My Life in Russia’s Service:

Chapter Three

eastward Bound

In the early spring of 1897[1] I went to Cannes with my brother Boris.

I have special reason to mention this visit to the South of France, because it was on this occasion that I met Queen Victoria for the first time. She was staying at the famous Hôtel Cimiez in Nice.

We called on Uncle Alfred, the Duke of Edinburgh, at his Chateau Fabron, and on his suggestion we accompanied him to be introduced to the old Queen. Uncle Alfred, incidentally, was very proud of his Russian relations, and liked them to meet members of the English Royal Family. We lunched with Queen Victoria, whom we found very amiable. She made a very favourable impression upon me—there was something quite distinctive about her, which only a strong personality can convey on the first acquaintance. I believe that Princess Beatrice of Battenberg was one of those who took part at that luncheon, and there was, of course, her indispensable Indian servant. More than this very general picture of that first meeting has not remained in my memory.

On my return to Russia I joined the Rossya.[i] [2] She had been just commissioned, but was not yet out of the hands of engineers and workmen. My appointment to this latest addition to our Navy was most welcome, as she was not only brand-new but a complete novelty in marine engineering at that time.

She had been built in our shipyards by Russian engineers, and was the prototype of many famous ships in Russia and abroad which were improvements of her type. Moreover, it was on the Rossya that I was to have my first experiences as naval officer.

Her special features, the ones which made her at that time unique and the first of her kind, were her long range of action, her heavy armaments and speed, all ingeniously combined. In every way she was a masterpiece of skill.

As the units of the Russian Navy were stationed at immense distances from each other, from the Baltic to the Pacific Ocean, and in the Black Sea, long-range ships were essential to us; that was the object of her designers, who had provided her with unusually large bunkers. These bunkers, however, in no way interfered with the other features of the ship, nor did they disturb or affect her general purpose and utility. And in this lay the secret of her success.

She was armed, moreover, with 8-inch and 6-inch guns, and had two excellent engines of the reciprocating pattern and boilers of the Belle-Ville type. In addition she carried a smaller auxiliary engine, which was of little use to us, apart from providing us with much fun in the mess. It was jocularly suggested that this ‘appendix’ should be removed, and its vacant space made into a swimming-pool. On board a man-of-war every inch is valuable, and for that reason this auxiliary engine was later on dispensed with. The Rossya's comforts were great. We were, I believe, the first man-of-war to carry a meat refrigerator and an apparatus for making ice. Apart from this, we had our bakery, which supplied us with fresh bread every morning.

The Rossya made a great impression in the world, and I believe that the Terrible and Powerful were Great Britain’s reply to her.

There was an unholy din from morning till night on her decks and in her innermost parts. A constant hammering, clattering, and banging, amplified by the rattling of pneumatic drills and the clatter and thuds of steel against steel, gave one the impression that a legion of devils had been let loose on her. There were painters, engineers, and workmen running and bustling each other—an impossible noise and feverish activity! They were in a hurry to put the last touches to her, as she was to be our emissary to the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. We were new to her and to each other, everything was new, and it took some time to get used to this environment. Her captain, whom I will have occasion to mention later, had chosen his officers and crew from among the very best elements of our fleet.

At last all was ready and we left on our maiden voyage, our mission to England. After an uneventful passage by way of Jutland, we put in at Devonport to receive a new coat of paint to make us spick and span for the Spithead review.

A few days after our arrival, I left for London, where I stayed during the Jubilee celebrations with Uncle Alfred and Aunt Marie at Clarence House. They had with them their daughter Victoria Melita, then Grand Duchess of Hesse, who was to become my future wife, their son, Cousin Alfred, and my uncle the Grand Duke Serge[ii] and his beautiful wife, the Grand Duchess Elizabeth, sister of the late Empress. I occupied rooms on the same floor as Cousin Alfred, and remember performing to him on a very ancient piano which he had in his drawing-room, for we both had musical tastes.

The Jubilee procession to St. Paul’s impressed me as a magnificent affair; it reminded me not a little of our Coronation at Moscow, although it was, possibly, even on a larger scale.

There was the usual great concourse of foreign royalty all in their special and brilliant uniforms, to which the exotic dress of the Indian princes lent an air of pleasing variety; all this, together with the magnificent line of carriages and the mounted escorts, was a picture representing the glories of Britain at the time of her great splendour.

The weather, too, was perfectly suited for this great occasion. The crowds were immense—millions of them lined the route along which this brilliant array pursued its course to the City. The cheers of those crowds were overwhelming—they resounded like thunder.

I would have enjoyed the occasion considerably more had it not been for a very violent attack of hay fever, an evil to which I have always been prone. It made things difficult for me, as I had to guide my horse with one hand and hold my handkerchief with the other.

The late King Edward VII, then Prince of Wales, led this cavalcade.

Jubilee Day was succeeded by a continuous series of parties and balls. I found the great Court balls at Buckingham Palace a little tedious and somewhat too pompous, but I will always remember them for one thing which made them outstanding. There was the élite of English beauties there, the names of only a few of whom I now remember. There was the Duchess of Sutherland[3], with whom I danced—she was my senior in years, but I was struck by her magnificent appearance—and the ladies Dudley and de Gray[4], all thoroughly representative of the just reputation for beauty with which British women are endowed.

All these and many of the others whom I saw on these brilliant occasions, the flower of Society and of the late ’nineties, made an unforgettable impression on me. I danced a great deal and amused myself excellently at all these official and unofficial social functions.

When the time came for foreign royalty to be presented to the Queen, I was led up to her by Uncle Alfred, who said, ‘May I present to you my young nephew, who is on a Russian battleship.” The Queen said a few kind words, and I remember that I had to stoop very low, as she was seated on a low chair and was so very small. Once again, I left with the impression that this little woman had something very distinctive about her—a very definite and striking personality.

During this visit to England, which was my first, I did not see much of either London or the country, except that I went to Ascot with the Royal Family. The various and uninterrupted social functions absorbed all my time.[5]

There was yet much to be done on board the Rossya before she could be put into proper condition for her trial voyage to Far Eastern waters, where our Admiralty intended her to proceed later on during the course of the same summer.

When we fetched up with the shores of Holland we got into a dense fog. There was very poor visibility, and we might have been in the very midst of some mountain of cotton wool; that was the impression it gave. The fog stuck to us obstinately, covering and penetrating everything with its clammy dampness. We were proceeding, however, on our course in spite of it, but dead slow, when all of a sudden, as if from somewhere in space, there was the sound of splintering wood. That we had struck something was obvious, but what, precisely, was impossible to say. The noise vanished as suddenly as it had come upon us, into the cotton-wool atmosphere. We had reversed our engines and then dropped anchor. There was nothing but the stillness of fog and a sea the presence of which had to be presumed, as it could not be seen. The whole impression was one of floating in mid-air.

When at last the fog lifted, we called at the nearest port to find out whether we had run anything aground, and if so, what?—This port was Weymuiden, and I presume that the harbour authorities were strangely surprised, if not alarmed, to behold a great battleship of Russian nationality coming upon them quite unexpectedly, out of the blue, as it were. Soon, also, our victim put in with broken masts and spars, but with no loss of life.

The rest of our voyage home passed without any incidents, and the Rossya behaved splendidly in every way. She proved a great success and worthy of the skill of the Russian engineers who had built and designed her. Her successors, of the Gromoboy[6] type, were even better. They were fine and proud ships. 

Arrived at Kronstadt, there remained much to be done. There were the usual overhauls and adjustments; ammunitions and stores were being loaded, and all this took some time. We had to acquaint ourselves with every detail that concerned us. It is extraordinary how much of every conceivable thing such a great vessel needs for a long voyage. While loading up, she reminds one of a veritable Noah’s Ark, taking on board her all manner of things, from shells to soap, and from coal to potatoes.

The night before we were due to put out to sea my friend Kube [7]and I paid our farewell calls in the capital. It was a merry night, filled with the expectations of the unknown, with the glamour that youth alone can give before the setting out on a venture to strange latitudes, to the seas of the East on a voyage of many thousand miles!

We caught the last train to Oranienbaum, and from there took a small steamer to Kronstadt.

The next day we cast off and sailed for the Pacific and the Far East.

Portsmouth was our first port of call; there we remained for about ten days. We received official visits from a number of British admirals and senior officers of the Royal Navy, and were entertained by them in their mess on shore, where I had my first taste of whisky.

We must have been an attraction to the public whom we admitted on board during certain hours, and I wonder whether they considered us in the same light as did the British Admiral who commanded the joint British and Russian squadron which destroyed the Turkish fleet at Navarino. He is reported to have said on one occasion, when a dispute had arisen between him and our Admiral over going to sea on a Monday: “The Russians are an uncouth and barbarous people, they are superstitious and backward, they refuse to go to sea on a Monday, when every sailor knows that Friday is the unlucky day!”

While we lay at Portsmouth, I received shore leave and availed myself of this opportunity to pay a visit to Uncle Alfred in London. I stayed with him only one day and then rushed over to Paris, where my parents were at the time. My father was a very frequent visitor to France, where he was better known than any other member of the Imperial Family, and, possibly, even more so than any other foreign Royal personage. He was an associate of many of the most exclusive societies in that country. 

I spent a few days with my parents in Paris, and looked up a number of my friends, and then returned to join my ship.

We next proceeded to Vigo, that very dismal and uninviting coaling station on the north-western extremity of Spain. 

The British Atlantic Fleet was there with Prince Louis Battenberg[8] on board the flagship Royal Sovereign[9], I believe, although, at this distance of time, I cannot be quite certain. He was her flag-captain then, and I accompanied our captain to call on him. He apologized to us quite unnecessarily for receiving us in a rough get-up, as Royal Sovereign, together with the rest of the fleet, was coaling at the time. He wore sea boots, had a muffler wound round his neck, and was dressed in an old uniform. I remember that he turned to us and said: “I am sorry to be receiving you in such a fearful mess, but you can see for yourselves, we are coaling.”

I was greatly struck by this distinguished and very handsome sailor, of whom I had heard it said that he was later generally considered to be the best and most able officer in the Royal Navy. He combined the most typical characteristics of an English gentleman with the thoroughness of a German. Later I heard from my mother that our good impressions of each other had been mutual. It appeared that be wrote a letter to her in which he said that I bad made a very good impression on him, and much else in my favour.

We did not go on shore for two reasons, nor were the crews allowed to do so either. We had been warned by the harbour people that the place was diseased, and, secondly, we did not want our men to meet any of the British crews, as such meetings are apt, in such a small port as Vigo, to result in ‘free fights’ and broken bones over the señoritas.

The monotony of the coaling operations, which did not take long, was pleasantly interrupted by a number of visits by the British officers to our mess.

When we put out from Vigo we were glad to see it recede in the distance of that sombre and savage coast. We directed our course due south.

When we drew close to the African coast, near Algiers, I had that curious experience which comes to those who for the first time meet the East. It came upon us suddenly like a faint puff of wind laden with the aroma of spices, pleasingly odorous and very sweet to smell. Algiers, where we called, appeared to me to be in no way different from any of the seaside towns of southern France, and yet, in this spice-laden breath, there was a world of difference, that very abyss which lies unbridgeable between the East and the West. Two worlds, indeed, that are for ever apart, in spite of an exterior appearance of resemblance. 

Thence, we put our course on Malta, the Melita of the ancients, and the birthplace of my future wife, whose second Christian name, Melita, was derived from that island.

What a sequence of historical prodigies it had experienced! It enclosed within its limited confines the marvels of prehistory, the work of Phoenicians, Greeks, and Romans, it had witnessed the contest between the knights of Malta and the tawny Corsairs of the Barbary Coasts. English and French had fought over its coveted possession. I understood all this well when I saw its magnificent harbour, an impregnable place, forsooth, made so by very Nature. Whether it is still so very safe in these days of aircraft I know not.

While at Malta, we had a very gay time with the officers of the Mediterranean squadron. We visited each other and went to the opera and dances. I remember that we were greatly struck by the excellent and smart evening kit of British naval and military men, and by the elegant dresses which their ladies wore at social functions. We had nothing of the kind in our navy, no mess jackets at all, and must have appeared a pretty poor lot to them.

A compatriot of ours, a Mme Rylova[10], was performing at the opera. She played the leading part in Aïda.

We stayed from five to six days at Malta, and on an occasion during this period the British Admiral in command of the Mediterranean squadron paid us an official visit.

Our captain was in need of some naval stores, I think it was paint, and asked the Admiral whether he could provide us with some of this. He proved most affable and kind and gave us all we wanted.

On this occasion I witnessed a phenomenon of Nature which struck me then as very odd indeed. Later on, when I was in the Caucasus, I was to have a similar experience, but then I had never seen anything of the kind before.

I had just stepped on board one of our steam-launches and we were proceeding on our way to the Rossya, expecting no evil whatever, especially not one from the sea, vicious element though it be, when all of a sudden a strong wind blew upon us, violently and in gusts, as though from nowhere, but actually, as I discovered later, from the shore. The impression was that it had been let loose upon us specially, by some malignant spirit of the place, to impede our progress. The sea in the harbour became dangerous and we reached safety only with considerable difficulty.

It was so sudden and unexpected that it seemed quite uncanny, seemingly lacking all cause, as the sky was perfectly serene all the time. Later, my surprise concerning this strange prodigy of Nature was dispelled, when I was told that it was quite a usual occurrence in Malta, but I have not been able to discover to this day the causes of this strange outburst[11]. I am not in the least surprised that the Apostle St. Paul suffered shipwreck on the coasts of this strange island. 

In those days we had a part of our fleet stationed in the Mediterranean, where it was based on Crete and Greece. There we proceeded on leaving Malta.

We met with our ships at Crete and were inspected by the Admiral in Suda Bay. The Rossya, as I have already pointed out, was the most modern unit in the Russian Navy, and for that reason presented an object of special interest to the Admiral and to the rest of the squadron.

Queen Olga of Greece was the daughter of my great-uncle Constantin, Grandpapa’s brother, who, as already mentioned, had been the High Admiral of our fleet. As an Admiral’s daughter, Aunt Olga took the keenest interest in everything that concerned our ships, and whenever one of these hove in sight off the coasts of Greece she hurried to meet it like another Iphigenia in exile.

She was, indeed, like another Iphigenia, having left her native country for a strange land at the age of sixteen, and Russia had remained to her the ideal of her life. She patronized our sailors and was like a mother to them. She would have them at her palace at Athens, where she chatted with them for hours, while her old Russian maid served tea, providing them with all manner of good things to take back on board ship.

Soon after our arrival at the Piraeus she came on board accompanied by her sons. She did not confine herself to one visit, but came frequently, and would stay so long that we were at a loss to know what to do. Our ships were the only link with Russia which Queen Olga had.

I paid a visit to Athens and its Acropolis, and found the latter in very pleasant contrast to the town which it dominates as the sad and aged witness of the glory that was Hellas. Athens, on that visit, struck me as a disorderly, ill-kept, and pretentious place, quite unworthy of the name it bore. All this, however, has changed since. The country, on the other hand, gave me the very best impression with its pleasant and wooded aspect.

I called on my relatives at the Royal country residence of Tatoy[12]; it was a jolly place, and in its surroundings more in tune with all that Greece stands for.

Peterhof has some grounds which were known as ‘Alexandria’; they contained ‘The Cottage,’ where Uncle Sasha liked to stay. Passionately clinging to the reminiscences of her childhood, Aunt Olga had an exact replica of it erected in the grounds of Tatoy.[13]

We had an excellent band on board, and decided to give a ball for the Royal Family and the members of Greek Society. It proved a greater success than we had anticipated. We became the lions of the place and left the Piraeus regretted by all.

Through the waters of the Aegean, past the isles of Greece, famed in legend and great names in history, we ploughed our way towards prosaic Port Said and the Canal.

We spent a few days at Port Said, which gave me an opportunity to pay a hurried visit to Cairo and the pyramids of Giza. The climbing of the great pyramid proved a somewhat exhausting effort in the heat. I even penetrated into its uncanny interior. Did it contain some esoteric mysteries known to its builders, or only the dry conclusions of mathematics?—I know not. However, there they stand, and are far more of a riddle than the famous Sphinx—a personification of the duality of man, half man and half beast. The passage of time has sealed the raison d'etre of these expressions in stone of more than human genius.

I had little time then to see much else of what this strange land contained, for we had to keep our watches.

The displacement of the Rossya was twelve thousand tons, a mere trifle, when compared to modern battleships, but in those days she was considered a great vessel of her kind, and it required much skill on the part of the pilot and ourselves to see her safely through the Canal. I believe, although I am not certain, that she may have been the largest ship at that period to pass through the Canal. We proceeded along under our own steam, and all went very smoothly indeed.

Our hull was painted black, and those unfortunates who had their quarters on the starboard side were being roasted by the merciless glare of the sun.

Soon the tropics came upon us with their usual features of phenomenal heat, sudden darkness that dropped upon one like a screen of inky blackness after sunsets of great splendour, and the night skies with the multitudes of stars, all very clear and resplendent in the awe-inspiring vastness of space. Those skies were more eloquent of the endlessness of things than anything else in Nature.

And then there were the usual emissaries of the tropical seas, the flying-fish, which for some quite unfathomable reason made for the portholes, and might be found flopping and beating about on one’s writing-desk.

We called at Aden for coaling. A parched and deadly place, it struck me as one which required real valour to live in it—an inferno of heat. I remember that I went on shore to see the water reservoirs.

Down the Indian Ocean we went, past Ceylon, on our way to Singapore, where we remained for a few days.

Kube and I went ashore to see some of the night life. As an experience of the East it was worth while. But it was of a dubious nature—to the full extent of that word, even when applied to the ports of the East. The place itself is excellently planned, and makes a favourable impression as a tropical town ; moreover, it struck me as being splendidly suited for a naval base.

Wherever one went a spicy odour of burning wood pursued one. This, too, was one of my first impressions of the Tropics.

Our Russian Consul took us to the mainland, to Johore, where I had my first taste of Indian curry, which I liked.

Whether we touched Hong Kong on our way or not I do not now recollect; we may have done so, but I remember little of it now.

Our course lay to Port Arthur.

It would be appropriate at this juncture to mention what led to our occupation of Port Arthur as well as some of the causes of the unfortunate friction between Russia and Japan[14], in which I took part in the capacity of mediator, as I will have occasion to mention later.

China had been for some time in a state of disintegration, and the Powers were quick in seizing this opportunity to take advantage of the situation.

Japan had been watching these doings uneasily, and was determined that, whatever happened, she would not allow herself to become a pawn in the hands of the Powers in their game for supremacy in the Far East, nor to fall under their domination as China had done.

She set to work feverishly to prepare herself to meet the growing danger which threatened her, too, by adapting herself to those standards of the Western World which had enabled the Powers to establish their influence so easily over the Celestial Empire.

With immense foresight, and leaving nothing to chance, she pursued systematically the process of assimilation. Her statesmen knew perfectly well that it was not enough to content oneself simply with building up one’s dykes against the rising tide from the West, and hiding behind them, but that the best way of defence was one of aggressive tactics. She anticipated the others by going to war with China, and, by a brilliant campaign, pursued with clocklike accuracy, she baffled the Powers, with whom she now put herself on par in her influence in Chinese affairs.

Japan did not content herself with that victory, but pursued her path along the ambitious course which she had planned for herself, a course which she deemed would finally lead her to become a great force in the Far East. That was her goal.

In the execution of this ambitious scheme Japan was bound to come into collision with the Powers sooner or later, and the first of these was Russia. Russia, too, had a Far Eastern policy of an ambitious kind. Her steady and advancing expansion to the East, which had begun in the sixteenth century, had never ceased. It was a spontaneous and quite natural movement, and this fact, together with her geographical features, made her naturally into a dual power of European and Asiatic greatness.

The linking of our Far East with European Russia through the Siberian Railway, our naval base at Vladivostok, our growing interest in Manchuria, all this led to a state of nervous anxiety in Japan, which reached a climax over Korea in the late nineties of last century. Our Korean policy left much to be desired. It was clumsy in the extreme and defeated its own purpose by giving rise to a series of very regrettable incidents of a most provoking nature, which finally led to the war of 1904-1905.

Vladivostok is icebound during some winter months, and as we were beginning to extend our influence over Manchuria it was considered necessary to find a more suitable naval base nearer to our new field of activity.

In the choice of such a port great care had to be taken not to accentuate the already charged atmosphere of animosity and impatience in Japan.

There is an ideal harbour on the coasts of Korea. This is Masampo, the naturally protected anchorage which could hold the fleets of the world, and the small islands which surround it make it excellently suited as an impregnable naval base. Korea, however, then an empire in nothing but name, had for a long time been Japan’s sphere of influence, and as Masampo controlled Japanese waters, the occupation of it by us would have led then and there to a war with Japan, for which we were in no way prepared.

For this reason, as well as to counter Germany’s move in her occupation of Weihaiwei, Port Arthur was chosen. But this served to assuage the fears of Japan only for a very short time, and in any case wounded her self-respect, for Port Arthur had been won by her from China in 1894. The Powers, with Russia among them, forced Japan to return this place to China, the latter ceding it to us. This transaction was unwise, to say the least, for it provoked Japan.

It follows from this account that the relations between the two Far Eastern powers were strained to a dangerous degree at the time when the Rossya arrived outside Port Arthur. It was this situation which later on led to my official visit to Emperor Mutsu Hito[15].

In the early spring of 1898 we anchored outside Port Arthur. At that time it was nothing but a place on the map of the world which had created a short-lived stir on the political horizon. It was a cluster of bleak, stony hills, with no grass, no trees, not even a harbour except at high tide—nothing!—It was the most dismal and forbidding place which I had ever seen!—It seemed as though very Nature had designed it in order that millions should be spent on it, and thousands should die on its dismal slopes, in a deadly and gruesome contest fought against its parched background.

Admiral Dubasov[16] had found it utterly unsuitable for a Russian naval base. At low tide the inner harbour was empty of water—a waste of grey sand. Ships had to be anchored in the open, where they were deprived of all natural protection, and became easy targets to any potential enemy.

He had reported all this to the authorities in Europe, but his warning had fallen unheeded on deaf ears. They insisted on Port Arthur, although there were many spots on the coast far better suited for a naval base—all to no avail. It had to be Port Arthur, and we occupied it. I myself, accompanied by the appropriate ceremonies, hoisted the flag of St. Andrew on its highest summit after the dragon flag of China had been hauled down.

It was a bleak and bitterly cold day with an icy wind, quite in tune with the surroundings.

The Chinese Governor ceded it to us on behalf of his Government, or as Li Hung Chang[17], the great Chinese Premier put it, it was leased to us for a long term of tenancy, ‘to save face,’ as the Chinese have it.

The Governor, a mandarin, was a true gentleman, whose speech was translated to us, as were ours to him, by Kollisev, our expert interpreter from our mission in Peking, who spoke fluent Mandarin Chinese. This ceremony of handing over had been preceded by a gala luncheon on board the flagship of a detachment of our Pacific fleet. China was represented by a small cruiser.

Two weeks were spent at Port Arthur in fleet exercises and various necessary activities, and when finally, bound for Japan, we saw it receding quickly astern, I was not in the least sorry.

Nagasaki was my first impression of Japan, and an excellent one, too, especially after that deadly place Port Arthur.

The bay is sprinkled with tiny islands. They are rotund and rocky, overflowing as it were with vegetation and covered with pine woods, among which, every now and then, a tiny shrine can be seen, often nothing more than a place for burning incense.

Everything seemed small to me, like a toyland, a place from the pages of a fairy-tale, with small men and women, small animals, little houses and temples, all exquisitely neat and clean. This was, of course, before the modem god of ‘progress’ and ‘enlightenment’ had sprawled all over the world, making it ugly, discontented, and more rapacious than ever. There was harmony there and it was pleasant to behold, because the work of man was so perfectly adjusted to these pleasant natural surroundings. Japan struck me as a charming place with friendly, cultured, and polite people.

The town of Nagasaki was not, possibly, very typical of the country, in so far as Japanese towns are concerned— not at that time, at any rate. It had been strongly influenced by Russia, and more resembled one of our Far Eastern settlements. There were Russian restaurants, tea rooms, and houses. Even the ‘geishas’ who served us spoke Russian. There were pictures of our men of war on the walls. These were relics of the times when the two countries had been on normal friendly relations, although even then there was not the least sign of hostility to be noticed.

And when the dusk of night came the little gay paper lamps would be lit and, with the little houses on the shore, the whole was a picture of great contentment and peace.

There were no fights or excitement on shore, no perturbance, and no noise. Sampans would come noiselessly alongside, gliding fast over the water with the forward stroke of their nimble oarsmen.

The sampans were useful, as we could dispense with our boats to a certain extent. They were clean, moreover, everything was clean and tidy, and had little deck-houses aft, where one was protected from wind and rain.

To remind their clients of their existence, tea-houses would send their emissaries with the typical yellow cakes of the country—a custom as charming as it was practical.

In great contrast to this land of miniatures stood the vastness of Siberia, a glimpse of the unfathomable depth of which I was fortunate to have next, when we left Nagasaki and took course for Vladivostok.

Vladivostok, in absolute contrast to Port Arthur, is one of the world’s most perfectly suited spots for a naval base. It possesses an immense inner harbour, where many fleets could find anchorage together. It is a natural stronghold, protected on all sides, towards the sea as well as towards the land, by hills, and its narrow entrance is guarded by a number of islands. 

At that time it was nothing but a very primitive outpost of Russia on the Pacific coast. It had no fortifications of any kind, dry clocks, workshops, coal, stores for ships— absolutely nothing at all except its great future possibilities and the immense natural resources that its vast hinterland contained. This, without any exaggeration, is a continent in itself, stretching away as it does to the confines of North America, of which it has the natural features.

When I visited a tiny section of this enormous territory it had scarcely been as much as scratched by explorers. It lay there, vast and imposing, dark in the gloom of its primeval forests, and silent with the silence of first creation. It was virgin land then, and probably much of it still is a land of mystery.

As Vladivostok contained none of the things we needed, not even the most essential of all to ships of those times—coal; everything, from a belaying-pin to a ship’s anchor, and from rivets to boiler tubes, had to be got through the agency of the Jew, Baron Günzburg[18]. The latter had all these things; everyone knew of him in the Far East. He was one of the only representatives of the outer world which lay outside these regions. He had his agencies and stores all down the China coast and in Japan. If a ship had fouled and damaged a propeller, or a cylinder was leaky, or if one wanted to be sure that one’s letters would reach their destination safely, the Jew Günzburg would do it. One had simply to lodge one’s order with his agents and everything would be promptly and unfailingly delivered. He was a boon to us, an indispensable institution on whom the whole of our fleet in the Pacific depended, until our authorities provided us with dry docks, wharfs, and all the rest.

Vladivostok at that time was primitive to say the least. Its streets were unpaved, its footpaths made of wooden planks, many of which had rotted away leaving gaping holes. In autumn its streets presented a dismal aspect of quagmires, where such vehicles as plied along them sank up to their axles in liquid mud. It was untidy, sprawling, and planless. It had, however, one hotel of a primitive ‘Wild West’ kind, two schools, and a music- hall. But all this was long ago, and was a stage in its development. The closest general resemblance, as much else, indeed, in this country, is to Northern Canada, in its pioneering days. A regiment was stationed there to protect it—from the wilderness and robbers, and, in spite of this rough atmosphere, it boasted an excellent officers’ mess with a good up-to-date library.

When, now forty years ago, I visited Vladivostok there were still some people of the early pioneering period alive, and the town contained among its population an interesting and very special class of people in its Siberian merchants. They traded with Japan in the wealth of the country. There was old Lindholm, for example, a Swede, of whom it was said that he had ‘traded generally’ upon the seas—in other words, that he had been a pirate. Vladivostok had, indeed, been in its early days a place of buccaneers who had made the seas unsafe. They were the last European sea-rovers of their kind. Old Lindholm had two pretty daughters—Tully and Lully they were called, and with them the whole fleet flirted.

There was another interesting specimen—the merchant Starzev, and others, too, whom I now no longer remember. We visited them often. They had gone through much, had seen much, and had let others feel their power. The only great drawback which this ideally suited harbour of Vladivostok has are two of nature’s visitations. The port is icebound during a few months of the winter, as already mentioned, when it blockades itself, and during the summer it is frequently subject to heavy fogs of the London kind. They are laden with dampness and penetrate everything with their dripping shrouds. They come suddenly upon one, and when caught by them on shore the ships in the harbour vanish from sight, only their bells give one an indication of their whereabouts. These fogs are caused by the polar and southern currents meeting in a manner similar to the ones off the coasts of Labrador and Newfoundland. On such occasions, we had to get back to our ships ‘by guess and by God.’

The arrival of the Rossya at Vladivostok very nearly coincided with the completion of the last link in the immense chain of the Trans-Siberian Railway. The last stretch which linked Vladivostok to European Russia, to Moscow and St. Petersburg and all Europe, had been nearly finished by the construction of the Chabarovsk-Vladivostok line, and was known as the Ussuri Railway.

General Grodekov, who was commanding at the military post of Chabarovsk, played an important part in such developments as were being made in those immense regions. He proved a capable and efficient administrator as the Governor-General of the Ussuri Territory.

He asked me whether I would do him the favour of paying an official visit to Chabarovsk and of inspecting the railway. I was only too glad to accept this proposal, and set off in the company of some officers into this terra incognita.

We went to Chabarovsk by train, or at least tried to do so. The rails had just been laid and parts of the line were not yet sufficiently strong to carry the locomotive and the few carriages attached to it. When this was the case, the journey had to be continued on a trolley. They were still hard at work everywhere, putting the finishing touches to the line. The Ussuri territory came upon me with the whole of its unexplored immensity. Everything there was on a vast scale, its forests and giant trees, its lakes and rivers, the very mineral resources which its mountains and rocks contained. Everything was to be found there: gold, silver, rock crystal, coal, and precious stones of all kinds. The forests were teeming with game and the waters with fish. There were the long-haired Siberian tigers, bears, deer of all kinds, and boars, as well as the smaller creatures of the ermine and weazel race, and beavers, the furs of all of which are world famous. They abound, moreover, with multitudes of strange birds.

All this and more, the great, sombre forests untrodden by man and in the silence of their primeval nature contained within their unsurveyed depths. This region knows no frontiers. It stretches away from the Pacific to the uttermost north, to the polar wastes, and to the Bering Strait. There is the whole of volcanic Kamchatka with its fabulous wealth in gold, with its hot mineral springs and untouched resources, inhabited only by the creatures of the wilderness and by a few tribes of Red Indian origin. It is a veritable El Dorado of the north. These endless forests arc sombre and forbidding and very ominous in their silence. Puny we seemed, as did our work, in comparison with what lay around us. Our great northern forests of European Russia are dwarfed by the gigantic proportion of these trees. The only comparison I can find is with Canada and Northern California, but here it was almost completely untouched.

And what struck me as more than extraordinary was that our naval base of Vladivostok, a town which had been founded in the sixties of last century and had had thirty years to acquaint itself, even if only slightly, with its immediate hinterland, had never as much as attempted to supply itself with coal. And there was coal in plenty on the very surface of the earth. It protruded in seams in the railway cuttings, one only needed to scoop it into trucks, and yet coal had to be imported—from Cardiff, when it was on the very threshold, in the wilderness that lay around.

Arrived at Chabarovsk after these amazing impressions, I was made the centre of social activities there. There were official presentations in the Governor’s Palace, which had been put at my disposal; uniforms, banquets, speeches, and receptions, and social functions of many kinds, all very well done, in spite of the great waste around this settlement.

I was struck by the efficiency with which these social functions had been arranged, and by their brilliance. There was, for example, a military band which was quite as good as that of any of our Guard Regiments in St. Petersburg. They played a piece from Wagner, as though they had been accustomed to play him all their lives. And yet these were rough men, completely isolated from civilization in the very bowels of the wilderness.

Whether in harsh exile and poverty, scattered in their bitter diaspora throughout the length and breadth of the world, or in these lonely outposts of Siberia, Russians always contrive to create around them, on occasions, an atmosphere of pleasing social gaiety.

The celebrations in my honour terminated with a shooting expedition in the forests, where we resembled tiny beetles attempting to crawl into a great haystack— that was my impression. We boarded a comfortable steamer, belonging to the Ministry of Ways and Communications and steamed up the great Amur River. After a number of days, we reached the great Hanka Lake, where we got into boats and were rowed across to the place where a shoot had been arranged for me. Our beaters were all soldiers belonging to the Siberian Rifle Regiment, and were all born shots. The shoot had been poorly organized. 1 saw some fine game on this occasion, but most of it was small. One of the soldiers had been placed behind me for my protection; one never could tell what might come upon one out of the depths of that darkness, it might be anything from a tiger to a boar. Nothing, however, troubled me, except the general impression of still immensity. 

During this expedition, General Grodekov showed me some natives of this region. They were the ‘Golds,’ a people of Mongolian origin, who live by trapping in the forests, and I was treated to a tribal dance, a most primitive and ritualistic affair, weird and uncanny, made even more so against the mysterious background of the forest.

I asked the Governor-General how I could express my pleasure to the Chief, and was told that he would appreciate nothing more than the gift of a modern rifle, as this is an essential tool in the daily struggle for existence of these children of nature. We used army rifles for the shoot, and I presented the Chief with a brand new one. He was immensely pleased.

On crossing Lake Hanka I was amazed by its wealth in fish.

A part of the early summer I remained at Vladivostok and had ample opportunity to get to know it and its immediate surroundings.

The town, though ill-equipped with some of the more essential things, contained a Sports Club which organized a number of expeditions to shoot stags on the outlying islands. They are very pretty creatures, beautifully spotted and small. The antlers of the young stags are greatly prized by the Chinese, who prepare an aphrodisiac from them which they sell for fabulous sums.

I greatly regret that I had no time to see at least a little of the immense and untouched regions to the north of Vladivostok with Petropavlovsk and Nikolaevsk, its only ports, and the vast continent which lies beyond. Kamchatka and the Tchukche peninsula, with its great mountain ranges, aroused my curiosity. Even Alaska had been ours once. It was sold for a trifling sum to the United States.

They are stormy and sinister seas that stretch away to the farthest north; cold they are, forbidding and gale- ridden, with savage and uncouth coasts which are known to few.

We kept a flotilla of gunboats which patrolled those waters to protect our possessions from Japanese and American poachers. The Aleutian Islands were famous for their seals. I would have liked to have known these regions, but this was not to be.

It had been decided that I should pay an official visit to the Emperor of Japan, as a friendly gesture to his country, in which feeling had reached a dangerous degree of hostility against Russia, as I have already explained.

I could do no better than to quote the words of Baron Rosen,[iii]  [19]then our Ambassador at Tokyo, concerning this visit. This is what he says:

‘. . . early in the summer they’ (the Russian Government) ‘thought it proper to instruct the Grand Duke Cyril (first cousin of the Emperor and next in order of succession after the Emperor’s brother and the yet unborn Tsarevich), who was serving as sublieutenant on board one of our Pacific squadron’s vessels, to proceed to Tokyo on an official visit to the Japanese Court. When I learnt of it I suggested by telegraph to Count Mouravieff[iv] that the Grand Duke’s visit had better be postponed for some months, as popular feeling in Japan was still such that the Japanese Government might feel embarrassed to undertake the responsibility for the Grand Duke’s safety, remembering the attempt on the life of Emperor Nicholas when as Tsarevich he visited Japan, in spite of all the precautions taken to ensure his safety. No attention, however, was paid to my suggestion, and a couple of weeks later the cruiser Russia (sic), with the Grand Duke on board, arrived at Yokohama.

‘During His Imperial Highness’s stay in Tokyo the usual round of official functions took place. A State banquet at the Palace, dinners at the palaces of some of the princes, at the Legation, and so on. The young Grand Duke—I think he was in his twenty-first year—produced everywhere the best impression.’

. . . ‘On the day of his arrival I had a long conversation with him and acquainted him fully with the political situation, its significant gravity, and the great importance for us of the maintenance of the friendliest relations with Japan. The Grand Duke listened with the greatest attention and interest, took in the situation at once, and conformed his behaviour to it with unerring tact. In short, his visit, to which I had been looking forward with some apprehension, turned out a complete and socially very marked success. So much so, that Prince Arisugawa made him promise that on the next visit of his ship to Yokohama he would come to spend some days with him and the Princess quite privately at their Palace at Tokyo, a pointedly intimate kind of hospitality such as had never yet been extended to any Royal visitor by any member of the Imperial Family.’

In June of 1898 the Rossya hove anchor and set out from Vladivostok to Yokohama.

We anchored some distance from the shore. My arrival was heralded by a fascinating display of day fireworks, or they might be called smoke-works, as there is nothing of the kind in Europe. It made an excellent effect with its continually changing colours.

On landing, I was officially received and taken to the station, where a special train was waiting for me. On my arrival at Tokyo I was met by Prince Kanin and a guard of honour. Accompanied by the Prince, I was driven to a palace which was specially set aside to receive foreign Royalty when visiting the Emperor. It was built in traditional Japanese style, but contained the most modem European comforts. Its cuisine was excellent, according to the best standards of French cooking; the servants were dressed in European Court liveries, everything, in fact, had been organized with the most thorough efficiency and foresight to make my stay as pleasant as could be.

Two days, I think, were spent in showing me the various places of interest. I was entertained with displays of wrestling and juggling, and with a Japanese version of polo, which was played in the traditional costumes of the country worn for that game.

The heat was torrid, and wherever I went I found that the Japanese, with that foresight which is typical of them, had prepared iced drinks, cigarettes, and fans for me.

I was received by the Emperor Mutsu Hito and his Court. I wore full naval uniform on that occasion, and the Emperor and his Court were dressed in European clothes. I was introduced to him by our Ambassador, Baron Rosen,[v] who had arranged my visit. My interpreter was Baron Madenokosi, who spoke fluent Russian. He was in attendance on me during my stay in Japan.

The Emperor was a striking and historical personality and an exalted figure who played a great part in the transition period of his country, which owes much to his wisdom and character. During his rule Japan adapted herself admirably to Western standards in so far as the material greatness of civilization is concerned, but she did not lose her traditional culture. That was due to the great wisdom of those men who directed her course.

Later there was a banquet in my honour, during which the Emperor pointed to an exquisitely worked silver table set, a surtout de table, and explained that it was a gift from my Emperor. He asked me to tell my cousin how very pleased he was with it.

I sat next to the Empress, who possessed the exquisite, lovely charm of Japanese women, and found her perfectly sweet. Later I was told that I had made a more than favourable impression on her.

The Emperor decorated me with the Imperial Family Order of the Rising Sun, and presented me with a number of splendid gifts of rare Japanese craftsmanship. There were cloisonne vases, swords and rare screens, and much else of great value. later I had them all at my palace in St. Petersburg, where the great vases made excellent lamp stands.[20]

The town of Yokohama gave me a collection of charming dwarf trees, which unfortunately perished on the voyage back.

A few days after the banquet I received the members of the Diplomatic Corps in Tokyo. The reception took place at the palace where I was staying and was somewhat of an ordeal.

I have another very pleasant recollection of this visit to Japan in the reception which the first secretary of our Embassy, M. Poklevski-Koziell, gave me at his private house in Tokyo. It was very informal and absolutely Japanese. We sat on the floor while Japanese dishes were served to us by the ‘geishas’ who danced and entertained. It was a pleasant evening in an atmosphere in tune with the surroundings, and a welcome interruption of the official routine. Before leaving Japan I paid an official visit to Japan’s ancient and sacred City of Kioto.

It is a place of temples and of beautifully kept gardens and parks, with all the sights that are now familiar to tourists. I went over a number of interesting temples, where I was received by the clergy. Whatever shrine or temple I entered I was offered a cup of refreshing blossom tea. Strongly made, it was an excellent ‘pick-me-up’ in the glaring heat.

This hospitable and charming country impressed me deeply, and even if I had seen none of its glories, there would have remained one thing indelibly in my mind— the children of Japan. They are a very special feature of the country. Like little dolls they looked to me. I had never seen anything quite so charming before, except possibly the women of the country. In their love for children, the Japanese are unique among nations. There are no societies there for the suppression of cruelty to children, and if Japan has learnt much in the way of ‘progress’ from the West, the West has still much to learn from them.

Before the Rossya sailed, I had still time for an expedition to some famous stores, where, among other things, I bought some silk kimonos for my sister Helen.

Before I left Japan I visited Kobe and Nagasaki, whence the Rossya proceeded to Port Arthur for fleet exercises.

The rest of the summer and early autumn was spent at Vladivostok.

The time had come when I had to bid farewell to the Rossya and to my shipmates. We had been a united group on board.

The night before I was to bid good-bye to my fellow officers a farewell dinner party with toasts and speeches had been arranged. It was a great occasion accompanied by lively scenes. I addressed our captain, Damajirov, expressing my gratitude to him for the experiences and training which I had received while in his care, a duty which I knew was the more onerous inasmuch as it entailed a great responsibility for my personal safety and welfare.

The dinner was followed by singing and music and a very pleasant and original side-show, when our torpedo officer, Kerber, with a number of other officers dressed up like savage ‘Golds’ in leather jackets, performed some kind of ritualistic witch dance, Kerber beating a round drum, just like a real shaman.[vi]  He did it very effectively indeed.

This party was a great success although I was partly an invalid, for shortly before this occasion I had had a bad accident on board, and had injured my foot, which I had to have heavily bandaged. I had lost much blood and was not in the best of health. None the less, I shall never forget the touching way in which my friends smoothed over my regrets on leaving Rossya, which had been my floating home for such a long time. Apart from Lieutenant Kerber, I wish to mention Admiral Russin, who at that time was one of our gunnery officers on board. They all played an outstanding part in our Navy.

In the sad events which followed, many of my shipmates found a sailor’s grave. They were the bravest of the brave.

The Rossya had taken me to Yokohama, where I boarded an American passenger boat that was to take me across to the United States, whence I was to proceed back to Europe.

I will not forget the touching farewell which my shipmates gave me as they followed the liner out to sea in one of the Rossya's steam launches, waving to me, until distance began to separate us.

Footnotes

(2024)

[1] Queen Victoria visited Nice and stayed at the Hotel Cimeiz from March 12th until April 28th of that year.

[2] “Rossya” The “Russia” was an armored cruiser of the Russian imperial and later Soviet fleets. Built at the Baltic Shipyard according plans of engineer N. E. Titov, The shipbuilders expected the cruiser would be ready for sea trials by the autumn of 1896 in order to finally hand it over in 1897, but minister N. M. Chikhachev demanded that all tests be completed and the cruiser ready for sailing in October 1896  even though the Obukhov munitions plant were unable to deliver 152-mm guns any earlier than April 1898. Some of the armored plates were ordered (with an overpayment for urgency) from the Carnegie Steel mills in the U.S.A. The ship survived the Russo-Japanese War, the Revolution and early Soviet service, but was ignominiously sold for scrap by the Soviets in 1922.

[3] “The Duchess of Sutherland” Millicent Sutherland-Leveson-Gower, Duchess of Sutherland, née Lady Millicent Fanny St. Clair-Erskine (English, b. 1867-1955) was the eldest daughter of the Scottish Conservative politician Robert St Clair-Erskine, 4th Earl of Rosslyn. She married Cromartie Sutherland-Leveson-Gower, then Marquess of Stafford on 20 October 1884. He succeeded to the Dukedom in 1892. A pillar of London Society, she was at the height of her beauty and influence in this period.  Her 1904 portrait by John Singer Sargent, now in the Collection of the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, Madrid, shows her in this period.

[4] “…ladies Dudley and de Gray”   Rachel Ward, Countess of Dudley (English, 1867-1920), the daughter of Charles Henry Gurney, and the first wife of 2nd Earl of Dudley, Lady Dudley distinguished herself by the foundation of nursing services and hospitals in Ireland and Australia – the “Lady Dudley Nurses” were justly famous; Constance Gwladys Robinson, later Marchioness of Ripon (English, 1859 -1917 was a British patron of the arts, and a friend to Oscar Wilde, Nijinsky, and Diaghilev.

[5] During the Jubilee, Kirill was noted to be serious, and as previously referenced, quite sick with allergies.  He notes here that he was somewhat overwhelmed by the aristocratic socializing, and his Aunt Maria Alexandrovna was irritated.  She wrote her daughter Queen Marie of Romania: “We went twice to Ascot, which is always a bore, but more amusing when it is a new sight as it was to Serge and Ella.  Kyrill is also staying with us, but he is a very dull youth, no animation and no spirits in him, besides, nothing seems to interest him.  I dutifully took him to some theaters, the only thing that seemed to amuse him a little.” (Mandache, ed. Darling Missy, p. 302.). 

[6] “Gromoboy” (Russian, Громовой, 'gromovoy')  Gunships.

[7] Cf. footnote 7.

[8] Prince Louis of Battenberg, b. 1854 – d. 1921.  Prince Louis Alexander of Battenberg was the eldest son of Prince Alexander of Hesse and by Rhine by his morganatic (unequal) marriage to Countess Julia von Hauke.  Though born in Austria, the Prince dedicated himself to the British Navy, becoming Sea Lord in 1911.  Married to the sister of Empress Alexandra, the Battenbergs were closely related the Russian Imperial Family. Anti-German sentiment during the First World War caused the translation of the family name from Battenberg to Mountbatten, and on 7 November, 1917, King George V created him Marquess of Milford Haven, Earl of Medina, and Viscount Alderney in the peerage of the United Kingdom.

[9] Grand Duke Kirill was correct in not trusting his memory. HMS Royal Sovereign was the flagship of Admiral Collingwood at the Battle of Trafalgar. It was likely the HMS Cambrian which the Grand Duke recalled, upon which Prince Louis served as captain between 1894 and 1897.

[10] “Rylova” Alla Mikhailovna Rylova (in marriage, Tomskaya) b. 1869 – d. 1958.  Rylova grew up in Vyatka, and her sumptuous mezzo-soprano voice was discovered early.  She trained in Kiev and St. Petersburg until from 1896-98, with funds raised by Perm admirers of her talent, she studied in Milan, subsequently touring in Milan, Florence, Bologna, and the cities of Spain, as well as on the island of Malta in 1898 when the Grand Duke Visited. She was famous for her Amneris and for Vanya in “A Life for the Tsar.”

[11] “Strange outburst”  The Scirocco; a hot or warm wind of cyclonic origin that blows on the northern Mediterranean coast chiefly in Italy, Malta, and Sicily from the Libyan desert.

[12] “Tatoy” (Greek: Τατόι, ‘Tatoi’) the country residence of the Kings of the Hellenes.  King George I bought the land for the estate during the 1880s, purchasing it with private family funds brought from Denmark. 

[13] The original house at Tatoi was  indeed inspired by Adam Menelaws (Scottish, 1784-1831) “Cottage” Dacha at Peterhof, which Queen Olga knew from her youth. In 1916, during the First World War, the original house was burned down, but later expanded by subsequent generations.  Today, the house is in disrepair, held by an ambivalent Greek Government.

[14] For excellent surveys of the issue, please see: Wolff & Steinberg, The Russo-Japanese War in Global Perspective: World War Zero(2007); and David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun: Russian Ideologies of Empire and the Path to War with Japan (2006).

[15] “Emperor Mutsu Hito”  The Meiji Emperor. (Japanese, 1852-1912)  Known as Emperor Meiji Tennō, (and whose personal name was Mutsuhito), served as emperor of Japan from 1867 to 1912. During his reign Japan was transformed from a feudal country into a modern power.

[16] “Admiral Dubasov”. Feodor Vasilyevich Dubasov (Russian, 1845-1912)  Russian navyman and statesman, adjutant general (1905), admiral (1906) and a descendant of the noble Dubasov family.  Appointed as Moscow governor-general (1905–1906) after the assassination of Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich, he would lead the suppression of the December armed uprising in the Revolution of 1905.

[17] “Li Hung Chang” Li Hongzhang, Marquess Suyi (Chinese, 1823-1901) An important Chinese politician, general and diplomat of the late Qing dynasty. Li held numerous critical positions in the Qing imperial court, including serving as the Viceroy of Zhili, Huguang and Liangguang. Known in the West for his generally pro-modern stance and importance as a negotiator, Li favored the Russians over the British, and attended the Coronation of Nicholas II in 1896. The French newspaper Le Siècle described him in a racist manner as "the yellow Bismarck."

[18] “Baron Günzburg” David Goratsiyevich Günzburg (Russian, 185 -1910), 3rd Baron de Günzburg, an important orientalist scholar and Jewish communal leader in the Russian Empire. His Grandfather Joseph had been ennobled in 1870 in the Grand Duchy of Hesse, and was created baron in 1874. David Goratsiyevich attended St Petersburg University, and was an important advocate for Jews in Imperial Russia.

[19] “Baron Rosen” Roman Romanovich Rosen (Russian, born Estonia, 1847-1921) was an important diplomat in the service of the Russian Empire from a Baltic baronial family of Swedish origin.  He served in Japan, Washington, Munich, Belgrade and Mexico City during his career.  He was instrumental in the Treaty of Portsmouth, working with Korostovetz, Nabokov, Witte, and Plancon to end the Russo Japanese war.  After the revolution, he moved to New York, where he died from complications after being struck by a taxi.

[20] The decision to send Grand Duke Kirill was a matter of international interest.  The New York Times reported: “To Grand Duke Cyril of Russia. Cousin of the Czar, has been accorded an imposing reception on the occasion of his visit here. The newspapers are discussing its significance, and insist that the objects of Russia and the allied powers (Great Britain and Japan) are identical, namely, the preservation of peace and the promotion of the commerce of the Orient.  It is declared that Russia and Japan are especially drawn together by the identity of their commercial and industrial interests.” (NYT, “Grand Duke Cyril’s Visit to Japan” Friday, 4 July, 1902, p. 6)

Original Footnotes

(1939)

[i] Russia.

[ii] Brother of Alexander III.

[iii] Forty Years of Diplomacy, by Baron Rosen, pp. 159-160. George Allen & Unwin, Ltd., 1922.

[iv] Foreign Minister.

[v] Later Russian Ambassador at Washington.

[vi] Native Siberian witch doctor.