Nicholas and Alexandra (29 page)

When the children were young, each was assigned a sailor whose duty it was to prevent his small charge from toddling overboard. As

the children grew older and went ashore to swim, the sailor-nannies went along. At the end of each year's cruise, the Tsar rewarded these husky seafaring nursemaids by giving each man a gold watch.

Even aboard the
Standart,
Nicholas was not free of the burdens of office. Although he barred government ministers and poHce security agents from the decks of the yacht, courier boats from St. Petersburg churned up daily to the foot of the
Stand-art's
ladder, bringing reports and documents. As a further reminder of the presence of its august passenger, the yacht was never without an escort of navy torpedo boats anchored nearby or cruising slowly along the horizon.

At sea, Nicholas worked two days a week. The other five he relaxed. In the morning, he rowed ashore to take long walks through the wild Finnish forests. When the
Standart
moored near the country estate of a Russian or Finnish nobleman, the owner might awake to find the Tsar at his door asking politely if he might use a court for tennis. Sometimes Nicholas dismissed the gentlemen who accompanied him on these hikes and walked alone with his children, searching the woods for mushrooms or wandering down a beach looking for bright-colored rocks.

Because her sciatica made it difficult for her to move, Alexandra rarely left the yacht. She spent the days peacefully sitting on deck, knitting, doing needlework, writing letters, watching the gulls and the sea. Alone in the lounge, she played Bach, Beethoven and Tchaikovsky at the piano. As they grew older, the girls took turns staying aboard the ship, keeping their mother company. In 1907, when Anna Vyrubova began making these cruises, the two women spent their days sitting in the sun, knitting and talking.

At teatime, the Tsar and the children returned with stories, wild-flowers, mosses, cups of berries and pieces of quartz. Tea was served on deck while the ship's band thumped out marches or the balalaika orchestra strummed Russian folk melodies. Occasionally, the girls acted out skits. Anna Vyrubova recalled the day that the older Imperial yacht,
Polar Star,
carrying the Dowager Empress, anchored nearby and the girls' grandmother came on board the
Standart
for tea and a play. Afterward, Vyrubova saw Marie "sitting on Alexis's bed talking to him gaily and helping him peel an apple just like any other grandmother."

The part of the day Alexandra liked best was sunset. As the last slanting rays touched trees, rocks, water and boats with golden light, she sat on deck watching the lowering of the flag and listening to the deep, echoing male voices of the crew singing the Orthodox service of Evening Prayer. Later in the evening, while Nicholas played bil-

liards and smoked with his staff, the Empress read and sewed by lamplight. Everyone went to bed early. By eleven p.m. the waves had rocked them to sleep, and stewards bringing evening tea into the drawing room invariably found the place deserted.

In 1907, the cruise on the
Standart
ended in near-calamity. The yacht was moving out to sea through a narrow channel while, on deck, the passengers were having afternoon tea. Suddenly, with a shuddering crash, the ship hit a rock. Teacups flew, chairs overturned, the band went sprawling. As water poured into the hull, the ship listed and began to settle. Sirens wailed and lifeboats were lowered. For a moment, the three-year-old Tsarevich was missing, and both parents were distraught until he was located. Then Alexandra herded her children and maids into boats and, with Anna Vyrubova, bustled back to her own stateroom. Stripping sheets from the bed, she tossed jewels, icons and mementoes into a bundle. When she left the yacht, the last woman to depart, she carried this priceless bundle securely in her lap.

Nicholas, meanwhile, stood at the rail supervising the lowering and casting off of the lifeboats. As he did so, he bent over the side every few seconds and looked at the waterline, then consulted a pocket watch he held in his hand. The Tsar explained that he intended to stay aboard to the last, and that he was calculating how many inches a minute the boat was sinking; he estimated that twenty minutes remained. Nevertheless, due to its watertight compartments, the
Standart
did not sink, and it was later pulled off the rock and repaired. That night the family slept in crowded quarters aboard the navy cruiser
Asia.
"The Emperor, rather disheveled, brought basins of water to the Empress and me to wash our faces and hands," said Anna. "The next morning, the
Polar Star
appeared and we transferred to its more spacious quarters."

In August 1909, the
Standart
steamed slowly past the Isle of Wight, carrying the Russian Imperial family on its last visit to England. The Tsar arrived just before Regatta Week, and before the races began, King Edward VII honored Nicholas with a formal review of the Royal Navy. In three lines, the world's mightiest armada of battleships and dreadnoughts lay at anchor. As the British royal yacht,
Victoria and Albert,
steamed slowly under the rail of each of these mountains of gray steel, pennants dipped, saluting cannon boomed, bands played "God Save the Tsar" and "God Save the King," and hundreds of British seamen burst into rippling cheers. On the deck of the yacht, the- portly King and his Russian guest, wearing the white uniform of a British admiral, stood at salute.

After the naval review, the sailing races which climaxed the sum-

mer social season began. A great fleet of hundreds of yachts lay in the roadstead, their varnished masts gleaming in the sunlight like a forest of golden spars. "Ashore and afloat," wrote a British observer, "there were dinner parties and balls. Steam launches, with gleaming brass funnels, and slender cutters and gigs, pulled by their crews at the long white oars, plied between the yachts and the Squadron steps. By day, the sails of the racing yachts spread across the blue waters of the Solent like the wings of giant butterflies, by night the riding lights and lanterns gleamed and shone like glow-worms against the onyx water and fireworks burst and spent themselves in the night sky."

This visit was the only time that Prince Edward, the present Duke of Windsor, met his Russian cousins. Prince Edward, then fifteen, and his younger brother Prince Albert, who became King George VI, were cadets at the Naval College of Osborne, near Cowes on the Isle of Wight. Both British Princes were scheduled to show the Russian party through their school, but, at the last minute, Albert developed a cold which rapidly worsened into whooping cough. Dr. Botkin feared that if Albert passed the disease along to Alexis, the fits of coughing might trigger bleeding. Accordingly, Albert was quarantined.

"[This] was the one and only time I ever saw Tsar Nicholas," wrote the Duke of Windsor, looking back on the event. "Because of assassination plots . . . the Imperial government would not risk their Little Father's life in a great metropolis. Therefore the meeting was set for Cowes on the Isle of Wight, which could be sealed off almost completely. Uncle Nicky came for the regatta with his Empress and their numerous children aboard the
Standart.
I do remember being astonished at the elaborate police guard thrown around his every movement when I showed him through Osborne College."

The Empress Alexandra was overjoyed to be back in the land where she had spent the happiest days of her childhood. Pleased with the warm hospitality offered by King Edward, she wrote that "dear Uncle" has "been most kind and attentive." Less than a year later, "dear Uncle" was dead. His son, King George V, was on the throne and the young Prince Edward became the Prince of Wales.

Every emperor, king and president in Europe trod at one time or another upon the polished decks of the
Standart.
The Kaiser, whose own 4,000-ton white-and-gold
Hohenzollern
was slightly smaller than the
Standart,
openly proclaimed his envy of the Russian yacht. "He said he would have been happy to get it as a present," Nicholas wrote to Marie after William had come aboard for the first time. In reply, Marie sputtered indignantly, "His joke . . . was in very doubtful

taste. I hope he will not have the cheek to order himself a similar one here [in Denmark]. This really would be the limit, though just like him, with the tact that distinguishes him."

The Tsar and the Kaiser saw each other for the last time in June 1912, when the two Imperial yachts
Standart
and
Hohenzollern
anchored side by side at the Russian Baltic port of Reval. "Emperor William's visit was a success," Nicholas reported to Marie. "He remained three days and ... he was very gay and affable and would have his joke with Anastasia. . . . He gave very fine presents to the children and quite a lot of toys to Alexei. . . . On his last day he invited all the officers to a morning reception on board his yacht. It lasted about an hour and a half and afterwards he . . . said that our officers had got through sixty bottles of his champagne."

To every other place in Russia, Nicholas and Alexandra preferred the Crimea. To the traveler coming down from the north by train, wearied by hour after hour of the flatness and emptiness of the Ukrainian steppe, the scenery of the Russian Crimea is lushly dramatic. On this southern peninsula washed by the Black Sea, rugged mountain peaks rise from the blue and emerald waters. On the upper slopes of this Haila range, there are forests of tall pines. In the valleys and along the sea cliffs, there are groves of cypresses, orchards, vineyards, villages and pastures. The flowers and grapes of the Crimea have always been famous. In Nicholas's day, no winter ball in St. Petersburg was complete without a carload of fresh flowers rushed north by train from the Crimea. No grand-ducal or princely table anywhere in Russia was set without bottles of red and white wine from the host's Crimean estate. The Crimean climate was mild the year around, but in the spring the sudden massive flowering of fruit trees, shrubs, vines and wildflowers transformed the wild valleys of the peninsula into a vast perfumed garden. Lilacs, wisteria, violets and white acacias bloomed. Apple, peach and cherry trees burst into pink and white blossoms. Wild strawberries covered every slope. Grapes of every taste and color could be plucked wild along the road. Most spectacular of all were the roses. Huge, thick vines curled over buildings and walls, dropping petals across paths, courtyards, lawns and fields. With its swirl of colors and delicate odors, with its bright sun and warm sea breezes, with the aura of health and freedom that it bestowed, it is not surprising that of all the Imperial estates scattered across Russia, Nicholas and Alexandra preferred to be at the Livadia Palace in the Crimea.

Before 1917, the Crimea was deliberately maintained as an unspoiled wilderness. Along the coast between Yalta and Sevastopol, the handsome villas of the Imperial family and the aristocracy nestled between the cliffs and the sea. Half the peninsula lay behind the high posts surmounted by golden eagles which marked the lands of the Imperial family. To preserve the natural seclusion and beauty of these valleys, Alexander III and Nicholas II had forbidden the building of railways, except for the track coming down from the north through Simferopol to Sevastopol. From this port, one traveled overland by carriage or by boat along the sea cliffs to reach Yalta, the little harbor on the edge of the Imperial estate. The voyage took four hours, the carriage ride all day.

The people of the Crimea were Tartars of the Moslem faith, the residue of the thunderous Tartar invasions of Russia in the thirteenth century. Until they were conquered by Prince Gregory Potemkin for Catherine the Great in the eighteenth century, the Tartars were ruled by their own khans. Under the tsars, they lived in picturesque whitewashed villages scattered along the slopes and marked from afar by the delicately laced minarets of their Moslem mosques rising gracefully into the blue sky. Tartar men, sinewy and dark-complexioned, wore round black hats, short embroidered coats and tight white trousers. "To see a cavalcade of Tartars sweep by was to imagine a race of Centaurs come back to earth," wrote the admiring Anna Vyrubova. Tartar women were handsome creatures who dyed their hair bright red and wore floating veils to hide their faces. At the summit of all fervent Tartar loyalties stood the tsar, successor to the khan. When the Imperial carriage passed through Tartar villages, it had first to be halted so that the ranking Tartar chief could exercise his duty and privilege of riding through his village before his Imperial master.

The Imperial palace at Livadia was the special pride of the Empress Alexandra. Built in 1911 to replace an older wooden structure, it was made of white limestone and perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. Its columned balconies and courtyards were in an Italianate style admired by the Empress from her fond recollection of the palaces and cloisters she had seen in Florence before her marriage. The gardens, laid out in large, triangular flower beds, were studded with ancient Greek marbles excavated from Crimean ruins. On the ground floor, a white state dining room was also used—with tables and chairs removed—for dances. From the dining room, glass doors opened directly into the rose garden; at night, the sweet smell filled every corner of the palace. Upstairs, from her rooms furnished in pink

chintz with mauve flowers, Alexandra had magnificent vistas. From her boudoir she could see the mountains, still glistening with snow in May; from her bedroom, she could see the sweeping sea horizon. Nearby was Nicholas's study; down the corridor were rooms for the children and a private family dining room. On the day in April 1911 when the new palace was opened, it was blessed in the Orthodox fashion by priests going from room to room, swinging smoldering censers of incense and sprinkling holy water. When they finished, Alexandra hustled in to unpack and arrange her favorite pictures and icons on the walls and tables.

For Alexandra and Alexis, the warm days at Livadia meant recovery from illness and renewal of strength. The Empress and her son spent their mornings together, she lying in a chair on her balcony, he playing nearby with his toys. In the afternoon, she went into the garden or drove her pony cart along the paths around the palace, while Alexis went swimming with his father in the warm sea. Once in 1906, Nicholas was swimming in the surf with his four daughters when a large wave swept over them. The Tsar and the three older girls rose to the crest of the wave, but Anastasia, then five, disappeared. "Little Alexis [aged two] and I saw it happen from the beach," wrote the Tsar's sister Olga Alexandrovna. "The child, of course, didn't realize the danger, and kept clapping his hands at the tidal wave. Then Nicky dived again, grabbed Anastasia by her long hair, and swam back with her to the beach. I had gone cold with terror."