My Life in Russia’s Service:

Chapter Five

Service at Sea

This may sound like a passage from the chronicles of the early navigators, but it was our tradition and a good one, too, that before starting a long voyage there should be a religious service first during which the ship is hallowed by the sprinkling of holy water. A Te Deum was accordingly celebrated on board, and after a big luncheon which followed, we cast off. Twelve thousand miles of sea lay before us.

One of the things that had to be done on leaving was to teach the captain not to come to the mess unasked. The poor man was not familiar with the naval tradition that the captain takes his meals by himself and joins the mess only when invited by his officers.

The part of the Baltic which joins the North Sea between Jutland and the Danish Islands is known for its dangerous currents, a feature which narrow seas share more or less in common. Here they are especially dangerous, and to avoid any unpleasant incident we had picked up a local pilot to guide us through them. In spite of his presence on board, which according to the laws of the sea does not shift the burden of responsibility from the captain in case anything should go wrong, we ran aground off the coast of Jutland.

Every effort was made to get the Peresviet off into deep water, but she remained stubbornly fixed. We could not shift her, and fearing that she might have been damaged below the water-line we sent our divers down to investigate.

These Russian divers were splendid and enjoyed a world-wide reputation for their efficiency. I have been told by English Naval officers that our divers were considered superior to any. There were certain specialities in our Navy which were excellent and, generally, our fleet, though leaving much to be desired as a working whole, was excellently developed in some of its details, among which divers and compasses were predominant. The theory of compasses had become a special study with us and we were acknowledged as experts.

When the Baltic squadron of Rojedestvenski performed its prodigy of a twenty thousand miles voyage, it had to rely entirely on its own resources, and all its repairs had to be done mostly while afloat. Owing to the obsolete types of ‘tin box’ vessels which he had been ordered to drag over the seas into battle at the other end of the world with his base about 18,000 miles away, there were a great number of breakdowns.

Thus, for example, one of the small destroyers broke its rudder in the Indian Ocean during a heavy swell. The divers attended to their work while their shipmates kept the sharks away. The rudder had to be repaired at all costs as the Admiral was determined not to lose, except in battle, even the smallest of the ships which had been entrusted to his charge.

One of the divers was carried away by a huge sea and plunged like a stone into the fearsome depths of the ocean, followed by the sharks. Another took his place at once. The upward flight and fall, while the destroyer’s stern was raised sky high and sank deep with the sea, produced sea-sickness among the divers. In spite of all they worked on till the damage had been repaired. Every time they were raised to the deck of the small craft they had to be restored to consciousness, and then they returned to their work.

Such were the men who sailed consciously to their doom and fought until the last of their guns had been put out of action and their ‘tin boxes’ had turned turtle in the waters of Tsushima.

We had not been damaged, but as we could not get oil the reef with our own engines, Danish tugs were called for, and, after some strenuous efforts, succeeded in hauling us off into deep water.

Nothing of any particular interest happened until we got into the Bay of Biscay. It was calm, and just because of that an idiotic incident happened which might have brought about a calamity. I was resting in my bunk at the time when all of a sudden I felt that our engines were put full astern. As we were on the wide ocean, this strange manoeuvre amazed me. I rushed to the bridge—and what did I see?—I beheld a mysterious sight which seemed to lack natural explanation, and yet had all the appearance of intention. ... A strange farce scented to be in progress with the ocean as the stage and a great man-of-war and small tramp-steamer as the actors. It looked as though this meeting had been specially contrived by elaborate calculation.

The Peresviet and the tramp-steamer were head on to each other, and when I came on the bridge were receding with their engines reversed. Then both stopped and lay becalmed, bowing politely in a friendly counter- dance on the swell of the wide sea around them. Neither of them seemed willing to get out of the way of the other, until, finally, we had gone sufficiently far astern to alter course a few points to starboard and pass by the tramp.

What had happened was very typical of the persons we had been condemned to drag with us.

One of them, who later on was to get us into trouble again, had been on watch when he sighted a tramp-steamer ploughing its way harmlessly and slowly on a totally opposite course to ours.

Instead of giving it an appropriate berth, he lost his head completely like a person learning to ride a bicycle and making straight for a tree. He continued relentlessly on his course and straight at the steamer. Had it not been for the vigilance of others, he would have taken us full speed into her. What they thought and especially what was said on board that steamer has not been recorded. I think that they were so amazed that they were completely dumbfounded. What, after all, but an attempt at piracy could be the intention of a man-of-war bearing down upon them on the open sea until the very last moment and then suddenly reversing its engines. The whole affair must have given them the impression of an act inspired by malevolent intention on our part.

The result of this incident was that the officer in question was mercilessly jeered at in the mess. Even then he seemed not to understand that he had done anything out of the ordinary, and I presume he considered it his duty to sink anything that chance brought on our course. He was in every way typical of the kind of person we had to contend with, and the result was that those of us who understood our jobs had to do the work of two or three.

We were bound for Toulon, our next port of call after Vigo.

In the Gulf of Lyons we ran into heavy weather. A howling gale had turned the sea into a foaming mass, through which we ploughed our way at twelve knots. It was pitch dark when I came on the bridge for my watch. The air was filled with the sound of the gale, with spray and sleet which drove at us pursued by the force of the elements. The only things which could be seen were our binnacle lights and the white foam of the seas that rose and fell, hurling themselves upon us.

Suddenly out of the darkness and the din of the storm a red light appeared dead ahead. It was the port light of a vessel which was coming straight at us. Instinctively I ordered the helm hard a-starboard. For the moment, only for the flash of a few seconds, I stood holding my breath. A large barque driven by the full force of a following gale passed within a few yards of our port side.

She was swallowed up in the darkness of the raging storm as quickly as it had come upon us. I had avoided disaster just in time. A few seconds later it would have been too late. The sleet and rain which the gale chased in continuous curtains at us had made it impossible to make out the mast-light of the barque.

It was fortunate for all of us that one of our hopefuls had not been on duty at the time.

At Toulon we received a visit from Aunt Anastasia— the Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg—who, like Queen Olga of Greece, patronized Russian warships. She, too, was ever on the look out for them, and whenever one put in at a port anywhere within easy reach of her whereabouts she would always gladly visit them.

We interrupted our voyage for five days at the French Naval base of Villefranche, where I met Cousin Victoria, to whom, from now onwards in this account, I shall refer as ‘Ducky,’ which was the name by which she was known in her family.

She was staying with her mother and her sister Beatrice at their castle, Fabron, near Nice. She was in exile. The circumstances which had led up to this had their roots in an unhappy married life.

In marrying the Grand Duke of Hesse she had complied with the wishes of Queen Victoria. It was no love match and her feelings in the matter had not been consulted. It was dynastic duty.

Their married life was doomed to failure owing to the incompatability of their characters. The step of divorce had been suggested to her, but she had turned it down. The Hessians adored her.

When, however, real love finally came to her she took this step, and became an exile from Hesse, bitterly regretted by her people, as a consequence.[1]

She came to look me up on board ship and was entertained to tea by the officers. I remember that Dimitrieff sang and that I accompanied him on the piano. He had a splendid voice and was an excellent fellow.

Later I showed Ducky over the ship and my cabin, as she was particularly anxious that I should be well lodged on this long voyage.

My shipmates had proved splendid fellows on this occasion and had arranged this reception with great care and much taste.

I was given a short leave and went to Chateau Fabron[2], where Aunt Marie[i] [3] had decided that on the last night Ducky and I should have dinner by ourselves and that we were to be left alone as this was a farewell occasio 

She was in exile and I was going to the unknown, to the uncertainty of a blank future. About one thing both of us had no illusion whatever, that a mountain of obstacles to our happiness would arise, that every conceivable wheel of intrigue, coterie and vetos would be put into motion against us, and that we would be left to fight that sea of troubles alone with thousands of miles between us. By that time I would be at the other end of the world and the woman I cared for would have to defend herself as well as she could and I would be unable to come to her aid.

All this we knew and more. But that the future had a happy solution in store for us, that we did not know. With the feeling that this might be the last farewell, I plucked up courage and left to join my ship.

I drove to Villefranche in my little car. A steam launch awaited me at the quay. I sent the car back to Fabron with its French chauffeur. I wanted Ducky to use it. 

The next morning as we were casting off I noticed a carriage driving up to the quay. Ducky and her sister, the Infanta Beatrice, had come to see me off. The propellers churned up the water, the Peresviet moved slowly out and the quays receded. I stood on deck and watched them until distance hid them from sight.

While rounding the proverbially storm-infested Cape Matapan a gale was blowing, the night was pitch black and no stars were visible. The officer who had nearly got us into trouble in the Bay of Biscay was on duty on the bridge. Little could be seen. Suddenly a steamer’s lights appeared out of the night right on our course. Our friend lost his head completely and began to zigzag wildly, taking us completely off our course, so that in the end no one knew where we were, and as there were no stars to put us right, the navigation officer had a pretty problem in trying to calculate the right course from the maze of zigzags which had been indulged in. In the end, ‘ by guess and by God,* he established what he considered might be the right course. When I came on the bridge for my watch early in the morning I saw a lighthouse appearing out of the mist high up on shore. It was a well- known landmark and proved the navigation officer’s calculations to have been dead reckoning—no mean achievement.

At the Piraeus we received the usual visit from Aunt Olga with the King of Greece and her sons ‘in tow.’ On a later occasion I made use of one of our visits to the Piraeus to look up my sister Helen, and her husband Prince Nicholas of Greece,[ii] [4] at their charming house in Athens which they had just occupied after their marriage.

From Crete we went straight to Port Said, where my brother Boris with his friends, the Chevalier de Shaeck, Constantine Grews, with his brother, and Captain Nicholas Strandmann joined us. They were on a world tour, a ‘globe-trotting spree,’ and Boris had received special permission from the Emperor to be taken to Colombo on the Peresviet. They were a merry company, and were welcome to me as I was not in a happy mood. I was neither on a pleasant cruise nor did I take kindly to the world around me at the time. Their noisy and carefree attitude to things in general brought with it a jolly atmosphere, and for the time being relieved me a little of the burden which I was dragging with me.

I joined this lusty company on their visit to Thebes, where we went by train. We saw the sights of Memphis, Luxor, and Karnak, where there are some almost perfectly preserved temples, which made a special impression on me because they looked as though they had been built quite recently instead of over four thousand years ago. The two colossi of Memphis towered high and imposing, as the appropriate witnesses of the uninterrupted civilization of millenniums which had flowed steadily like the waters of the River Nile, its centre and raison d'etre, to become a unique and colossal achievement of the human race.

The Khedive[5] had provided Boris and his company with his private yacht, which took us back to Cairo.

The merry company which had joined us was somewhat rowdy, and as they were not under naval discipline they over-indulged in libations. In the end the senior doctor, who, in any case, was an addict to liquor of all kinds, broke absolutely loose. He lost control over himself completely, with the result that the commander had him locked up. We all thought that he would sleep it off and that for the time being he was out of harm’s way, but suddenly there was a fearful commotion accompanied by the noise of splintering glass. He had broken loose, had smashed the skylight of his cabin and stood before us with his white summer tunic and his face smothered in blood. At Colombo he was dismissed ship.

In the Indian Ocean we met some homeward-bound units of our Pacific squadron with which we exchanged compliments. There is always much excitement when one meets one’s own people on the immensity of the sea.

One day we sighted a British Naval sloop bound from Colombo to Aden. She was flying a signal in the International code, which read something like : ‘Please send us your doctor—bad accident------’ then followed the long Latin name of some medicine for eye trouble.

We hove to and sent our steam launch with our junior doctor, the other being, as already mentioned, under lock and key. Fortunately we had the medicine required, as the case was one that needed urgent attention.

Our Navy was on excellent terms with the British and, although we were on friendly relations with the fleets of other countries, barring one which belonged to a certain European power, our relations with the Royal Navy were the best possible, and better than with any others.

When chance brought us into ports where British men- of-war were lying, we could be sure that a good time would be in store for us. The English commander would generally send an invitation to join in boat races with them. We invited one another to our messes and, generally, there was among us a spirit of true fellowship. That fellowship, which was one of the sea and of our calling, was shared with the others too, but the ships of one particular navy had a name for their aloofness and lack of hospitality. They were proverbially mean.

Colombo and the coast of Ceylon[6] when seen from the sea makes an unforgettable impression on one—a picture of dark green on red against an incredible blue.

I accompanied Boris to see a little of the attractions of the place, but I had not much time to spare. We visited the Temple where one of the teeth of Buddha is kept, and had an impression of a Ceylonese temple dance at night in the light of torches. This dance was, incidentally, not arranged by the Temple authorities as one would have expected, but by the Hotel. The drums beat to the accompaniment of a strange and discordant ritual music while diabolical figures were whirling round in a mad dance until they either were on the point of running amok or else collapsed from exhaustion. The tropical night and the uncanny sight in the red light of torches gave the performance a truly infernal aspect, and the exotic odour of the lotus flowers near by added an air of mystery which belongs to the unfathomable depths of the East. The whole show was more like a dream than reality.

Before leaving Ceylon I joined Boris and his companions on an expedition to Newara Eliya in the hill country. It was comparatively cool up there, so much so that at night fires had to be lit. This looked somewhat out of place in these tropical regions, but it was necessary.

The tea planters of the district invited us to a stag hunt. They hunted with beagles on foot—a strenuous exercise in the heat of the day, and none of us felt inclined to continue after the first efforts.

Returned to Colombo, I bade farewell to Boris and his merry company. I did not know then that our next meeting would be in somewhat awkward circumstances.

On our way to Port Batavia in Java we had a distant view of Krakatoa and the sea was still covered with pumice stone from the eruption or rather explosion. We took some of this useful commodity on board, which Nature had scattered so generously—it came in handy for scrubbing decks.

From Port Batavia—I call it so because its real name, ‘Tanjong Priok,’ is more than double Dutch—I paid a hurried visit to Batavia. I called on the Governor and was very favourably impressed by the way in which the Dutch had turned this town into a reproduction of their native country. The great neatness of the place and its canals gave this tropical region an almost Dutch aspect. Everything appeared well organized and efficient in the extreme. Of all the European colonies which I had occasion to visit, the British and the Dutch made by far the best impression on me. There is order and efficiency in their outer aspect as well as in their administration. I cannot say the same of some of the colonies belonging to some other European nations. The British and the Dutch are born colonizers.

One curious feature which I had not noticed anywhere else was that whenever one met a native in the street he would kneel down. I do not believe that this conduct had been forced upon them by the white man. The Malays are a proud race and consider themselves equal to Europeans, but this token of respect, for such I think it was, was not the outcome of servile submission but one of esteem, a form of politeness and an acknowledgment of valour.

These Malays are a splendid race of men with an ancient civilization to their credit, the remarkable achievements of which are to be found further inland, and I greatly regret that I had no time to see them.

The botanical gardens at Buitenzorg are quite remarkable ; they are world famous and justly so. I do not know much about flowers and trees, but the general aspect of the magnificent collection of tropical flora which I was fortunate in seeing would please any lover of beauty. For all the benefits and material profits reaped in their colonies, the Dutch have given much in return. This is the right spirit for colonization.

On our way from Java to Hong Kong one of our engines broke down. We proceeded along very slowly while our engineers repaired the damage. These engines had done splendid work hitherto, considering that they were quite new. Engines, like living things, take some time before they settle down in their environment and begin to work smoothly. After twenty-four hours of tinkering our engineers successfully repaired the damage.

Outside Hong Kong harbour we took a pilot on board who nearly got us into very serious trouble with a small British cruiser which was lying at anchor in the port.

We seemed to have been doomed to get into trouble through pilots during the course of this voyage. Their presence on board defeated their very purpose and invited disaster.

On entering the lovely harbour we were carried straight at this cruiser and a collision seemed imminent.

There was the sound of bugles and a commotion on board accompanied by the rattling of anchor chains as they paid out their anchors to enable them to swing away from us on the current. Had it not been for the prompt way in which the British cruiser had dealt with the situation, serious damage would have been certain. As it was we just missed her by a narrow margin.

The captain of the British cruiser told me later that we had given him a frightful shock and that he thought that it would be impossible to get out of our way in time. We were invited on board by him and parted the very best of friends, as we always did with those on British men-of-war.

Hong Kong made an excellent impression on me and I have seen few places more beautifully situated on hills surrounding a splendid harbour.

When myriads of lights are lit upon the hills and dusk descends on the town, it is really worth seeing. Its night life is of the gayest, and the Chinese quarter of the old town with its bright colours, curious shop signs, and narrow streets, in which the East pursues its immutable course, add much to the fascination of its natural beauties.

We called nowhere on our way from there to Port Arthur, as we were in a hurry to join our Far East squadron which had assembled there.

Soon after our arrival we were received with a ‘bang’ by Admiral Skrydlov[7], who was in command of our Far East squadron. He pounced upon us, making ‘heavy weather’ about our inefficiency and uselessness!

It was an infuriated admiral’s visitation. He let his thunder and lightning loose upon our captain, who, in spite of his inefficiency, was a ‘decent fellow,’ and popular with all of us. The Admiral raved and stormed in front of the whole crew. This was an error and a dangerous one.

Everything, in his opinion, which he vented in non-Parliamentary language, was wrong with us and with the ship. We were the most inefficient and hopeless beggars that had ever sailed upon the Seven Seas and the captain was the worst of all! He found fault with everything. We were no earthly good to anyone. How could they in Russia have dispatched such a vessel with such incapables. He would report this at once. Yes, he would wire to the Admiralty. Something had to be done about it. It was an unheard-of and an unprecedented piece of infernal cheek. He would not have it! No, not he! He would dismiss the captain. And he did.

While these pronouncements of doom, accompanied by violent abuse, were pouring over our poor captain, he stood like one petrified, a sorry figure at the salute. All of us, officers and men, looked on dumbfounded. We felt really sorry for him. He was no Drake, but many of Skrydlov’s comments would have been more in place had they been addressed to the Admiralty. Much of it was manifestly unjust. To me, however, the Admiral behaved with the greatest circumspection, and he was genuine in this. Ours was a brand new ship which had come straight from the builders and we had had no time to get used to formation exercises with the rest of the fleet. How could he have expected us to take part in the exercises successfully and smoothly straight away? Such manoeuvres require a team spirit and that needs training in unison with the rest. The instruction which one has had previously in other ships does not enable one to collaborate successfully and at once with other units of a fleet which have had ample time to work together and create an individual harmony. All this takes time. Every ship and every fleet possesses a marked individuality of its own, which have to be brought into unison with skill and patience.

This frightful row was a most unpleasant experience, and I felt really sorry for our ‘old man. 

It was a very different Port Arthur which I saw in February 1902 from the one on whose bleak heights I had raised the flag of St. Andrew four years previously on that bitterly cold December day.

Then it was a lonely wilderness; now it resembled a beehive of activity. They were feverishly at work everywhere. The hills were being fortified. A town had been built and the harbour-works had almost been completed. Everything was being done to make it into a first-class naval base, and all had been taken into consideration except the most essential thing of all—that the place was a death trap and not only no good at all but even fatal for a fleet.

And what is more, although the forts later proved that they could ward off armies indefinitely, yet the courage of their defenders was of no practical avail. Port Arthur has only a strategical raison d'etre, if its hinterland is controlled by one’s own armies. If these are defeated, as ours were, and the enemy is in full command of such regions as lie in its rear, Port Arthur is like a rock in the sea, when all else has been covered by the high tide.

I found the place teaming with life. There were hotels and restaurants and a good hospital; the streets were filled with soldiers of Siberian regiments and Cossacks. There were Chinese and, of course, crowds of Japanese who said nothing but saw everything. They had established themselves as laundry men, but all of them were connected with their Intelligence Service. Nothing escaped their notice while our good people took no serious precautions to conceal their activities under a cloak of secrecy.

All this motley array hurried hither and thither. Engineers and soldiers, merchants and agents of foreign firms, all were jostling each other, some eager to make as much money as they could and others putting finishing touches to the place.

There was constant hammering and the din of work in full swing, and although this sudden activity had brought life to the grim hills and their savage bleakness, yet it had not in any way reduced their fearsome and moody aspect. They appeared like silent and disinterested spectators among the ants which laboured around them, and seemed to forbode the evil, the fearful tragedy that was shortly to come upon us all.

In the early summer of 1902 I was instructed by the late Emperor to pay an official visit to the Empress of China[8] at Peking. The purpose of this visit was to express our sympathy to China for the trouble into which the Boxer Rising had plunged her, but considering that this calamity had been brought about to no mean a degree by the conduct of foreigners whom the Chinese in their exasperation had vainly tried to eject, this expression of sympathy was of a dubious nature from the ethical point of view, as was, in fact, the behaviour of Europeans in China generally.

It was rather like expressing one’s commiseration to a person in hospital whom one’s own gang had knocked down and injured.

I boarded one of our sloops which took me to Taku[9], whence a train conveyed me to Peking. At every station which my train passed a guard of honour belonging to one of the foreign contingents of the ‘punitive’ force had been turned out for me.

On my arrival in Peking I went straight to our Legation. I stayed there a few days, during which I received very careful coaching in the elaborate and thousand-year-old ceremonial of the Chinese Court. It was a most intricate procedure in which every step, every gesture, and every movement of the body in general had its special function and meaning, not unlike the elaborate sacerdotal rites of the Orthodox and Catholic clergy. I was initiated only into the most essential of these, but even then it was not easy, for the Chinese Court had not adopted European Court ceremonial as had the Japanese when meeting foreign royalty.

On the day which had been fixed for my interview I was carried to the Imperial Palace in a sedan chair. My retinue consisted of our Minister, the legation Interpreter, Kolishev, whom I have already mentioned in connection with the occupation of Port Arthur, and a number of officers.

Before one reaches the innermost and sacred part of the Imperial Palace several courts have to be crossed. They were absolutely empty. Except myself, our minister, and the interpreter, the rest had been dropped in one of the exterior courts, beyond the threshold of which they were not permitted.

When we reached the inner court we got out of our sedan chairs and were ushered into the reception hall of the Palace. When I entered its temple-like interior, which was shrouded in a mysterious gloom, I made a deep bow. The whole Court stood at the other end, the ministers on one side of the Empress and the ladies of the Court on the other. She was seated like a female divinity on a beautifully worked gold and blue chair, and everything in that great hall was in a gold and blue scheme; possibly this, too, like the rest of the Palace and its courts, was intended to convey some esoteric meaning of which these outward signs were the symbols.

Before her stood a table laden with the Regalia of China, which was intended as a bar between her and us.

The hall in which I found myself was just like a Chinese temple into which daylight was admitted sparingly from the ceiling. It was exquisitely furnished with the treasures of China’s millennial cultures and arranged with the greatest of taste.

The little woman on the throne, her hair dressed in the most elegant Mandshu fashion, was perhaps the most powerful and certainly the most absolute ruler of her time. Five hundred million people were under her sway. She was endowed with formidable intelligence and was credited with a masterly talent for State-craft. Little in her huge country was done without her ken and authority; she held in her hands all the strings of government. Her will was absolute, her orders law, and if anyone was in her way she would have such a person promptly dispatched.

When I reached the centre of the hall I bowed and once again when I reached the table, beyond the table I could not go.

The whole Court was dressed in ceremonial attire of which every colour and insignia of office and rank were as complicated and important as the ceremonials themselves.

The Empress addressed a few polite words to me about my journey, my health, and the usual Oriental politenesses of the kind. She did not address me directly but whispered them to one of her ministers who knelt down at the side of her chair. The minister repeated her words to Kolishev, who translated them to me. Then my words, such as, “1 hope Your Majestv is well,,, returned to her directly by way of Kolishev. We were, of course, standing all the time.

The Empress ruled the country for her son[10], who was Emperor only in name. Later, so, at any rate, the story runs, she had him put quietly out of the way.

This exchange of politenesses did not last long, and on their conclusion after another succession of bowings we were taken to the Emperor, whose apartments were in the same ‘holy of holies’—just a few doors away. He was a pale and distinguished-looking young lad of about eighteen or nineteen years of age, and I was favourably impressed by him

My interview was of a quite informal nature, the only other person present being our minister and Kolishev. The young Emperor conferred the Dragon Order of China[11] on me, and tried hard to overcome his natural shyness during the interview. He did his best to be amiable, but one could not help feeling sorry for him as his unenviable position had given him a marked inferiority complex.

After a series of the usual ‘exit’ ceremonials I returned to our Legation.

During my stay at Peking I was entertained to dinner by the British Minister, and on another occasion by the German Minister, Herr von Mumrn. These occasions had no political significance but were quite ordinary social functions. They were well done and, what is more, amusing. 

In between my various duties I saw all the sights of the Imperial City, and before leaving Peking called on Prince T’Sin[12] at his palace.

He was a member of the Imperial Family and a very interesting old man whose hobby appeared to be collecting watches and clocks, of which he had a great many of considerable rarity and value. They ranged from the earliest to the latest models, among them were some of which any European museum would have been proud.

Prince T’Sin asked me whether there was anything which I would like to be shown in particular. I had often heard of the palace dogs of Peking which I understood differed considerably from their European version. A whole basketful of these delightful creatures was brought. There were eight of them—all puppies. The Prince asked me to choose some. I gladly availed myself of this welcome opportunity and picked out three. Exquisite little creatures they were, with glossy coats and far more delicately shaped and dainty than their descendants in Europe. I intended to take them to Europe as a present to ‘Ducky,’ but, alas, they perished on our return voyage from distemper and had to be thrown overboard. The crew had made pets of them and had taught them all kinds of tricks.

At Peking itself the Temple of Heaven made a striking impression on me, as did the Imperial summer residence in its surroundings.

The Court had arranged a special luncheon in my honour at the Summer Palace[13] where I and my escort went on horseback. This palace and the fabulously beautiful grounds among which it stands are well known as one of the great marvels of China, and it will suffice for me to say that in everything they are an expression of that amazing civilization which has no rival of its kind anywhere, both in its continuity and longevity. They succeed admirably in conveying an atmosphere of repose and perfect tranquillity about them which was exactly the object for which they were created. It was the wisdom and the understanding of things beautiful and the exquisite refinement of a noble and peace-loving race which made itself apparent in all these dainty and patiently worked details, and in the grand simplicity of the whole.

This attractive picture had been sadly marred by the activity of those who at the same time had sent emissaries of ‘Light’ to a people who had nothing to learn from them save, possibly, the art of destruction.

The European contingents had looted all that could be carried away and had destroyed much of what could not, and in the streets of Peking the most precious articles of Chinese art were being offered for sale by members of the ‘punitive’ force, and not all of these amateur salesmen were soldiers. In the face of this blatant audacity one could have nothing but a feeling of shame. Barbarians, the Chinese called the men from the West, or ‘foreign devils,’ who had come upon them like a scourge. I was told that the only members of this shameful visitation of might who had not participated in this orgy of destruction and looting had been the Japanese. They had looked on silently and had kept aloof.

I was entertained to a splendid Chinese Court luncheon on the lower platform of the famous marble junk on the lake of the Summer Palace. It consisted of, I think, thirty courses and the names of the various dishes were written on red paper menus. I asked our interpreter to translate them for me. There was every conceivable thing there. Shark’s fins and bamboo shoots and fried duck, all well and pleasantly spiced. There was not a single dish which was unpalatable, not even the putrid eggs with their piquant taste of good gorgonzola, which after all is really a form of putrid milk. We were served champagne and some of the Chinese ministers and courtiers became quite merry. The weather was beautiful as were the palace grounds with their rivulets, dainty bridges, and pavilions.

It was like a picture from fairyland, a never-to-be-forgotten impression of exquisite human skill merged with the resources of nature. The only unpleasant thing which I had experienced in Peking was the dust which pursued one wherever one went.

I left for Newchwang[14], near the Great Wall, where we had a contingent of troops stationed which 1 had been asked to inspect as part of my official duties. Then 1 left for Port Arthur on the small sloop which had brought me.

From Port Arthur the Peresviet accompanied Admiral Skrydlov on the Petropavlovsk and a number of other ships to Vladivostok by way of Hakodate.

Shortly after our arrival at Vladivostok the Admiral called for me and handed me a telegram from the Emperor. It read to the effect that I was to stay on in the Ear East, but for how long was not clear. What was quite obvious, however, was that pressure had been brought to bear on my cousin[iii] to keep me and my future wife apart and to ruin any chance of meeting her. The Emperor’s dispatch was followed by one from my father to the effect that I should submit for my own good. This made matters considerably worse. I was furious, not so much with the contents of these pronouncements as with the manner in which plots were being hatched behind my back. My situation amounted to exile.

I was desperate and great gloom fell on me, life seemed to have lost its purpose, there was nothing but a completely blank future bereft of all expectation of happiness and achievement. It was a dismal and sorry state to be in, made more unbearable because I had no means of knowing what stringent measures of suppression would be brought in my absence against the woman I cared for. Twelve thousand miles separated us. To disobey the Emperor never entered my mind at any time. I was a naval officer pledged by my honour to do my duty, that was the main thing, and which personal interests, however strong, had no right to interfere with.

When the situation of complete uncertainty had reached its climax sudden appeasement came to me. One man at home had had the sense to realize that all this fuss was an ado about nothing, and that this treatment was most unfair and undeserved. His truthful nature and straightforward character could not abide these continuous coteries and whisperings at home. In his capacity as the head of our fleets, Uncle Alexey Alexandrovitch, ordered Admiral Skrydlov to appoint me as Lieutenant-Commander to the Nahimov[15], a cruiser of our squadron.  It was more than kind of him and typical of this splendid giant of a man who had a kindly and understanding heart and a great open nature.

This was a great joy and the unbearable burden of anxiety and dismay fell from me. The Nahimov was shortly bound for home and was manned by officers and men of the ‘Naval Guards,’ to which I myself belonged, and I felt at home with them, for they were my own lot.

Admiral Skrydlov was greatly pleased and I believe that he took the credit for this promotion on himself. At any rate, he congratulated me on my appointment, which really amounted to my being second in command. He had shown a keen interest in my career and, so I was told, considered me an efficient officer.

Life assumed once more a pleasing aspect as the future seemed more certain. I found a very congenial atmosphere on board my new ship, and this, wherever human beings are herded together, depends in no small measure on the character of the man who is in charge. Captain Stemann, of the Nahimov, was an ideal leader of men. He was quiet, efficient, and just, and possessed all the finest attributes of a thorough seaman. In appearance he was short and stocky, and looked like a real skipper. He was very popular and on his ship everything went smoothly. Captain Stemann was the best man I have ever served with, and what made him specially pleasant to associate with was that on all occasions, even when the burden of responsibility weighed heavily upon him, he always contrived to be in a merry mood. Moreover, he knew no fear, and I do not believe that he had any in his character at all.

No angry word passed his lips and on all occasions he was dignified, and even when joking with us or the men, as he often did, he inspired respect. His ship was a model of efficiency.

As the Nahimov had done five years’ continuous service in the Far East and needed a change, it had been decided by the Admiral that we were to go on a visit to Japan, where the crew was to be given longish leave.

I paid an unofficial visit to the Emperor at Tokyo, and on that occasion met Prince Arisugawa[16] who, as I have mentioned previously, had asked me to stay with him en famille during the next occasion on which I should visit Tokyo. I was the first who was honoured thus by a member of the Japanese Imperial Family.

I accepted the invitation gladly and spent a very jolly few days with the Prince and Princess at their castle, built in old Japanese style, in Tokyo.

In the evenings there were musical soirees at which Japanese musicians performed on their instruments, and there were traditional dances of the country.

The Princess[17] asked me whether I would like her to give me tea in the Japanese ceremonial manner. This is a most interesting and very ancient tradition of their hospitality, which she performed with great elegance and grace. The procedure is a complicated one, and I believe that it requires much training from early girlhood until a Japanese lady acquires this polite art to perfection.

I was fortunate in being honoured with this interesting ritual of hospitality by one who, in her position as one of the first ladies of her country, was an expert exponent. 

The castle had some fine gardens arranged in the traditional style of the country. These, too, had some special significance and are planned according to carefully preserved rules. But even to the uninitiated they are a lovely thing to behold, simply from the point of view of beauty, with their pavilions, fish pools, dainty bridges, and rivulets.

During my stay in Japan my friend Baron Madenokosi was my guide as he had been on the previous occasion, and accompanied me on all my expeditions.

Returned to Yokohama, I joined in the gay and easy holiday spirit of my fellow officers. The crew, too, were oft’ duty, and except for the most essential things on board, no work whatever was done, and as most of us were young we enjoyed ourselves greatly on shore.

We had received special permission to go from Kobe to Nagasaki through the Inland Sea, where, as a rule, no foreign warships were allowed. It resembles a large lake and is dotted with islands, with a picturesque background of mountains giving it a very pleasing and quiet effect.

At Nagasaki, which had by now become a very familiar place to all of us, we visited our old haunts and finished what had been an unusually jolly and carefree occasion enhanced by the knowledge that soon we would start on our homeward voyage.

At Port Arthur we continued on our ordinary routine of fleet exercises and gunnery, when one day we received the order to take our Minister to Seoul and his wife on board and proceed with them to Korea.

Seoul, the capital and residence of the Emperor of Korea, is some way up a river estuary and is joined with Tchemulpo, its port, by railway.

I accompanied our Minister to Seoul, where I was received by the Emperor[18]. He was the last Sovereign of that very interesting country, which gave one the impression of being half Chinese and half Japanese, although it had a very ancient civilization of its own. The most obvious peculiarity to a casual visitor, and I stayed there less than twenty-nine hours, is the white dress and black top-hats worn by the men in contrast to the blue which at that time was almost the universally worn colour of the Chinese masses.

The Emperor struck me as a pleasant and well-meaning individual, an easy and amiable man to get on with, whose modest palace was run by an elderly and very portly Englishwoman. I was given excellent tea and was shown some strange native dances. The Emperor was murdered soon after.

The river in the estuary of which we lay at anchor has very dangerous currents which are made exceedingly tricky by the tides, so that the raising of the anchors of a large vessel is an extremely delicate task. We lay on two anchors at the time, and it fell to me, as second in command, to have them raised. The starboard anchor had to be taken up first, but in such a way that the strain on the port one by the violent current and tide should not cause the chain to snap. For that reason the port anchor chain had to be paid out to a considerable length to decrease the strain on it. The whole of this procedure was interesting as a problem in seamanship and mechanics. All went well and we returned to Port Arthur without any un-toward incident from wind, weather, or human agency.

The usual routine was interrupted by a short visit to Newchwang. Admiral Skrydlov had given our officers permission to go on a short excursion to Peking.

I remained in solitary command of the cruiser while the rest were away. To give the crew an opportunity of a change from routine on board, I allowed them to visit their comrades in arms on shore and in the evening went out to fetch them back. I took as many as I could on the steam launch and the rest into our long-boat, which I took in tow. I was particularly anxious that while I was in charge of the Nahimov nothing should go wrong. The sea was fairly rough but not dangerously so, but when we got out into the open and away from the shelter of the shore I found that the long-boat which we were towing was beginning to ship water.

We ourselves were getting into difficulties through the rising sea, crashing against the oncoming waves with unpleasant thuds while spray flew in all directions. The sea got worse the nearer we drew to the Nahimov.

When we had got half-way across, shouts were raised on the long-boat. It appeared that their rudder had been carried away. I ordered them to steer with an oar. The situation was becoming critical. We were struggling hard, going dead slow against an ugly sea. Finally I succeeded in reaching the Nahimov and dropped the long¬boat alongside, manoeuvring the launch to her opposite side. We clambered on deck soaked to the skin and got the boats safely hoisted into their davits, a procedure which was by no means easy in view of the roll of the vessel and the heavy seas on which the boats were tossed about. They might have been smashed to splinters by the waves.

The poor fellows in the long-boat had had a most unpleasant experience, they were wet, miserable and numbed with cold. It was hard to quiet them down. On our return to Port Arthur we received the very welcome order that we were to proceed to Europe. Everyone was delighted. We coaled and took provisions on board, and when all was ready the Admiral ordered us to heave anchor.

We hoisted the long pennant which is used on such occasions by homeward bound units, and steamed half¬speed round the anchored fleet to the music of our band. We were cheered out and took course for Mosampo, where we were to pick up our naval picket, which had been guarding our Consulate there.

It was a friendly country which unfolded itself before us, green, hilly, and inviting. The Bay of Mosampo, as I have had occasion to mention before, is ideally situated for a naval base, being naturally protected by little islands.  It was a veritable temptation to us, but had to be left alone for fear of exciting the Japanese, who would never have tolerated us there. In any case, they greatly resented all our activities in Korea.

When we left that hospitable bay and directed our course towards the China Sea, I felt that every revolution of the propeller was bringing me nearer to the woman I loved. By now I was a commander, and this, too, gave me cause to be very happy and pleased with the world.

We stopped nowhere on our long trek between Korea and Cochin China until we anchored in the Bét’Along in the estuary of a river on the upper reaches of which is Honoi, the capital of this French colony[19], where they had a colonial exhibition at the time.

This bay has a reputation of being a favourite haunt of sea serpents. I do not know exactly what to make of these monsters, but am sailor enough to believe that they may exist. I saw none on that occasion nor at any time during my voyages, but others have seen them and, in any case, the sea is huge and deep and who knows what uncanny horrors lurk in its uttermost depths.

We went up the river to Honoi in a small steamer to see the exhibition, but I was not at all impressed by it. There were a few pavilions among the palm trees, and there was nothing that was particularly attractive, and besides I had no knowledge of this colony, and so could not compare its products with those of others.

The place was stiff, official, demoralizing, and I was glad to leave.

Our next port of call for coaling was to be but great disappointment awaited us. 

When we had reached the latitude of Saigon, Captain Stemann called me to him. He lay in his cabin when I entered. With a smile on his face and in a joking manner he said to me: “I am sorry that you should find me in this state, but I have been laid low by something which has a nasty resemblance to a stroke. I shall have to transfer the command to you. Here are the keys to the safe; you will find all the secret papers inside.”

We were all dumbfounded by this disaster which had come upon us so entirely unexpectedly. The captain had seemed perfectly well, and this calamity was deeply felt by all on board. He had been loved and admired by everyone without exception. For the time being we were in a dilemma. I called an officers’ conference. It was agreed that Singapore was too far and the gravity of the captain’s condition made it essential to proceed full steam to the nearest port.

Accordingly I altered course to Saigon, which we reached the following evening. I let the officials of the French Colony know by wireless of our captain’s precarious condition and when we arrived a steam launch was waiting to take him off. The captain left his ship on a stretcher. He was never to return. He was well looked after by the French doctors and sisters in their well-equipped hospital. We remained three weeks in the estuary of a tropical river, the steamy and malodorous banks of which were one- quarter putrid water and the rest mud. The hot-house atmosphere, the leaden heat, and the disaster on top of it all made this infernal place a loathsome nightmare— and we were waiting for—death!

From the first the doctors had expressed the view that the captain was doomed. He became completely paralysed. Every day we visited him and during the third week he died. We buried him there.

I cannot pass over this sad event without recording the excellent impression which I had of the Catholic Bishop of Saigon[20].

Captain Stemann was a Protestant, we were Orthodox, and the only church in the place was Catholic. A religious service was necessary and the bishop allowed us to use his church for that purpose. In every way he showed great sympathy and kindness in a truly generous manner.

A funeral mass was celebrated by our priest, whom we had on board with us, our sailors’ choir sang the appropriate liturgy of ‘eternal memory’ over our well-loved friend and captain, and in a far-off and fever-infested land of the tropics we laid him to rest with the flag of St. Andrew shrouding him.

It was a remarkable occasion—Orthodox funeral rites over a Protestant in a Catholic church.

During the three weeks of our inactivity in this wretched and deadly hole the crew had shown signs of unrest, as I had issued strict instructions that they were not to go ashore.

The authorities had warned us that an epidemic of dysentery was ravaging the district, which was already prone to the visitations of other evils. A case of dysentery on board might have had far-reaching results. The unbearable heat on the ship, the inviting but treacherous aspect of the land which hid its sinister evils beneath a mask of tempting loveliness—all this played on the imagination of my men, and had it not been for the vigilance of my boatswain, there might have been serious trouble. He proved an excellent adviser to me and was most useful in every way. Thirty years at sea and ten of them on the Nahimov had made him into a fine sailorman—into an ancient mariner who was familiar with all the ways of the sea and with the men who fared thereon. He had seen all climes and countries and was invaluable as a guide through many of the baffling problems with which one’s first command confronts one.

We left Saigon and its unwholesome river with its white residents, most of whom were, as the doctor told me, doomed to perish sooner or later from liver ulcers. They brought this on themselves through excessive drinking, but the poor devils could scarcely be blamed.

As we had lost three weeks already in that dreadful place and everyone was anxious to return with as little delay as possible I wanted to take the Nahimov straight back to Europe, stopping only on the way for coaling. I asked for permission to sail at once, but was instructed to put in at Singapore to await the arrival of a new captain. This dismayed me, as I considered it quite unnecessary, and it meant, moreover, that there would be weeks of further inactivity and waste of time. Besides, I had sufficient experience by now to be able to see the cruiser safely home.

Accordingly I took her to Singapore.

It was Christmas of the year 1902 when we got there.

I remember the occasion well, because I received a very pretty watch from Ducky as a present.

The three weeks of our stay at Singapore proved anything but dull. The British Pacific squadron was in port with Admiral Sir Cyprian Bridge[21] in command.

There were the usual exchanges of visits between us and the British ships. I met the commander of a British sloop who had served with my uncle, the Duke of Edinburgh, and knew his family well. We became good friends and played golf together every afternoon. On such occasions we often met Sir Cyprian Bridge and his flag-lieutenant, Hamilton.

Every afternoon, weather permitting, because it was the rainy period, I sailed my boat from the Nahimov to the quay, for we were anchored some way off shore.

There were jolly parties and entertainments as well as frequent visits to Government House, where we used to play tennis and have tea with the Governor and his family.

Although Singapore was well equipped with every conceivable thing that people are used to in Europe, there was a noticeable absence of a good band.

We had an excellent one on board which had been hired by the mess for the period of the Nahimov's service in the Far East and consisted entirely of civilians, who for that reason were not under naval discipline, their only connection with us being that they were in our pay. They were a ‘tough’ crowd and greatly addicted to drink. At times these artists were a real source of worry to us, but as musicians they were excellent. Some of the large hotels of the place asked us for a loan of them to play at dances and entertainments. This was a special and very welcome opportunity for our musicians and we gladly accepted the offer. They performed very well, indeed, and added greatly to our popularity. To us, however, they proved a confounded nuisance as they invariably returned to ship dead drunk. To avoid any unpleasant incident on shore I used to send our boatswain to accompany them whenever they performed in town, and on several occasions the whole lot of them were locked up for the night in an empty coal bunker on deck. They were in the habit of knocking up such an infernal din that they prevented everyone from sleeping. In the coal bunker they were out of earshot. In fact it very nearly became their more or less usual abode.

When finally, without any casualties, all of them were safely returned by us to Russia, I think it was no mean achievement on our part.

Finally our new captain arrived. I did not feel over- zealous in handing the Nahimov over to him as by now I had become thoroughly used to my job, but it had to be done. This brought a very happy three weeks to a conclusion, and time had passed quickly in this jolly environment.

We hove anchors almost immediately after the captain’s arrival and proceeded straight for Suez, as we had taken sufficient coal on board to make a continuous voyage home.

Our new captain’s name was Boukhvostov[22]. I mention this, because he distinguished himself greatly as captain of the Alexander III, which perished heroically, not one man being saved, and fighting until the last gun was put out of action, against, in turn, practically every one of the great ships of the enemy at the battle of Tsushima.

As a man he was very different from our old captain. He was a very efficient naval officer, but a hard man of the old school. He knew his job and that was the main thing.

At Singapore we had stocked ourselves with cattle for our supply of fresh meat, and as we would be fifteen days at sea between Singapore and Port Said in the blazing heat of the Indian Ocean and the Red Sea, our paymaster, Lieutenant Kube, had devised a refrigerator of his own invention. The ship’s carpenter made a remarkable success of it. It worked to perfection and we had fresh meat until we reached the Mediterranean.

At the Piraeus, and by now she has become a regular and recurring feature in this account, Queen Olga with her sons ‘in tow’ was there to welcome us back, and what is more, I was surprised to see my brother Boris with her.

I learnt, to my complete amazement and became thoroughly indignant as a result, that he had been sent there to prevent me from deserting ship, which the good people in St. Petersburg verily believed I was certain to do. They had sent him as ambassador to me, knowing how much I cared for him. This was his mission. This was the first welcome from my own kin, which they had deemed it proper to bestow on me on my return to Europe after my services abroad. Boris only acted according to instructions from home, and knew perfectly well the absolute futility of these absurd anxieties.[23] At no time had I intended to do anything rash, yet at the same time I had not the least intention of giving up the woman I cared for, and the more pressure was brought to bear on me, the more adamant I became in my attitude. Fortunately the attitude of those at home changed completely later on and was replaced by one of great kindness and sympathy, but this condonation took years in coming.

We took Admiral Makarov with us to Naples. A short-lived and brilliant period of activity was in store for him as the leader and hero of our Far East squadron. I was to come into very close contact with him and nearly shared his fate. But of that later.

We spent a few days at Naples in a delightful atmosphere of brilliant Society life. Our consul[24] was well in with the ‘smart set’ of the place, and soon we found ourselves in a whirlpool of social activities among the lovely surroundings of the Bay of Naples.

While still at Naples, a message arrived that at Villefranche the Nahimov was to he put at the disposal of my father. I saw through the idea at once. 

Father arrived in due course and tried, but by no means enthusiastically, to persuade me to give up my future wife.[25]When he saw that I was going to do nothing of the kind he discontinued his efforts. I went to Ventimiglia to meet her train. She had been staying in Switzerland and was on her way back to Nice.

It was a happy reunion when at last, after this period of uncertainty and unbearable anxiety, we met in the express.

Father was splendid and a really good friend to me, and kindness and parental sympathy personified in his treatment of us.

We spent a delightful few days at Nice, where we were left to ourselves whenever we liked. At other times Father entertained us to suppers and luncheons. Everything he did was done with love, for he wished us happiness.

All this was, however, strictly contrary to the purpose for which he had come, and I do not think that at any time he had shared the exaggerated views of the clique that had formed around those who were unfavourably inclined towards us.

He visited the ship, looked at my cabin, was very pleased with everything, and in the best of spirits. I will always remember Father’s great sympathy in this matter and the helping hand which he had stretched out to us during this difficult period of my life.

We called at Lisbon on our way back, where I presented myself to King Carlos[iv]  of Portugal and his family.

I took to the King at once. He was amiable, jovial, and very pleasant.

The passage had been a stormy one, and when we entered the fine harbour of Lisbon with its town magnificently situated among the fresh verdure of its setting, it was a welcome and very pleasing impression. Unfortunately I had no time to see anything of that interesting country, but what I did see at Lisbon spoke of the great power that Portugal had once been. Among the buildings which left a special impression on me are the churches, for they have a very attractive and special character all their own.

That interesting country, richly endowed with natural beauties of a rare kind and with the relics of succeeding civilizations is fortunate, too, in the man who at present guides her along the course of her destiny.

Our passage along the coasts of Portugal and Spain was rough, and when we had got half-way across the Bay of Biscay we became anxious about our coal, of which we had very little left. We had to decide as to whether to turn back to Vigo or make for the nearest port on our course. We decided to take the risk and took course for the Cornish coast. It was touch and go. We reduced speed and succeeded in reaching Falmouth without being driven to the desperate measure of using our furniture for fuel.

I had never been to Falmouth before. This old-fashioned Cornish seaport and the lovely country made a homely and quiet impression on us.

We found that the Osborne, with Princess Victoria on board, was anchored in the harbour. I called on her and later she was officially received by us.

From Falmouth we went without stopping to Kiel, where the crew was given a few days’ rest.

Arrived at our Naval Base of Libau, I supervised the repainting of the Nahimov. She looked a poor sight after this long voyage and needed a new coat of paint badly. In my zeal to have her return to Kronstadt spick and span I exceeded the bounds permitted by the scheme which had been worked out by her paymaster, Kube. Painting a large vessel is a very expensive item. The Nahimov’s hull was white and her funnel yellow, both of them very uneconomical colours as they are apt to be soiled by smoke, sea, and weather.

I had somewhat of a row with Kube for having given a new coat of paint to a part which he had not included in his scheme. He assured me that he was certain to get into ‘hot water’ about it—but he didn’t.

We left Libau looking very smart and arrived at Kronstadt the next evening on the last lap of our twelve thousand miles’ voyage.

There was the usual inspection of home-coming units of the fleet, after which I supervised the dismantling of the Nahimov. She had been five years in commission and needed a very careful overhaul.

It took some time to finish my duties on board, as much, beginning with the smaller guns, had to be removed from her.

When all had been done there were some very touching farewells. Officers and crew, we all had been like a great family and had shared the hardships, dangers, and surprises of the sea together. I was sorry to quit those with whom I had done my duty, and the ship which, in a way, had been my first command.

I did not know then that in a very short time I would loose many of my comrades for ever.

I remember especially that I embraced our old boatswain in the traditional Russian way—he, too, was to perish at sea. When I left there were cries of “Good luck to you, sir, and God speed to you on your way.’’

Footnotes

(2024)

[1] The relationship between Victoria Melita and the Hessians was, in fact, far more complicated.  Victoria arrived in Darmstadt at the age of 17, with a poor mastery of German, and as the wife of the reigning Duke.  She was immediately expected to take a social lead in Hesse, with the same dignity and gravitas associated with her late aunt, the Grand Duke’s mother, Princess Alice.  Alice had fifteen years to learn about Hesse and the Hessians before becoming the wife of the reigning Duke, and Victoria had no such advantage, and no one to help her.  Her cousin, Empress Alexandra wrote to her childhood friend Gretchen Fabrice: “

[2] “Chateau Fabron” The Château de Fabron was an estate near Nice purchased in 1873 by Duke Ernest II of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. The Duke rebuilt an extant house, turning it into a Gothic-Moorish folly featuring two floors (8 and 10 rooms) over a raised ground floor (7 floors), flanked by a bell tower with sweeping views over Nice and the Baie des Anges. There were quite a few Russian neighbors, including the Falz-Feins, the Apraksins, and members of the Schouvaloff family. The estate was inherited by  his daughter, Queen Marie of Romania, and it devolved to her son Carol. It was sold after his death in 1953 to the city of Nice, and demolished. Today, the gardens are a public park.

[3] Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna of Russia.  Maria Alexandrovna was rarely impressed by anyone, and her letters make clear that Grand Duke Kirill was no exception. She was aware, however, that marriage between them was the only way to change her daughter’s status as a divorcée, and that Ducky was eminently suited to the life of the wife of a senior Grand Duke, rather than that of the consort of a Sovereign.

[4] Prince Nicholas of Greece and Denmark (Greek, b. 1872 – 1938). He was the fourth child and third son of King George I of Greece and Queen Olga. Known as "Greek Nicky" (to distinguish him from his cousin Nicholas II) he married Kirill’s sister, Grand Duchess Elena Vladimirovna of Russia in 1902.  A talented artist, he signed his works “Nicolas Leprince.”

[5] “The Khedive”. Abbas Helmy II (Egyptian, b. 1874 – 1944), the last Khedive, or Viceroy of Ottoman-controled Egypt and the Sudan, who ruled from 8 January 1892 to 19 December 1914.

[6] Today, Sri Lanka.

[7] “Admiral Skrydlov” Nikolai Illarionovich Skrydlov (Russian, b. 1844-1918) Admiral (1909) of the Imperial Russian Navy. In the period in which Kirill Vladimirovich met him,Vice-Admiral Skrydlov had been made commander of the Russian Pacific Squadron and served from 1900-1902, and then commanded the Black Sea Fleet from 1903-1904. After Admiral Stepan Makarov was killed on the ‘Petropavlovsk’, Skrydlov was reappointed commander of the Russian Pacific Squadron on 1 April 1904. However, due to the Japanese blockade of Port Arthur, he was unable to reach his command. He returned to Russia, and in In October 1918, Skrydlov died of privation during the Red Terror.

[8] “Empress of China at Peking” Empress Dowager Cixi (Chinese, b. 1835-1908), was born Yehe Nara Xingzhen a noblewoman who became a concubine and later Imperial regent , controlling the Chinese government during the late Qing dynasty for 47 years, from 1861 until her death in 1908. 

[9] “Taku”  A mainland port location on the banks of the Hai River (Peiho River) estuary near Tianjin, in northeastern China. They were the site of several forts, first established in the 16th century, the forts were expanded during the Qing Dynasty to protect Tianjin.

[10] “her son” Aisin-Gioro Zaitian, The Guangxu Emperor (Chinese, b. 1871-1908) was the emperor at the time of Kirill’s visit.  He had succeeded the Tongzhi Emperor (Empress Dowager Cixi’s son), but he was not her son, he was a brother-in-law, married to one of Cixi’s sisters.  The Guangxu Emperor died in 1908 and it was widely believed he had been poisoned. A forensic examination on his remains confirmed in 2008 that the cause of death was arsenic poisoning. The level of arsenic in his remains was 2,000 times higher than normal. (Mu, Eric. “Reformist Emperor Guangxu was Poisoned, Study Confirms". Danwei. 3 November 2008.)

[11] “Dragon Order of China” The Imperial Order of the Double Dragon was founded by the Guangxu Emperor on 7 February 1882 as an award for outstanding services to the throne and the Qing court.

[12] “Prince T’sin” Likely Zaizhen (Chinese, b. 1876-1947), courtesy name Yuzhou, was a Manchu prince and politician of the late Qing dynasty, known as Prince Qing.

[13] “Summer Palace” The Summer Palace was and is a vast ensemble of palaces and gardens outside of present-day Beijing, founded in the 13th century and enlarged and expanded until the 18th century. In 1860, the Eight-Nation Alliance looted the Summer Palace at the end of the Second Opium War. On 18 October 1860, on the orders of Lord Elgin, the British burned down the nearby Old Summer Palace. The destruction of the Summer Palace is still contentious in China.

[14] “Newchwang”. Niúzhuāng, today, Yingkou. It was one of the Treaty Ports opened under the Treaties of Tianjin of 1858.

[15] “Nahimov” The “Admiral Nakhimov” was an armored cruiser in the Imperial Russian Navy during the Russo-Japanese War. The Nakhimov was ordered in 1881 as one of the first Russian armored cruisers, modeled after the British Royal Navy Imperieuse class cruisers, which were armed with four 234 mm guns. During Grand Duke Kirill’s tenure as commander, the ship was used for diplomatic efforts between Port Arthur, Korea, and Japan.

[16] “Prince Arisugawa”. Prince Arisugawa Takehito, or, Arisugawa-no-miya Takehito-Shinnō, (Japanese, b. 1862-1913) was the 10th head of a cadet branch of the Japanese imperial family and a career officer in the Imperial Japanese Navy. He had been assigned to the Japanese escort of Tsesarevich Nicholas during his visit in 1891, and was present at the “Otsu Incident” where the Russian heir was attacked.

[17] “The Princess”  Princess Arisugawa Yasuko (also known as Princess Yasuko of Arisugawa), born Maeda Yasuko (Japanese, b. 1864-1923), was the fourth daughter of Maeda Yoshiyasu, the last daimyō of Kaga Domain (modern Ishikawa prefecture). She married Prince Arisugawa on 11 December 1880. Known for her highly cultured taste, in 1896, Princess Yasuko acquired a house and park which during the Edo period had belonged to Minonokami Nambu, a feudal lord from the former Morioka Domain who used it as an urban villa. After expansions to the house and improvements to the gardens, the complex became well-known. The park was ultimately inherited by Prince Takamatsu donated the land to Tokyo for use as a park on January 5, 1934.

[18] “The Emperor”. The Gwangmu Emperor.  Gojong (Korean, b. 1852-1919) was Sovereign of Korea from 1864 to 1907. He reigned as the last King of Joseon from 1864 to 1897, and as the first Emperor of Korea from 1897 until his forced abdication in 1907. It is believed he was poisoned by the Japanese.

[19] Today, Vietnam.

[20] “the Catholic Bishop of Saigon” Bishop Lucien-Emile Mossard (French, b. 1851-1920), member of the Société des Missions Etrangères de Paris who served as the Apostolic Vicar of Western Cochin from 11 February 1899 until 12 February 1920.

[21] “Sir Cyprian Bridge”  Admiral Sir Cyprian Arthur George Bridge, GCB (English, b. 1839-1924) was a British Royal Navy officer and  Commander-in-chief of both the Australian Squadron and the China Squadron.

[22] “Boukhvostov” Nikolai Mikhailovich Bukhvostov (Russian, b. 1857-1905) Russian naval officer, captain of the 1st rank. A descendant of the "first Russian soldier" Sergei Leontiev Bukhvostov (1659-1728) – who, in 1683, was the first to enroll in the Preobrazhensky Regiment of Peter the Great.  Nikolai Mikhailovich is considered a hero of the Battle of Tsushima, where he died.

[23] Grand Duke Kirill skirts an important issue here.  Boris was sent by Nicholas II with firm instructions once again not to marry Ducky (see appendix No.  ). 

[24] “Our Consul”  

[25]  Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna to Queen Marie of Romania: “Nice, 7 April, 1903. Dearest Missy! Yesterday arrived Uncle Wladimir straight from Petersburg and has just gone off to Villefranche to meet his sons, the ship came in about an hour ago. You can well imagine what emotions I am going through as now all the future of Ducky's is going to be decided. For me it was clear long ago, but she would not believe it and I am afraid of terrible scenes with Kyrill. She imagined he would try to marry her against everybody's will. But it seems now, that Niki wrote him a positive letter, saying that he could never allow it and exposing to him, all that he would lose, if he did it, even to his title of Grand Duke. It seems that his courage is failing now and he wants to tell it all himself to her. What the consequences will be, heaven only knows, as she declared to me that she would never look at him if he gave her up. With the sangfroid of an old man, Uncle Wladimir imagines, that it will all go off peacefully and quickly, but Heaven preserve us of violent scenes between father and son, because Uncle gets suddenly violent. I implored him to be kind to Ducky, explaining that with her character, sharp words would be of no use. Ducky only arrives this evening, so I hope to have a talk with Kyrill before she is in the house. Boris was to arrive with him and Uncle wanted to bring them both back to luncheon. You can imagine in what a state I am, knowing Ducky's character and the way she takes things. A pleasant prospect indeed. I will more by this evening, now I can hardly hold my pen, because my emotions are too great…” (Mandache, p.90)

Original Footnotes

(1939)

[i] The Duchess of Coburg and Gotha.

[ii] Father of the Duchess of Kent.

[iii] Late Emperor Nicholas II.

[iv] Carlos I, King of Portugal, assassinated in 1908.  He was the sone of King Luiz I and of Dona Maria, daughter of King Victor Emanuel of Italy.