My Life in Russia’s Service:

‘My Father’ an Epilogue

h.i.h. the Grand duke wladimir

The Author’s decease prevented him from writing of his exile. This phase in his life has been ably described below by his only son, H.I.H. the Grand Duke Vladimir, now Head of the Romanov Dynasty, and does not form part of the original work.

My late father, the Grand Duke Cyril, began writing his memoirs when his health was already failing. The last chapter written by him is Chapter VIII, which he concluded on 22 September, the day when he had to be taken to Paris to the American Hospital. On 12 October he passed away. God has not willed it that he should have completed his memoirs, and accordingly I, his son, consider it my duty to write a concluding chapter comprising the period from 1917 to the year of his death— 1938. This task has been made all the more easy for me as Father was in the habit of making notes day by day, recording all facts of interest.

In the spring of 1917, when Father, after the abdication of the Emperor Nicholas II, did not consider it possible to remain in the Service any longer[1], he decided to take up residence in Finland, hoping that conditions there would be easier and provide more safety. This was all the more important at that time, as Mother was expecting my birth. In order to undertake this journey a special permit from the Provisional Government was required, and Father had to apply to A. F. Kerensky, then Minister of War and Marine, with whom he met full sympathy, and the necessary documents were immediately issued to him.

My mother and father decided to settle in Borgo, a small Finnish town not far from Helsingfors. Their choice fell on this little town because not far from it was the Haiko estate which belonged to the family Etter, our close friends.

My parents had visited Haiko several times before. They were there with my two sisters, Marie and Kira, in July 1914. Father and Mother left the two girls with the Etters when they had to come to St. Petersburg for the receptions organized in honour of M. Raymond Poincare, President of the French Republic, who was then visiting Russia. When the War was declared Marie and Kira were still at Haiko, and my parents had some trouble in getting them safely back in St. Petersburg, as the trains were full of troops. In summer 1916 Mother again visited Haiko with the girls, and they were later joined there by the Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna. My sisters spent all their time out of doors and bathed. Mother did a lot of painting, and often visited the small military hospital for the wounded which had been organized on the estate.

When. my parents arrived at Borgo in the beginning of June 1917 they proceeded straightway to Haiko, accompanied by two Englishwomen, Miss Burgess and Miss Gregory, and by some of the servants. The rest of the servants were placed in a house which Father had rented at Borgo, and Father’s equerry, K. N. Hartong, also took up his quarters in the house. After spending a fortnight at Haiko, our family moved to Borgo, where they lived till the end of August. On 30 August I was born, but in September, as soon as Mother was well, my parents accepted the invitation of the good Etter family and returned to Haiko, hoping that it would be a safer place.

My christening took place at Haiko on 18 September. The Very Rev. Protopresbyter Alexander Dernoff, Head of the Court Clergy and Dean of the Cathedrals of the Winter Palace in Petrograd and of the Annunciation in the Kremlin of Moscow, came to conduct the ceremony, and was assisted by V. I. Ilyinsky, Psalmist of the Cathedral of SS. Peter and Paul in Petrograd. My godparents by proxy were the Grand Duchess Marie and the Grand Duke Boris. The christening was attended by a few Russian exiles and some of our Finnish friends.

Even at Haiko my parents could not feel secure. Revolution was in full swing. In Helsingfors was stationed the whole of our Baltic fleet, and though the command was still in the hands of the officers, their authority had suffered considerably from revolutionary disintegration in which the Sailors’ Revolutionary Committee played a great part. Finland herself was on the eve of seceding from Russia, and the discontent of national elements against Communist influence assumed growing proportions. In other words, the ‘White’ movement against the ‘Reds’ had already started, and this unavoidably led to civil war.

One day a group of sailors appeared unexpectedly on the estate and declared that they had orders to search the house. One has to know what a ‘search’ by sailors meant at that time in order to appreciate the anxiety which overcame Father and Mother. They had already heard that the majority of the members of the Imperial Family had been arrested, and were prepared for the worst. They moved with us children to the second floor and went through some trying moments. Yet no arrest nor search followed. It later appeared that when the sailors were told that the house was inhabited by my father and his family they decided not to proceed with the search and left. One of them had served on the cruiser Oleg, which had been under Father’s command. Father had been very popular with the crew, and in remembrance of that love the man persuaded the others not to disturb him.

In December civil war between the Finnish Reds and Whites broke out. The first hostilities took place in our district; a battle was fought not far from Haiko, and we could hear the firing of big guns. Our family was in a very difficult position, and the question of obtaining food was highly complicated. It was not easy to get the most essential products, such as milk, meat, butter, and bread. The winter was a very severe one, which did not prevent my sisters from enjoying their winter sports with the young Kleinmichels, Serge Melikoff, and Vladimir Etter, who were all staying at Haiko at the time. The Grand Duke George came for Christmas.

The position grew worse in January and February. The Reds took to shooting the squires, and one squire by the name of Bjorkenheim was taken away to the forest and shot only two miles away from Haiko. Seven Finnish Whites took refuge on the estate and some of them spent three weeks in the house. Their whereabouts then became known to the Reds and they left. On 9 February a band of fifteen Finnish Reds appeared near our house. They asked if there were any arms hidden in any of the rooms, and three of them made a brief search of the ground floor. We were all on the second, but no one went up there. They behaved very politely, and the way in which they put their questions suggested that they had orders not to touch anybody in Haiko and to be particularly polite towards us.

The civil war raged on. We were practically cut off from the rest of the world, and only heard rumours which were often fantastic and contradictory. On 27 February Father received news from Helsingfors that the French Government were making inquiries as to whether our family was safe and if it was necessary to take official steps for our evacuation. Father hesitated as to what reply he should make. It was, of course, very painful to go on living as we were, but Father protested that Russia would soon be freed from the Reds, and to go abroad seemed to him too much like desertion.

A few days later the news arrived that King Gustavus of Sweden had inquired through the Swedish Legation if he could help us and the other members of the Imperial Family. Father thanked the King for his consideration, admitted that he did not look upon the position of his family as safe, but replied that the moment had not yet come for an intervention. He gave such a reply because at that time it was expected that the Bolsheviks would fall at any moment.

March and April were marked by the arrival in Hango, and later in Helsingfors, of a German squadron; by a German ultimatum demanding the withdrawal of the Russian Baltic fleet to Kronstadt; the entry into Hango of the German Iron Division under the command of General von der Goltz; and by the final victory of General Mannerheim’s Finnish White Army over the Reds. Civil war thus came to an end and life became considerably easier.

General Mannerheim, and later also General von der Goltz with his suite, called on Father.

In the autumn of 1919 we went to Borgo once again. Life was now becoming normal, supplies became plentiful, and order was re-established. In 1920, however, an epidemic of Spanish influenza broke out and resulted in many deaths. One of the victims was our English governess, and her death was a severe blow to all the members of our family.

At long last the Great War came to an end, and we now had the opportunity of going to Zurich through Germany to meet my maternal grandmother, the Grand Duchess Marie Alexandrovna, Duchess of Edinburgh. Our endeavours were successful, and in May we were able to leave hospitable Finland. We were all very glad of the change, as we were naturally tired of living in the modest provincial town of Borgo, especially in conditions so primitive and trying.

We did not stay in Germany. We only remained two days in Berlin with my aunt, the Princess Alexandra Hohenlohe-Langenburg. We met my grandmother in Munich and went to Zurich together. In the course of that same year my paternal grandmother, the Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna, succeeded in escaping from Russia and settled in the South of France. In the beginning of August we got news that she was ill and Father and Mother went to see her. On 24 August she died and was buried in Contrexeville. The health of my grandmother, Marie Alexandrovna, was also failing, and she was often indisposed. On 22 October she died suddenly in Coburg. Thus my parents lost their mothers almost simultaneously.

In 1921 my family moved to the South of France. At long last we could begin our life in normal surroundings. My parents, however, were ever mindful of that duty to their country which fell to their lot as a result of the tragic death of the Emperor Nicholas II, his family, and the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovitch, whereby my father became the senior surviving member of the Imperial Family.

That year marked the end of the civil war in our country. The Reds came out victorious, and the Russian White Army, led by General Baron Wrangel, was compelled to leave Russian territory. Its remnants settled in foreign countries, mainly in the Balkans and France. The real struggle between the White Russians and the Red Russians thus came to an end. True enough, a hope of renewing the sniggle again still existed in the ranks of Baron Wrangel’s heroic army, but my father considered that the international political situation was such as to preclude the realization of any such hope.

The only form of government which Russia had known from the earliest times of her historical existence up to the year 1917 was the monarchical one. It was a form of government which, under all its aspects, fully corresponded to the requirements of all the peoples that inhabited Russia. The Revolution—with the Republic that lasted a few months and finally led to Communism—brought only suffering to the Russian people.

For this reason—with a clear conscience, without any regard for his personal feelings, and prompted solely by a desire to save his country from suffering and misfortune— my father decided to raise the monarchist standard and to assume the leadership of the struggle for the restoration of a rightful monarchy in Russia.

The prevailing political tendencies of that time were not at all favourable to the monarchist principle. The downfall of a number of the world’s greatest monarchies led many people to the belief that the time of the monarchies had passed. Among the Russian emigres even convinced monarchists did not venture to voice their views aloud.

My father, however, did not allow himself to be led away by such tendencies. Being deeply convinced that only a monarchy could save Russia, he decided that it was his duty to come into the open there and then, to maintain his rights to the Russian Throne, and to assume the leadership of the divided efforts which were being made by Russian monarchist groups. Before coming out into the open, however, he deemed it necessary to prepare the ground among the Russian émigrés.

On 8 August 1924 my father issued his first Manifesto, in which he declared himself Guardian of the Throne. At that time we lived at St. Briac. My father’s declaration, however, did not receive the support of the Grand Duke Nicholas, who, as former Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Armies during the Great War, had by that time already assumed the leadership of all those groups of exiled Russians which had been formed from the evacuated units of General Baron Wrangel’s army. Nor was it supported by Baron Wrangel himself. My father was also opposed—and this was the strangest thing of all—by the Supreme Monarchist Council, which claimed the leadership of all monarchist organizations in exile. The reason for this opposition lay in the fact that the wide circles of the Russian emigres still believed in the possibility of a new intervention, and they thought that the Grand Duke Nicholas, in his capacity of former Commander-in- Chief, had sufficient authority to bring about such an intervention in practice. This was, of course, an illusion, and my father, knowing it as such, firmly believed that, in the long run, the majority would come round to his point of view, and that the patriotic cause which he had initiated would grow and develop. In this he was right. 

The immediate result was a split in the monarchist ranks. In spite of this, my father was supported by a very large number of Russian monarchists, who shared his belief in the triumph of the legitimist principle. The Legitimist Movement was thus inaugurated, and in every country where Russian exiles had settled groups were formed which acted in close contact with my father. They endured considerable opposition, but the movement began to grow and gain strength.

Two years rolled by. By that time the legend which was widely believed by many Russians, namely, that the Emperor Nicholas II and his family had not been massacred and that the life of the Grand Duke Michael had been saved, was finally disproved, M. Sokoloff, the examining magistrate who had been charged by Admiral Koltchak, the Head of the White Government of Russia, to investigate the murder of the Imperial Family, had returned from the Far East and brought with him all his findings, as well as material proof of the disaster.

Sokoloff paid a number of visits to my parents, and acquainted them with his findings in every detail. They never really doubted the fact that the Imperial Family had been murdered. Now, with the findings and proofs before them, they were convinced that there could be no longer any hope that the Imperial Family had been saved. From Bolshevik sources came the confirmation that the Grand Duke Michael, too, had perished. There could, accordingly, be no longer any doubt that my father had become, beyond dispute and by right of primogeniture, the senior member of the Imperial House of Russia, and, consequently, the Head of the Dynasty, nearest to the Throne and the Succession.

At the same time his position was very unstable. Attacks were constantly made against him—attempts to prove that he and his brothers had no right to the Throne as they were bom before their mother had embraced the Orthodox Faith, rumours that he had abdicated his right while he was still in Russia, and so on and so forth. Some wanted the Grand Duke Nicholas to advance his rights. Impostors appeared within Russia and outside. Insistent reports from Russia stated that nobody was clear as to who was the rightful claimant to the Throne, as the title ‘Guardian of the Throne’ was too vague.

For this reason—in order to consolidate his position and determine once and for all his own right and the right of his descendants to the Russian Throne, and to remove any doubts which the world at large might have on the subject—my father decided to assume the Imperial Title which belonged to him by right of primogeniture and in accordance with the Fundamental Laws of the Russian Empire regulating the Succession.

On 13 September 1924 my father signed the Manifesto in which he assumed the Imperial Title. It was very hard indeed for him to resolve on this step. Outward pomp did not attract him in the least, and vanity was not one of his failings. As he himself put it in a letter to the Grand Duchess Xenia: ‘Nothing can be compared with what I shall now have to endure on this account, and I know full well that I can expect no mercy from all the malicious attacks and accusations of vanity.’ He was quite right. He took on his shoulders a heavy cross, which he carried to his very grave.

The assumption of the Imperial Title by my father was appraised in all its seriousness by the Press of the whole world, and was considered to be an important new factor in the struggle against what was being done in Russia.

Among the Russian émigrés this step created a very strong impression, and gave a fresh impetus to the further development of the movement headed by my father.

Apart from his indisputable right to the Throne, the success of the cause which he had inaugurated depended to a very great extent on the line of policy which he would choose. If his choice was a happy one, success was bound to follow sooner or later. If it was faulty, no efforts in the world would aid its realization.

To get a clear picture of the task which confronted him, we must try and recapture the atmosphere of 1924-1925. At that time the Russian émigrés were still under the spell of the ‘White idea’—that is to say, they were still convinced that Russia could be delivered from Communism only by action from without. As, however, the forces of the emigres were wholly inadequate to effect such a task unaided, the ‘White idea’ implied the necessity of enlisting foreign aid, that is to say, the necessity of a foreign intervention. With regard to the future social structure of Russia, the monarchist circles advocated a complete restoration of the old order.

Such views were quite natural and even logical at that time, when the horrors of the Revolution and the civil war were still fresh in everybody’s mind. It made my father’s choice of policy, however, all the more difficult. To go against the prevailing sentiments of the emigres was bound to result in driving their majority into opposition. To follow the path of restoration meant crippling his chances of success within Russia itself.

My father was accustomed to be guided by his common sense and personal experience, and he considered that the sentiments that prevailed in Russia were far more important than the sentiments of the émigrés.

He rejected the idea of an ‘intervention,’ for he considered that a Russian Emperor could not seek to recover with the aid of foreign bayonets a Throne which belonged to him by right. As for social restoration, he regarded it as a chimera.

My parents repeatedly asserted that our first and foremost problem was to convince the whole world that a restoration of Russia’s rightful monarchy would not mean reaction, and that monarchy was the most enlightened, the most flexible, and the most perfect form of government imaginable. My father was often vexed at the opinions expressed by a number of enlightened foreigners, who suggested that a restoration of monarchy in Russia would inevitably lead to an archaic form of despotism—a form of government which has never in fact existed in Imperial Russia.

In view of this my father issued a number of pronouncements in which he expressed his views on the future structure of Russia, and not long before his death— on 24 March 1938—he published an Act in which he expressed his views in their final form.

I look upon this Act as a document of immense political significance, for not only does it illustrate my father’s views, but it also gives a profoundly correct analysis of the present position in Russia. The purport of this Act I shall now reproduce.

My father considered that from the very beginning of the Revolution the discontent of the masses against the dictatorship which had been thrust upon the country expressed itself in various forms. One might have thought, nevertheless, that those persons who had attained high rank under the dictatorship were loyal to it. The events of recent years, however, and especially the events of the past year, have shown that there is an ever-growing ferment even among such persons as have attained power, honour, and material prosperity. In the entourage of the dictator conspiracies constantly arise, and such attempts as have so far been made to overthrow the tyrannical Government—and which have up till now proved abortive —have all proceeded from circles closely connected with that Government. My father considered that there could be no better proof of the general hatred which surrounds the existing regime. If the dictator himself sees treason everywhere and has no one on whom he can rely, then his dictatorship will inevitably come to an end. His real and imaginary enemies he destroys mercilessly. In its life and death struggles against an opposition which reveals itself in every sphere of the political and economic life of the country, the dictatorship is ruining the whole structure of the State, it undermines Russia’s military might and poisons the nation’s life-blood. By pursuing such a policy the dictator has proved to the whole world that he is prompted solely by a lust for power, that his objects are purely personal, and that he has no care for the good of the people.

At this moment of grave crisis my father deemed it his duty, as heir of the Czars and Emperors who created Russia’s might, to remind the Russian people of those foundations on which our country must be built anew.

After the inevitable downfall of the present dictatorship, the absence of a new Government capable of assuming immediate control of the administration would be fraught with untold calamities for Russia. The greatest danger of all would be another civil war which might lead to the disintegration of the State and the loss of lands which have for centuries formed an inalienable part of Russia. Russia’s boundless territories would again be steeped in Russian blood, and all that the nation’s effort had succeeded in reconstructing during the arduous years of oppression would again be razed to the ground. In order to over-come that prolonged crisis which has been dislocating Russian life for wellnigh a quarter of a century it is essential that a stable national government should come to power without delay. This can only be assured by a legitimate monarchy, whose policy would combine a continuity of traditional administration with the new demands and spirit of the times. It would be a monarchy founded on the unity of the nation, on the elimination of factious politics and class antagonism, on religious tolera¬tion and freedom of conscience, on equal rights for all the nationalities of the Empire, on the wide participation of the people in the political and economic administration of the country, and on the heredity of the sovereign power of the Crown—a constant, impartial, and natural arbiter. My father firmly believed that such a monarchy would save Russia from internal weakness and external dangers, and would lead her out on to the path of progress and prosperity.

Furthermore, he pointed out that personal and social liberty is a mere mirage without a monarchical sovereign power which can guarantee the continuity and stability of the established order. It is this continuity of power which makes a monarchy capable of embarking on radical and decisive reforms, such reforms as are often necessary for the salutary progress of a people.

A question which my father regarded as being of quite exceptional importance for Russia was the question of the Church, for Russia has always been a champion of the Christian spirit among nations. The Orthodox Church, as the guardian of this sacred and precious heritage, now hallowed with the crown of martyrdom and strengthened by the struggle and suffering borne in the long years of persecution, must preserve her canonical administration. Her position of priority among the other churches must be maintained, but at the same time no one should be prevented from glorifying the One God in another confession of faith.

The question of nationalities is of immense importance in a country like Russia, which is inhabited by a large  number of different peoples, who have preserved their peculiar national cultures. Accordingly, my father considered that the new Empire should be grounded on a close alliance of all the nations and tribes which constitute its population. Any oppression of the other nationalities by the Russian majority cannot be tolerated. The Cossacks, too, must have their rights safeguarded—rights which they have well deserved throughout the history of our country.

My father always declared that the monarchy will not bring vengeance and retribution. It must and will give full recognition to all labours achieved for the good of the country by Russians within Russia and abroad during the years of trial and hardship.

One of the most serious questions for Russia’s future development is the agrarian question. My father held the opinion that the present regime has pauperized our agricultural population: its policy of ‘collectivization’ has become an instrument of oppression directed at every section of the peasantry. The resuscitation of the pros¬perity of the country-side should be the first and fore¬most care of the new Government, a problem which should be tackled in a spirit of fair play and adjusted to the general demands of the good of the community. The agricultural population of the Empire must occupy a place which corresponds to its actual position in the State and in the economic life of the country. It must enjoy the benefits of a law which accords equality to all classes, safeguards the liberty of labour, and recognizes the stability and integrity of landed property. The right of private ownership of land must be extended to all the workers of the country. The new system of civil law must allow the acquisition, alienation, and inheritance of landed property. Every worker on the soil must be given com-plete freedom in the distribution of the fruits of his labour.

My father recognized the fact that the Government which has been created by the Revolution has expended much energy on the development of industry. The development of the country’s industrialization and the creation of new industrial bases called in their turn for an increase in the number of working hands. The Government has tried to exploit for political aims the great masses of labourers employed in the factories. In order to win the support of the workers, whose champion it pretends to be, the dictatorship claims the merit of having achieved the social emancipation of the working class. In actual fact, however, it has not only failed to achieve any improvement of labour conditions or to raise the minimum wage of the Russian worker, but it has actually brought about the enslavement of the entire mass of the labourers. Socialist society has in practice turned out to be a new form of serfdom in the hands of an impersonal State. In Russia to-day there is not a trace of that social progress which has been achieved in other advanced countries.

The entire concentration of the country’s trade and industry in the hands of the State was a thing in which my father never believed. The countless sacrifices which have been borne by the Russian people have not, in any way, been justified by the results achieved. Freedom of trade and of personal initiative in industry must be safeguarded within the limits allowed by the general interests of the whole community. The solution of economic problems must be governed by considerations of expediency and remain uninfluenced by political passions. The economic structure of the Empire must not be weakened by class divisions which undermine national unity, but it must be cemented by the constructive collaboration and creative solidarity of all the constituent elements of every branch of production. All who take part in the economic life of the country should have a share in its administration through corporate and professional organs, and the measure of responsibility borne by each individual for his share in production should be balanced by a corresponding measure of personal interest. The regulation of wages and working hours, the health and personal safety of the workers, especially women and minors, and the insurance and maintenance of the aged and invalids will be the subject of special legislation.

National defence was, of course, a question in which my father was specially interested. The first-class naval and military training which he had received in Imperial Russia, and his own practical experience—for he had held responsible posts in the Navy—made him a competent judge in such matters. His interest did not wane in exile, and he kept in touch with every new development in military technique. He considered that Russia should not lag behind in the feverish international race for rearmament, and never failed to give due recognition to those Russian soldiers and military specialists through whose efforts the Army and Air Force have been brought to such a high level of perfection. And yet those very same generals, who deserved so well of their country, have now been shot down by the present insane Government!

Such was the political outlook of my father. The most striking feature of his character was that, though he had the best part of his life behind, he always remained alive to everything that happened in the world, and took a keen interest in that evolution of statecraft which, in the post-War period, has manifested itself in varying forms in all the great countries of the world. He was an advanced man in every sense of that word, and all his political views, as can be seen from my summary, were prompted by the demands of modem life.

In 1924 my family settled in Coburg, where we lived in the Villa Edimbourg. This villa belonged to my parents— it was given to them by my grandmother, the Grand Duchess Marie Alexandrovna Duchess of Edinburgh, and it was here that they lived after their marriage, before they could return to Russia. Everything here reminded them of the best part of their lives—the first few years after their marriage, all the more so as the interior decoration of the villa had not been changed at all. Every piece of furniture was exactly in the same place where it had been twenty years before.

Coburg itself is a small town, situated in very fine surroundings. Like every other ‘Residenz-Stadt’ in Germany, it is equipped with all the amenities of a big city, only in a miniature form—a theatre, an opera house, good restaurants, hotels, shops, and so on and so forth. It is neat and tidy and rather dull, as every small provincial town should be. Father found it quite pleasant in small doses, but boring to stay for any length of time. We led a very cloistered life in Coburg, for we had no friends except the family of' Duke Karl of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha and King Ferdinand of Bulgaria.

Father was very fond of motor cars ever since they first appeared. He was, in a way, one of the oldest and most experienced motorists of our time, for he had toured practically the whole of Western Europe with Mother, especially Germany and France. He fell back on this favourite pastime of his during our Coburg years, and there was hardly a day when we did not drive out into the beautiful environs of the town.

Every morning Father was busy at work with his political assistants, and Sunday mornings were often included in this routine. All kinds of political workers came to visit him from every corner of the world. They came with reports on the internal situation in Russia, on the life of the Russian exiles in the countries in which they lived and worked, and on their own efforts to bring about a united front. I was a small boy at the time, but the visitors were always presented to me and I had to talk to them. The whole of our family, indeed, from the moment that Father began his political activity, lived in the world of political events and our conversations usually gravitated towards politics. I often saw troubled looks on the faces of my parents, and I knew what those looks meant. They were always caused by some new events which had taken place in Russia, or some fresh developments of the Russian question in general.

In November 1924 Mother received an invitation to visit the United States, and was away for a month. She was very well received in America, where a number of big receptions were organized in her honour. The moral success of her visit was very considerable, which was only natural, as she was an exceptional woman in every sense. Her brilliant intellect, her profound knowledge of life, and her great presence never failed to win the hearts of all with whom she came in contact.

In accepting this invitation my mother had one end in view—to further my father’s cause in America, and in this she undoubtedly succeeded. It was rumoured at the time that her object was to collect funds, but this was untrue. Mother had no such object in mind, and considered it far more important to establish connections with prominent Americans who were interested in the Russian question.

Mother’s journey was a cause of great anxiety to Father, and he eagerly awaited news from her all the time.

On 25 November 1925 my elder sister, Marie, was married in Coburg to Karl, the Hereditary Prince of Leiningen. The first ceremony was celebrated according to Orthodox rites in our private chapel in the Villa Edimbourg. The vestments and decorations of this chapel were presented to my grandmother by her father, the Emperor Alexander II, and originally belonged to the movable military chapel attached to his headquarters during the Russo-Turkish War of 1878[2]. After the Orthodox ceremony a Lutheran marriage was celebrated in the local church. All our relatives came to the wedding, and a number of merry festivities followed. My parents were very pleased with the match.

The following summer we spent, as usual, at Saint-Briac, a place for which we had all developed a great fondness. This time my parents bought a villa there, and Mother got busy with alterations in the new house, its furnishing, and the lay-out of its garden. She had a passionate love for flowers, and was an expert gardener. She also loved painting them, and her flower studies were the works of an accomplished artist.

The house itself was an ordinary Breton stone building. Its interior was planned by Mother, and the furniture was brought from our flat in Paris, which had been kept on by my parents right through the War. This, of course, increased its sentimental value.

It was only in the winter of 1927-1928 that we finally succeeded in settling in our new house, and from that time onwards we made Saint-Briac our permanent home. We led a country life there, but it was far more lively than at Coburg, as before the World Crisis came on a number of English families lived permanently at Saint-Briac and Dinard, and we kept up the friendliest relations with them. An added attraction for Father was the golf course. He was a keen golfer, and could now play right through the year, which gave him great pleasure and was very good for his health.

On 13 October 1928 the Dowager Empress Marie Feodorovna died, and Father went to Copenhagen for her funeral. He had a great love and respect for the deceased Empress, and wanted to pay her his last act of devotion. While in Copenhagen he was the guest of the King of Denmark, and was received with all the honours due to the Head of the Imperial House of Russia. Most of the members of the Russian Imperial Family gathered at the funeral, and some of them Father met for the first time since his departure from Russia.

As a crowned Empress, Marie Feodorovna was considered by many Russians to be the highest authority in the Imperial Family, and her death made Father’s position still more prominent. A few months later, on 5 January 1929, the Grand Duke Nicholas died at Antibes, on the Cote d’Azur—an event of great significance for the Russian emigres, as the majority of the military organizations looked upon him as their leader. At the time of his death his authority was on the wane, as his prolonged illness had prevented him from taking part in public affairs for some time

Father never really had any relations with him. In exile they had never even seen each other. Father fully recognized his authority as the oldest member of the Family and did not belittle the services which he had rendered Russia as a soldier, but as it was Father who, by virtue of the Fundamental Laws, was Head of the Dynasty, he considered that the Grand Duke should have supported his endeavours, while the Grand Duke only showed a marked hostility. This was the cause of considerable vexation for Father, who tried on several occasions to establish friendly relations with the Grand Duke, but always without success.

With the Grand Duke’s death the military organizations were deprived of their natural leadership, and it seemed as though the obvious course for them to take would be to recognize the authority of my father. This, however, they did not do. Not that the Legitimist Cause was any the worse for it—on the contrary, it grew and gained strength from year to year. Legitimist groups were organized in every country where Russians had settled. My father’s General Secretariat was thus in touch with every country in the world, and was well informed about everything that happened among the Russian emigres. The importance of the movement increased with every year that passed, all the more so as the main protagonists of the ‘White Movement,’ one by one, left the political arena, and the chances of a foreign intervention diminished. The soundness of my father’s forecasts was continually being confirmed by the trend of political events, which assured the success of his cause.

In the spring of 1929 Father transferred his General Secretariat to Saint-Briac, and resumed his Coburg habit of hearing reports from the Secretary-General every morning.

On 3 October 1930 my parents celebrated their Silver Wedding. It was a great event, both for them and for us, their children. In his memoirs Father has dwelt at some length on his marriage to Mother and on the events which followed it. It was a marriage which was based entirely on the mutual love of my parents, and which took place in spite of the circumstances in which they found themselves. For twenty-five years they lived together with one heart and mind, and our family could well be an example to all. We adored our parents, and their love for us was infinite. All the hardships and bitterness we had to endure in the years of exile were fully covered by our mutual love. We were proud of our parents, and the celebration of their Silver Wedding had a special significance for all of us.

My aunt Alexandra—Princess Hohenlohe-Langenburg— came to join in our festivities, and my parents received greetings from all parts of the world and many presents. On the evening of the 8th there was a big dinner, to which members of Father’s entourage as well as all our friends in Saint-Briac and Dinard were invited. After dinner tableaux were produced, and they were a great success.

On the following Sunday, which was on 12 October, representatives of monarchist organizations arrived from Paris to present their loyal greetings. Their visit was made an occasion for a luncheon party, and in the evening there was a reception at Dinard in the house of an American friend of ours.

In the following year Father made a tour round Italy, and then went on a cruise in the Mediterranean, visiting Lebanon, Palestine, Egypt, Greece, and Dubrovnik. 

Everywhere the scattered Russian colonies gave him a warm reception. The greatest impression that remained in his memory from this cruise was his pilgrimage to the holy places in Jerusalem.

On 30 August 1933 my majority was celebrated. I had reached the age of sixteen, and this gave me, according to the Fundamental Laws of the Russian Empire, the right of exercising all the prerogatives which belonged to me by virtue of my birth. Father issued a special Manifesto addressed to the Russian people, and a circular letter to all the Royal Houses, informing them that I had reached my majority. My Uncles Andrew and Dimitri, and a number of representatives of monarchist organizations, came from Paris, to attend the ceremony, in the course of which I took my oath. The ceremony was followed by a banquet given in my honour by my uncle, the Grand Duke Dimitri.

The next important event in our lives took place a year later when, on 26 November 1934, my parents, my sister Kira, and I were invited by the King and Queen of England to attend the wedding of my cousin, Princess Marina of Greece, to the Duke of Kent. It was Father’s first visit to England since the War and the Revolution, though Mother had been paying frequent visits to London, which she thoroughly enjoyed. A British princess by birth and a near relative of the King, she had many friends in England.

My parents stayed at Buckingham Palace, where a vast concourse of relatives had gathered for the wedding. Father and Mother knew them all, of course, but it was the first time in my life that I was present at such a gathering of the clans, and there were many whom I did not know at all. On the eve of the wedding there was a big reception at the palace, to which all the relatives, the Diplomatic Corps, and a number of others were invited. Among the diplomats was M. Maisky, the Soviet Ambassador. It was the first occasion on which Father found himself in such close proximity to a representative of Soviet Russia. No conversations passed between them.

I had never before attended a Court function on so vast a scale, and the impression it made on me was very great. Before the reception I was presented by my parents to King George V, for whom I conceived an immense liking. There was something exceptionally attractive about the old king’s manner.

The reception itself I found very tiring, for I had to stand all the time, but I went round the rooms of the palace with great interest and watched the invited guests. I was introduced to so many friends and relatives that I found it quite impossible to remember them all. Apart from the reception there were several family dinners, but the number of relatives that gathered at those ‘family’ dinners was so great that they did not look like family affairs at all. One dinner was attended by no fewer than seventy-four. We had a good many jokes about this abundance of kin.

I looked over the wedding presents, and I remember being struck by the vast number which came from quite ordinary people. It was a remarkable testimony to the popularity which the Royal Family enjoys in England. A great surprise was in store for Father when we went to look at the presents. We found a number of elderly ladies there, and they turned out to be the nurses of some of the Royal guests. Imagine my father’s astonishment when he met his own nurse, Miss Crofts, among them. The old lady—she was eighty then—was overjoyed at the meeting, and Father found great pleasure in remembering his childhood days with her.

The actual wedding took place on 29 November. There is no need for me to say anything about the ceremony in Westminster Abbey, with which my British readers are well acquainted, except that my sister Kira was Princess Marina’s bridesmaid, and that I was groomsman at the Greek Orthodox ceremony which took place in the palace chapel.

On the day after the wedding we went to stay for a few days with the family of Lord Howard de Walden, an invitation which gave great pleasure to my parents, who were very fond of the Howard de Waldens. An amusing incident occurred with my mother at a party given a few days after our arrival. She had put on her evening dress and come downstairs when the party was already in full swing. While she was engaged in a long conversation with one of the guests she suddenly looked at her feet and found she was wearing bedroom slippers.

After thoroughly enjoying the hospitality of the Howard de Waldens we went to stay with the Astors. Lord Astor very kindly took it on himself to initiate Father and me in everything that was to be seen in London, and in the course of the six-day plan which he had worked out for us we visited the Tower, the Battersea Electrical Power Station, The Times printing works, Hanworth Aerodrome, where I went up in an autogyro, Biggin Hill Aerodrome, the British Museum, the Zoo and the Aquarium, and Westminster Abbey. It was while we were staying at the Astors that a luncheon was given in our honour at the German Embassy.

On 18 December our family left London. We left with very pleasant memories of the hospitable reception which was given us both by the Royal Family and by London Society in general.

In the winter of 1935 Father and I went to Paris, where I was to be coached for matriculation. We arrived on 8 December, and our visit was not a success, for I very soon became ill, causing great anxiety to Father. On 19 December Mother came to Paris, and on the following day she had to proceed to Germany to my elder sister, the Princess of Leiningen. It was only eleven days since I had left Mother, and I got quite a shock to see how ill she looked. She felt very nervous, too, and hated the idea of leaving me while I was still unwell. I was out of all danger, however, for I only had whooping cough, and all that had to be done was to send me home. Mother went to my sister Marie, who was seriously ill and was expecting a child. She left Paris, and as we parted I little thought that I would only see her again on her deathbed. 

Soon after her arrival in Wurzburg, where my sister was ill in bed, Mother got a chill, but she insisted on visiting Marie. The childbirth was not attended by any complications, and in the middle of January they all returned to Amorbach Castle. Here Mother again became ill, and the doctors found her condition serious, as she was steadily getting weaker. On the day of the baby’s christening, however, Mother did not want to spoil the festive atmosphere. She summoned up all her will and attended the ceremony, but the effort taxed her strength very greatly. Her condition did not improve, and on 5 February my sister Kira went to Amorbach.

Father and I were in terrible suspense. Bad news followed good news, but we were far from the thought that the end was so near. On 18 February, however, we got a message to say that Mother’s condition had taken a. distinct turn for the worse, and on the following day we both set out for Amorbach. It was a terrible journey which I shall never forget.

We found Mother in a semi-conscious state. She was so weak that she could hardly move or speak, and only occasionally muttered words which could be understood with difficulty. She recognized us, however.

The days that followed were one long nightmare for all of us. Mother was getting weaker and weaker, the doctors could do nothing, and we were expecting the end at any moment. In the evening of 1 March the doctors noticed a rapid weakening of the pulse. Mother’s sisters— the Infanta Beatrice of Spain and Princess Hohenlohe-Langenburg—had joined us, and we all gathered at her bedside. At fifteen minutes past midnight her pulse stopped beating. Mother had passed away. We all had such an infinite love for her that our grief knew no bounds. It was painful to look at Father.

On 5 March Mother’s coffin was brought to Coburg and placed in the family vault of the Dukes of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. A great many relatives came to the funeral, but there were no official representatives of the Royal Houses related to us, as Mother disliked pomp and ceremony, and it was decided to make the funeral—which took place on 6 March—a purely family affair. As we followed the coffin to the mausoleum we found the streets of Coburg lined with many of the local inhabitants, who had a great regard for Mother’s family and came to pay her their last tribute.

The funeral was attended by my aunt, Queen Marie of Roumania, with her daughter Queen Elizabeth of Greece, the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg, the Duke of Saxe- Coburg and his family, King Ferdinand with his daughter Eudoxia, my Uncles Andrew and Dimitri, my aunt, the Infanta Beatrice of Spain, the family of my aunt, Alexandra of Hohenlohe-Langenburg, and the family of the Prince of Leiningen. There were many representatives of Russian organizations.

After spending ten days in Coburg and about the same length of time with my sister at Amorbach we returned to our orphaned home at Saint-Briac. My sister Kira had returned earlier and was awaiting us. It was terrible to enter the house for the first time after Mother’s death —that house where her spirit seemed always to be present. Every object reminded us of her. Every flower in the garden had been planted by her.

Mother’s death was a severe shock to Father, and for a long time he could not reconcile himself to the thought that she was dead. In every conversation he would always return to the one topic that interested him: reminiscences of Mother. He spent hours reading over her old letters and looking at her photographs. After her death he concentrated his affection on us, his children, and especially on me. He tried to be inseparable from us and was sick at heart when we were away.

Throughout the spring and summer of that sad year I was busy at my work, preparing for the matriculation which was to take place on 22 October. On 30 September Father and I came to Paris, and every moment I could spare from my work we spent together. The examination took place in the Russian School in Paris and lasted about a week. I got through it quite successfully and Father was very pleased. He came with me every morning, and often called for me at the school when my day’s ordeal was over.

For Christmas I went with Father and Kira to London, where we thoroughly enjoyed our holidays with friends and relatives. In the middle of January we passed through Paris on our way to Switzerland for the winter sports, where we spent four months, and then went on to Munich so as to arrive at Coburg in time for the anniversary of Mother’s death. In Munich Father became very ill. He recovered slightly, and was well enough to go to Coburg, but when he got there his condition became worse, and we could only return to Saint-Briac on 5 April. This illness was an indication of the general weakening of his organism. He had developed arterio-sclerosis, which affected his blood circulation, impaired his eyesight, and partly paralysed his left leg and the fingers of his right hand.

We spent the whole of the summer of 1937 at Saint-Briac, where I was preparing for my entrance examination to London University. In the autumn I came to London with Father and Kira, and I started my life as an undergraduate. We lived in the house of my aunt, the Infanta Beatrice, at Kew. Father was often alone in the house, as I was attending lectures for the greater part of the day. He was bored and complained that he was not feeling well. He underwent medical treatment, but it did not seem to do him much good. He blamed the state of his health on to the London climate, and was eager to return to Saint-Briac, where we were going to spend Christmas. Shortly before the day fixed for our departure, however, my sister and I received an invitation from the Crown Prince of Germany to spend Christmas with his family at Potsdam. We were sorry to leave Father alone at Saint- Briac for the holidays, but he considered that we ought to accept the invitation, and we parted in Paris. Father went to Saint-Briac, while I went to Potsdam with Kira.

On 23 December my sister became engaged to Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia. A telegram was immediately dispatched to Father, who gave his blessing. We were most keen to get back to Saint-Briac, but had to go to Doorn first, as the Emperor Wilhelm was also very eager to bless the engaged couple.

At last, on 9 January 1938, my sister, the Prince, and I returned to Saint-Briac. Father’s joy knew no bounds. He very much approved of Kira’s engagement, and said that his mind was now at peace.

On 18 January I had to return to London to resume my studies at the University, and on the 25th my sister went to Doom. Father remained alone with Captain Graf, who had been his Secretary-General for many years. His attacks of illness became more frequent, and he constantly complained of his failing eyesight and of the empty feeling in his head. On 15 February Kira returned to Saint-Briac, and on 9 March my elder sister, Marie, also arrived. This cheered Father up considerably, though he was still very lonely without me. Throughout March the state of his health was very poor, but by the time I returned on the 29th he became much better, so much so that he could come with us to Paris for the big reception which the Russian colony was organizing in Kira’s honour on 3 April to celebrate her engagement. Afraid of taxing his strength with too much excitement, Father did not go to the reception, but remained in the hotel where we were staying. He was anxiously awaiting our return and was very keen to know how everything went off. The reception proved a great success, and we were all in excellent spirits that evening.

On 8 April we returned to Saint-Briac, and in the same night Father suddenly felt a terrible pain in his right leg. From that day the frightful pains in his leg never ceased till his death.

Kira’s wedding was fixed for 2 May, and Father and I had, of course, to attend it. Right through April, however, Father was so bad that it seemed quite impossible for him to go. Still, he was very keen to go to the wedding, and his doctor considered that it would do him a lot of good, as it would cheer him up. Up till the very last day we could not make up our minds, but finally on 27 April we went to Paris, and decided that we would there see if Father could go any further. His pains continued, and it was not without considerable misgiving that on 30 April we decided to go. Though he found all the ceremonies at Potsdam and Doom a severe strain, Father was still very happy to have attended Kira’s wedding, and returned home in a much more cheerful frame of mind.

We spent the summer in Saint-Briac. Father’s state of health improved now and again, but a relapse invariably followed. His pains did not cease and he was continually suffering, especially at night. The summer passed, and on 4 September I again had to return to London for my studies. On the 10th my sister Marie also had to leave Saint-Briac to join her family in Germany. Our doctor considered that Father’s condition was not critical, and that there was nothing to fear.

On 12 September, however, were detected the first signs of the gangrene which had set in. My sister and uncles were immediately informed, and a specialist was summoned from Paris, who advised that Father should be transferred to one of the hospitals in Paris without delay. On 21 September my sister and Father’s two brothers—Boris and Andrew—arrived at Saint-Briac, bringing a doctor with them. On the following day, on the insistent advice of the physicians, Father was taken to Paris by car and placed in the American Hospital. I had by that time finished with my examinations, and left London for Paris immediately.

In the hospital Father was examined by a number of prominent specialists, and it then appeared that his position was far from hopeless, and that it might even be possible to avoid an operation. We were all filled with the hope that he would recover. On 7 and 8 October, however, the pains in his right leg became unexpectedly worse. Father was in terrible distress and no soothing remedies were of any avail. In the morning of 9 October, while bandaging his legs, the doctor found fresh symptoms of gangrene, and considered that the position was very serious. He immediately held a consultation which came to the decision that the position of the patient was hopeless and that in view of the general weakening of the organism an operation was impossible. When I was told this, I could hardly believe that all hope was at an end. Father was fully conscious and, as his pains had ceased, he thought that his condition had taken a turn for the better. He spent a comparatively quiet night, but it was obvious that his strength was giving way, and he could hardly move. He slept for the greater part of the day, waking at intervals and talking to the people who surrounded him. But he was all the time getting weaker and weaker, and on the 11th he was so weak that he remained motionless the whole day and was in a state of coma. On that day he confessed and received the Sacrament.

At 7.30 a.m. on 12 October my sister and I, Father’s brothers, and his sister, Princess Nicholas of Greece, were summoned to the hospital, as the doctor was expecting Father to die at any moment. We all gathered at his bedside. There was still a lingering flame of life in him, and only at 1.15 p.m. his pulse ceased to beat. He passed away in his sleep. The expression of his face was so calm that it seemed as though he realized that he had at last found peace and quiet after six months of uninterrupted suffering.

Father’s death came as a great shock to the Russian exiles in all countries. It was a Russian national sorrow. Requiem services were held, and everywhere churches were filled with mourners. His coffin was a mass of flowers. On the morning of the 17th it was conveyed by a special car to Coburg, and I followed in my own car. The funeral took place on 19 October, and Father’s coffin was placed in the family vault of the Dukes of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, next to the coffin of my mother.

He was only sixty-two when he died. God did not suffer him to return to his country, which he had loved so passionately all his life.

I have no doubt that history will give due recognition to his life’s work. It will recognize my father’s high sense of duty as a member of the Imperial House and a true patriot. 

Years will pass. Russia will be delivered from the terrors which she is now enduring. I am confident that she will return to her historical form of government as the logical end of the experiments which have been carried out on her by the usurpers of power. Then will the Russian people appraise the great merit of my father, who, in a spirit of self-sacrifice and with a deep understanding of surrounding conditions, launched the struggle for Russia’s salvation along the only true channel.

He raised aloft the standard of the monarchy, which for Russia is also her national standard. The emblem of peaceful life, progress, and prosperity. The pledge of the peace of all Europe.

Footnotes

(2024)

[1] The Emperor was placed under arrest on 22nd March (O.S. 9th March) 1917.  Grand Duke Kirill’s resignation was made public on the 10th, thus placing the date of his resignation exactly as the Grand Duke and his son stated, immediately uphon hearing of the arrest of the Imperial Family.

[2] The chapel and its contents were sent with Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna to England on her marriage, and were set up in Clarence House for her use.  When the family left Britain for Coburg, the entire chapel and its effects were sent ahead and installed at the Palais Edinburgh.  After the death of Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna, the chapel was broken up and dispersed.  In April of 2021 many pieces from the liturgical service of the chapel of Maria Alexandrovna by Nicholls & Plincke were purchased from several private owners in the United States and given to the State Hermitage Museum.