic measures at St. Petersburg our marriage did not confer on her the title of Grand Duchess although she was an English Princess.

But the sudden vehemence of this storm did not mar our joy of being united at last, and life lay inviting and happy before us.

We spent a delightful winter at Cannes, where we went by car via Strasbourg, where my brother-in-law’s father, Prince Hohenlohe-Langenburg, was Viceroy of Alsace- Lorraine. We stayed a night in his castle in that very beautiful and historical city which has witnessed so many dramas of history.

The three years of exile, and the first three years of our married life, belong to those very intimate and happiest experiences of my life, and in spite of the loss of everything, of my career, my position, and all the rest that the world can give, I had kept what was dearest to me. These years passed quickly as all joy does. We travelled much, generally by car, and saw a good deal of all that is interesting and beautiful.

About January of the year 1907 Ducky was received into the Orthodox Church[3], and on 2 February of that same year she gave birth to our first child, Marie,[i] at the ‘Villa Edinburg,’ in Coburg.

In the autumn of 1908 I was in Paris when I received a telegram announcing the death of my Uncle Alexey Alexandrovitch, and I received permission to return to Russia for his funeral. So, even in death, he had come to my aid as he had always done during his life. His memory will always remain with me as that of one of the most exalted and noble figures which I have ever been fortunate enough to meet, for like his brother, Uncle Sasha, he was the embodiment of the type of our early heroes, a real ‘Bogatyr,’ both in appearance and character.

My brother Boris had obtained the Emperor’s consent for me to wear uniform during the funeral.

Thus Uncle Alexey’s death was the first step on the way to my complete rehabilitation and justification.

I spent two days with my parents and then rejoined Ducky and the baby ‘Masha’ at Cannes.

In the early part of 1909 my father became seriously ill. He died on 13 February of that year. Meanwhile Boris had been working hard for my complete rehabilitation in Russia. A few days before my father’s death I received a short telegram from my mother which read : ‘Ta femme est Grande Duchesse.’ I have it still among the few things which I saved from the wreckage of the Revolution.

These few words meant that all had been restored to me and that I could now return.[4]

Thereafter the Emperor and Empress showed the greatest kindness and sympathy to both of us. I arrived in Russia for Father’s funeral. His death was a great loss to me, for during his life, as I have mentioned previously, he had not only been a loving father but also a kind friend and a source of strength in times of trouble and sorrow; as in the case of Uncle Alexey, his death, too, proved an occasion which led to my restoration. Their last solicitude was for those for whom they cared. They embodied all that is best and noblest in man. Perhaps, had they lived, much of what was to come might have been avoided.

On 9 May 1909 my second daughter, Kyra,[ii]  was born at our Paris house in the avenue Henri Martin.

Soon after her birth I was appointed to the light cruiser Oleg as her second-in-command.

We followed the usual routine of fleet exercises and gunnery in the Baltic until, as was our custom, the whole fleet returned to Kronstadt to be dismantled for its hibernation. The Oleg, however, was ordered to proceed to the Mediterranean, where, as I have said, we kept a few ships as part of the international squadron which guarded the Aegean. Its base was Suda Bay in the island of Crete.

I went overland to Cannes where my wife and the two babies were, and thence to Brindisi, where I joined the Oleg. After an uneventful service at Suda Bay, where we did very little apart from the usual routine, we went to the Piraeus. Of Crete I may say that it is a most interesting island, containing much of that which has the greatest attractions for prehistorians. It is a place rich in the treasures of an extraordinary and unique civilization of pre- classical days. I regret not to have seen the palace of Knossus and the other remarkable remnants of the Aegean culture which seems to have been very much in advance of its time. When I visited Crete, archaeologists had scarcely begun to investigate it thoroughly, but since then much has been brought to light which suggests that this island civilization had at one time an enormous influence on the whole of the Mediterranean basin, even on Egypt and distant Spain.

On 18 April 1910 I was promoted to the rank of Captain.

My wife was in Athens when the Oleg called at the Piraeus, and I was given leave by the Emperor to take her to Toulon on board my ship. From Toulon she was to return to St. Petersburg with the babies, who had been in Cannes, while I continued with the Oleg on our homeward voyage.

Our arrivals in Russia were simultaneous—hers with the babies in the capital and mine at Kronstadt on the Oleg. It was our first meeting on Russian soil and the beginning of our married life there.

This was in May 1910. We were given the use of the ‘Cavalier’s House’ (Kavalersky Dom) in Tsarskoe Selo. It was a splendid and very comfortable building with spacious rooms.

We settled down to a quiet family life. There were, of course, Court functions and social activities to attend, but they were, if I may use the expression, of a mild kind and nothing to compare with the brilliant occasions of Uncle Sasha’s reign and those of the early years of the late Emperor’s rule, except the Jubilee festivities held in 1913 in honour of the three hundredth anniversary of the accession of the first Romanoff Tsar to the throne of Russia. In the autumn of the same year I joined the Naval Academy, which was our nearest approach to Greenwich, where Naval officers received advanced instruction in various special subjects or else were prepared for Admiralty work. I was for two years a student at the Academy—from 1910 until 1912, when I finished my instruction there.

Car-owning members of the nobility of the Baltic provinces of Russia had organized an Automobile Club and had arranged annual motor rallies which were called the ‘Victoria Fahrt’ in honour of my wife. It was a very well organized affair and an enjoyable occasion, during which many of the famous castles of those three provinces were visited. We were semi-officially received by its members and were very hospitably entertained by the owners of the castles which lay on our route. I was especially struck by the great beauty of some parts of Livonia. One of the castles we visited was Cremon, the property of Pavel Pavlovitch Lieven, and I remember it particularly well as it stands amongst splendid surroundings overlooking the beautiful valley of the River Aa. The influence of the occupation of those countries by the Teutonic Order[iii] and the Swedes from the thirteenth century till 1721, when Peter the Great conquered them from Charles XII, gives them a half-German, half- Scandinavian aspect with their neat country houses, farms, and churches. Riga, which was the capital of Livonia, has a striking resemblance to a North German seaport, and was at that time one of our major ports and factory towns. The harbour was teeming with shipping, and great Russian trade flowed to it along the railways and thence by sea to the West. Its old quarter contains very picturesque corners with houses from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and three fine churches built in Hanseatic style.

From Riga, Ducky and I continued our journey by car to Germany and Coburg. 

In the early spring of 1912 I finished my work in the Naval Academy and received the command of the Oleg. When I joined her at Libau she was still icebound with the other ships of our fleet. To us all this ice and snow which is now so exalted through the modem craze for winter sports was a veritable curse. It interfered with everything. We waited for the ice to break and when that happened put out to sea. This, in a way, was my first command, although I had had a ship of my own when we lost our captain on the Nahimov. However, this was at last a command in my own right. I had laboured up the ladder with the rest. I had faced with them the perils and hardships of the sea and had tasted of the favours and the sudden responsibilities which the sea brings to those who are hers, and of the terrors of death too, and now I had reached the fulfilment of an ambition—I had a ship of my own. Yet my experiences at Port Arthur had impressed themselves with rather unfortunate results upon me. I had a dread of the sea for many years after. It was a very natural psychological reaction, and it was unfortunate because it constantly interfered with my career.

The vision of that gurgling maelstrom, the dark depth of the swirling whirlpools and the roaring blast of air issuing from the sinking ship as it pulled hundreds down with her while they were swarming about on the capsizing hull, was often with me in my dreams, and whenever I was on water I was haunted by the spectre of the disaster. It was many years before it left me.

During the early summer of that year we joined in the exercises of our Baltic fleet under the command of Admiral Essen, who had completely reorganized our Navy on the most modem lines. Our fleet had been put on a completely new footing and was very efficient in every detail. We had learnt our lesson from the Japanese War and owed it to the Admiral’s energy and thoroughness that our fleet was at that time, for its size, one of the best in the world.

In July of 1912 the Olympic Games, which had been held for the first time after an interval of two thousand years at Athens—in 1910, I think—were to be held in Stockholm. The idea apparently was the same as among the ancients, it was to remind Europe that in spite of territorial differences the various nations were yet members of the same family and civilization.

I was appointed by the Emperor to be the delegate of the Russian Empire.

I went to Stockholm on board the Oleg. King Gustavus paid us an official visit on board. He wore the uniform of a Russian Admiral, and as such I received him. As captain of the cruiser I reported to him in Russian; the King smiled and said that my words did not convey anything to him, but that he was sure that my report was correct.  Ducky was on our Admiralty yacht at the time and we enjoyed ourselves splendidly in that beautiful island city.

My cousin, the Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna, was married to Prince William of Sweden and was Duchess of Söedermanland. We joined with them in the many social activities and yachted among the skerries in the lovely surroundings of the capital with their myriads of pine- clad granite islands. 

When this thoroughly gay and delightful visit came to an end I took the Oleg back to our side of the Baltic, where we continued our exercises and gunnery practice.

In the late autumn of that year I was ordered with my ship to the Mediterranean, but before reaching Reval the ‘evil’ which pursued me in the shape of that ghastly and haunting awe of the sea came upon me once again with all its force. I had to leave my ship. It was a sad experience for me thus to be forced to abandon my first command; however, it had to be done.[5]

Ducky joined me at Reval and we spent two very happy weeks at the country place of the Orloff-Davidoffs near that interesting medieval town. From their house there was a magnificent view of the bay of Reval.

The property belonged to the family of the Countess, who before her marriage had been Baroness Thekla Stael. Their son, Serge, married the Hon. Elizabeth Scott-Ellis, one of the charming daughters of Lord and Lady Howard de Walden, in 193$.

I was to rejoin my ship in the Mediterranean, and left for the south of France in the company of my wife. When I was about to board a German steamer at Marseilles, which was to take me to Port Said where the Oleg was at the time, a ‘holy terror’ of the sea again overtook me, and I must admit that it was absolutely impossible for me to set foot on board.

I had a motor yacht building for me in Southampton at the time, where Messrs. Thornycrofts had just begun work on it, and I was very keen on going to England to see how it was progressing.

Accordingly I went to Paris to catch the boat train there, but when I entered the train the very thought of having to cross the channel so overwhelmed me that I had to abandon the journey. The haunting spectre of the sea chased me mercilessly and brought my career afloat to a conclusion. I could do nothing whatever against it. I have faced death and much danger, but against this malady I could summon nothing to come to my aid. 

A strange individual had entered into the close surroundings of the Imperial Family, it was Rasputin.[iv]  [6]About him a great deal of untruth has been written. The Emperor and Empress have been unjustly criticized with regard to this man.

Although I personally have never come into contact with him, yet I am in a position to say that his presence in the intimate ‘entourage’ of the Imperial couple had its perfectly reasonable explanation. The heir to the throne, the Czarevitch, was an only son. His parents were naturally greatly attached to him. Unfortunately he was an haemophilic and whenever he cut or hurt himself in any way which caused loss of blood, it was impossible to stop the bleeding. All the celebrities of the medical world had been consulted, but in vain. The Emperor and Empress were desperate in the presence of this incurable ill and realized that science was unable to save the child. The heir to the throne was doomed.

Precisely how Rasputin came to the capital I do not know. The fact is that he was introduced to the Emperor and Empress by someone who was on intimate terms with them.

A native of a township of no great importance in Siberia, he had lost his parents early in childhood, and was brought up by some monks together with other orphans. When he was old enough to earn his living he followed many professions, and seems to have led a vagrant existence.

He is supposed to have attracted attention to himself by various cures which he effected among the peasantry of the region of his origin, and this, in the popular mind, was associated with sanctity.

He was neither a saint nor a monk, nor, indeed, mad. He was quite simply a very healthy and canny Russian peasant with an unusual gift for which science has hitherto found no explanation, but which is more frequently to be found among primitive peoples than among those who have been touched by civilization.

The fact remains that when Rasputin was called to the bedside of my ailing nephew, he was able to stop the internal bleeding and the terrible pains that accompanied it. What methods he used I know not. The fact remains that he alone succeeded where all others failed, and because he was indispensable he was used by many of the satellites of the Court for their own purposes. He had risen straight from the people to an important position in the capital. This went to his head. Such a rapid rise to fame and power was bound to produce this effect. He was spoilt by the good things of life to which he was not used. He knew the credulity of people and played the saint. In his private life he was immoral, but at Court his good conduct left nothing to be desired. In his dealings with the Emperor and Empress he was perfectly natural and well-behaved.

It may be said to his credit that he had the common sense of a peasant to remain to his end a son of the people to whose cause he was always greatly attached. He was often approached by various people for honours and advancements. The whole Rasputin episode has been greatly exaggerated.[7] Those who consulted him and sought his company were seeking to curry' favour, and the flattery and admiration thoroughly demoralized this peasant, as was only natural for a man of his extraction. Meanwhile the Czarevitch lived, and that was the most essential thing to the Imperial couple. They have not deserved the calumny which has been poured over them because of Rasputin.

In 1913 the three hundredth year of the accession of Michael, the first Russian Czar of our dynasty, was celebrated. 

During the rule of the Romanoffs, Russia emerged from an almost unknown entity in the north-east of Europe to become a great world power.

Russia’s rise to a position of world power was not only due to the dynamic genius of a Peter the Great, but to the constancy also with which his ancestors and successors untiringly applied themselves to the historical mission which was theirs, to make and to keep Russia great and strong among the peoples of the world.

Russia and they are inseparable. They are linked together in one destiny, even though for the time being this work has been interrupted—and twenty-one years in our history is but a brief spell. Countries, like individuals, are bred through certain experiences which are part of the moulding process of history, and although it is hard to discern the real meaning of great sorrows with which nations and individuals are afflicted, yet when time has passed, the whole pattern of the scheme, only the details of which are now visible, will unfold itself clearly before one and show why this path of Calvary was necessary. 

The Jubilee festivities had attracted to the capital the representatives of all the Russian provinces. There were the delegates from our Asiatic possessions in their picturesque national dress, and hundreds of others from this vast country which counted about fifty various peoples among its population. Once again the great beacon of our country’s glory flared up before it was to be extinguished for a time, and before sorrow and dismal darkness were to replace its light, and the fine structure of our glorious Empire was to be made into a heap of ruins and ashes; yet among these ashes the spark still smoulders, and one day, like the phoenix, out of them the new Russia will rise to an even greater glory and strength, to continue on the path of her destiny and to fulfil among the peoples of the world the task which Heaven assigned to her.

During the same year I was sent by the Emperor to unveil the memorial[8] to the Russian and Allied soldiers who fell fighting at the battle of Leipzig, called the Battle of the Nations, which was the beginning of the deliverance of Europe and Napoleon’s downfall.

Towards the end of July 1914 my motor yacht arrived from Southampton with an English engineer and crew of our Naval Guards. Ducky and I did a little cruising on it in the Bay of Finland and then went to take part in the annual motor rally in the Baltic provinces. That year it was even a greater affair than usual. We went from castle to castle and finished up at Riga, where a gala banquet was given for us in the fashionable Strandt Restaurant of that hospitable city. We were to go to Coburg the next day and had made all the necessary preparations for going to Germany, when suddenly during the banquet the Governor-General, M. Zvegintzov[9], made his appearance and read a telegram to the effect that Germany had declared war on us.

This news produced the effect of a bomb on the gay gathering. I must admit that it came most unexpectedly, even more so than the Japanese war. It appears that the Emperor, who was always solicitous for peace and goodwill among the nations, had fought to the last for peace, but that his ministers, and these were often his misfortune and in the end the cause of his tragedy, presented the international situation in a way that suited their purposes best, but which was neither to the interest of the Emperor and his policy nor that of the Russian people.

Our army was still in the process of reorganization and was by no means ready to engage Germany’s military machine with much hope of success. We had just emerged less than ten years before from the disastrous war with Japan and from a revolution which, though it shook the structure of the Empire badly, had not led to its collapse, but it gave some indication of the kind of thing that lay in store for us in case of another unsuccessful war.

We left Riga for Tsarskoe in Count Sergey Schouvalov’s[10] car. He was an excellent driver but apt to be reckless at times. Fearful commotion and chaos reigned on the roads, which were teeming with people, cattle, and horses. Reservists were moving to the various rallying points, and mobilization was in full swing.

Either at Luga or Pskov we managed to get onto a train, as it was impossible to make any headway by road. They were blocked with traffic which became worse the nearer we came to Pskov. The railways, too, were in a chaotic state and we deemed ourselves fortunate to be able to complete the rest of the journey in a third-class carriage.

Footnotes

(2024)

[1] Kirill would not get the chance to see the Emperor.  Fredericks told him that he was banished and was to depart Russia immediately.  He was stripped of his title of Grand Duke, his naval rank, and his income.  His marriage would not be recognized, and neither his wife nor any eventual issue would be considered members of the dynasty.  The outcry from the Vladimirs and other sympathetic family members was quick, and Nicholas restored Kirill’s title of Grand Duke even before it was legally stripped from him, writing to his mother; “I telegraphed Uncle Vladimir saying that I was restoring Kirill’s title, deciding to use the occasion of your little Grandson’s name day.  According to those whose opinions I have sought, the three remaining penalties are sufficient, as long as they are in place a long time. Ouf! What tiresome unpleasant days these have been.  Now that the whole thing has been decided it is a weight off my shoulders.  It would be interesting to know what Aunt Miechen thinks? How she must have hated us!”   (Maylunas, p. 282.). With this statement that the penalties were only to last “a long time,” we note that the Emperor intended these punishments to be temporary, rather than permenant.

[2] Grand Duke Vladimir had a meeting with the Emperor on 2 October (OS), in which Nicholas noted: “Had a conversation with U[ncle]. Vladimir about the consequences of Kirill and Ducky's wedding.” Reacting badly, Grand Duke Vladimir returned on the 27th (OS) and resigned his posts.  Nicholas noted merely: “Today there were several changes: U[ncle]. Vladimir left, Nikolasha was appointed in his place.”

[3] Wednesday, 30th January, 1907.

[4] On July 11, 1907, Nicholas issued an Ukaz’ to the Synod of Bishops recognizing the marriage and rendering the union of Kirill and Victoria canonically valid, signed by himself and countersigned by Baron Fredericks.  Following that, on July 15, the Emperor made the decree instructing the Senate to regularize their restored status.

[5] The ‘evil’ Grand Duke Kirill reports appear to be PTSD Flashbacks, which can be indistinguishable to the sufferer from an actual previous traumatic event, debilitating them.

[6] “Rasputin”. Grigorii Efimovich Rasputin-Novy (Russian, b. 1869-1916) was a peasant born peasants in the Siberian village of Pokrovskoye, which was located on the banks of the Tura river in Tyumensky Uyezd in Tobolsk Governorate (present-day Yarkovsky District in Tyumen Oblast). A Strannik, or wandering holy man, Grigorii had no religious education and took no holy orders. Around 1897 he took a pilgrimage which changed his life, and by 1903/04 he had arrived in ST. Petersburg where he attracted a following of mystical and spiritually obsessed aristocrats and lesser members of the Imperial Family which included the "Black Princesses", Militsa and Anastasia of Montenegro, who had married cousins of the Emperor. Rasputin met the Emperor and Empress on November I 1905, during a period of familial and political crisis, and it soon became evident that the peasant was helpful to the haemophiliac Tsesarevich. Rasputin’s personal life was a subject of controversy, and rumors about his behavior cast a shadow over the waning reputation of the Emperor and Empress.  The perception of his influence was exaggerated, and his influence over politics was perceived as enormous.  He was murdered in December 1916 by a group which included Prince Felix Yusupov, husband of the Emperor’s niece Irina, and Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, the Emperor’s first cousin.

[7] In this estimation, Grand Duke Kirill has been proven utterly correct by contemporary scholarship. (cf. Douglas Smith’s seminal “Rasputin: Faith, Power, and the Twilight of the Romanovs.” Farrar, Straus and Giroux: New York, 2016, and Joseph T. Fuhrmann, Rasputin: The Untold Story, Wiley: New York, 2012.

[8] The Monument to the Battle of the Nations (German: Völkerschlachtdenkmal) in Leipzig, Germany, is a monument to the 1813 Battle of Leipzig, also known as the Battle of the Nations. The opening ceremony on the 18th of October 1913 was in the presence of about 100,000 people including the German Kaiser, and all the reigning sovereign rulers of the German states, as well as representatives of the allied nations, including Russia.

[9] “M. Zvegintsov”  The Grand Duke refers to Nikolay Aleksandrovich Zvegintsov (Russian, b. 1848-1920) Educated at the Nikolaevskii Cavalry School , from whence on August 7, 1865 he was released as a cornet in the Cavalier Guard Regiment, and was elevated to lieutenant (1866), staff captain (1868), captain (1872). In 1882 his work shifted from military to court service when he was elected Voronezh provincial marshal of the nobility . On December 20, 1901 he was appointed Governor of Smolensk, iIn 1903 he was appointed Privy Councilor, and in 1905 he was transferred to the post of Governor of the Livonian province (now Latvia), which he held until 1914. In 1910 he was granted the rank of Court Chamberlan.  After the revolution he fled to Denmark, where he died in Copenhagen on December 9 , 1920 .

[10] “Count Sergey Schouvalov” This appears to be a lapse of the Grand Duke’s memory.  It appears that the Grand Duke refers to Count Alexander (Sasha) Pavlovich Shuvalov (Russian b. 1881-1935) who was a master of Court Ceremonies (церемонимейстер) and an accomplished automobile enthusiast who accompanied the Grand Duke to Riga as part of his suite.  Count Alexander Pavlovich was married to Elena Pavlovna Demidova (Russian b. 1884-1959).

Original Footnotes

(1939)

[i] Princess Marie Leiningen ; Grand Duchess Marie Kirillovna married Prince Frederick Charles Leiningen in 1925.

[ii] Grand Duchess Kira Kirillovna of Russia, married, 1938, Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, second son and heir of the Crown Prince.

[iii] Teutonic Order (Deutscher Orden).

The Teutonic Order came to the coasts of Livonia in about the year 1225 and conquered what were later to become Courland,  Livonia, and Estonia, where the Order established itself until the end of the sixteenth century. In about the year 1585- the Order was secularized, Livonia becoming a Polish province; Courland a vassal duchy of Poland, whilst Estonia submitted to the Swedes. In 1621 the then Polish province of Livonia was conquered by King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. Later, on the signature of the Treaty of Nystad, Sweden ceded Estonia and Livonia to Russia.

[iv] Born in 1871 in a village near Tobolsk, Siberia.