The Grand Duchess of Nowhere (10 page)

Then the year turned, and so did Emperor Nicky’s mood. Port Arthur surrendered to the Japanese. The war was going against Russia, so many lives lost and what had they gained? The factory owners were richer, that was all. Workers’ strikes were called. Aunt Ella wrote to Mother that Uncle Serge was struggling to keep order in Moscow and thought of resigning and handing over to an abler man. In St Petersburg men were milling about on the streets, gathering around anyone who chose to stand on a box and speak. Then a march was got up, the Sunday after the Blessing of the Waters, to go to the Winter Palace and petition the Emperor. And what did the marchers want from him? Everything, according to Aunt Miechen. Higher wages, a vote for every man, free education.

Mother said, ‘Russians are like children at a birthday party. Give them everything they ask for and they’ll make themselves sick. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.’

The Sunday march ended badly. Some of the marchers were shot, to prevent them from getting too close to the Winter Palace. I don’t know why. Emperor Nicky wasn’t even at the Palace. He was at Tsarskoe Selo building a snowman for his daughters. Some people say fifty marchers died, some say thousands. I still don’t know what to believe. But I do know that it was the start of a run of bad things. Three weeks later, in Moscow, Grand Duke Uncle Serge was killed.

He and Aunt Ella had just had lunch and he was on his way back to his office. She heard the windows rattle and she guessed that it was an explosion. She said she knew at once that Uncle Serge was dead. A bomb had been tossed into his coupé. Uncle Paul’s Dmitri and Marie were in the house and Aunt Ella’s first thought was that they shouldn’t see anything of the carnage. She ran down to the street herself, to cover what was left of Uncle Serge with blankets. His driver was still breathing, though he died later too. The assassin survived long enough to be hanged.

‘Just like they did to our dear father,’ Mother said. ‘Russians. They always kill the good men.’

Uncle Serge was one of Mother’s baby brothers. Grandpa Emperor Alexander had been killed by a bomb too. I know that now but when it happened it wasn’t spoken of in our nursery. We were told only that he had passed away. Missy claims to remember him. She says he was seven feet tall.

After Uncle Serge’s murder, Aunt Ella was very concerned for the safety of Grand Duke Uncle Paul’s children. Dmitri Pavlovich was nearly fourteen and quite old enough, as Mother said, for those lawless savages to harm him too. So he and Marie were sent to St Petersburg, to live with Emperor Nicky and enjoy the greater protection of the Imperial Guard. If you ask me they should have been sent to Paris to live with their father, or better still, Grand Duke Uncle Paul should have been allowed to go home to Russia and make a proper home for those poor children, but nobody asked my opinion.

Mother mourned Uncle Serge’s death in a quiet, stoic way. I never saw her weep for him. But she did greet me one morning with a grim face and a letter in her hand.

‘So,’ she said, ‘Ernie Hesse has pipped you to the post. He got married last week. He didn’t waste much time, did he? When I think how he dragged his heels asking for your hand, it’s pretty infuriating.’

I said, ‘He needs an heir.’

‘Pah!’ she said. ‘He could have had an heir of you if he’d only
concentrated
.’

It wasn’t that I minded. I just thought Ernie might have warned me. And actually he did try but his letter was misdirected and didn’t arrive until several days later. His bride was Onor Solms-Hohensolms. Missy used to call her The Tongue-Twister. I remembered her well from Darmstadt, a dull, stocky little creature with thin lips. Her family must have despaired of ever getting her off their hands. But she’d landed Grand Duke Ernie, no less. Well, in a way it was a good match. Ernie was desperate for a son and the Tongue-Twister was just plain desperate.

In apple blossom time, when Cyril should have come to Coburg and married me, he accepted another posting to the Pacific. The Baltic Fleet were on their way east, to support the Pacific Squadron.

Mother said, ‘I won’t trouble to say what I think. I’ve already wasted enough breath on the subject.’

Missy wrote, ‘Now will you concede that Cyril has no intention of marrying you? Come to Romania. I’ll find you a dozen husbands.’

It was my lowest moment. Though I was too ashamed to say it, I thought I had made a mistake. Several, actually. I’d divorced Ernie and there was no turning back. My reputation was stained. And I’d allowed Cyril to share my bed though he delayed and delayed our marrying. I thought of disappearing. That would show him. But I didn’t know how to go about it. I thought of Aunt Louise and her ‘what do you want to do with your life?’ I still had no idea. I’d allowed everything to depend on Cyril. I felt foolish and useless and took to my bed under the pretext of a chill. It was the dark hour before the dawn.

The war with Japan ended in May. Cyril didn’t see any more action. While he was still on the train to Vladivostock, the Baltic Fleet had entered the Straits of Tsushima and found the Japanese lying in wait for them. Those ships that weren’t sunk surrendered and for Russians it felt as though it had all been for nothing. The Japanese were the victors.

Cyril came to Coburg directly.

‘Darling,’ he said, ‘name the day. We’ve waited quite long enough.’

I thought he must have talked to Emperor Nicky.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not a good time. War lost. Strikes everywhere. Sailors mutinying. Poor Nicky has quite enough on his plate. Somehow it’s never a good time. We’ll just get married and then I’ll tell him.’

I remember asking him if he was sure.

‘Of course I’m sure, you muggins,’ he said. ‘You were always the girl for me.’

I was so happy. All my doubts disappeared, even when Mother seemed less than joyful at our news.

‘Joyful?’ she said. ‘One has rather gone beyond that. Relieved, certainly. You’ll be married discreetly, of course, and immediately.’

It wasn’t so simple. There was the difficulty of finding a priest.
I’d have been happy for anyone to marry us, but Cyril said we must be married according to the rite of the Orthodox Church because he was still in the line of succession, albeit only fourth. But what Russian priest would marry us without the Tsar’s permission? Mother saved the day.

She said, ‘Father Arseny will do it.’

He was Mother’s confessor.

‘But how can he? What about Nicky’s permission?’

‘Father Arseny will do it,’ Mother said, ‘because I shall tell him to. And not here. Somewhere quieter. Bavaria is still pleasant at this time of autumn. Yes, Tegernsee would be perfect. We’ll use the Adlerbergs’ old house. There’s no one in it. Neutral territory.’

Anyone would have thought we were signing the Treaty of Portsmouth, not celebrating a marriage.

Missy couldn’t be there. Boris didn’t even know of our plans. Nor did Aunt Miechen and Grand Duke Uncle Vladimir. Cyril was still being cautious and Mother understood why, but she didn’t interfere. I think she just wanted us to get married and leave her in peace.

How very different from when I married Ernie. I didn’t even buy a new gown. The ceremony was soon over, very short by Russian standards because it was abbreviated in view of my regrettable divorce. The light grew strangely yellow and snow began to fall, unseasonably early. We had a hasty wedding breakfast then our very few guests all left. Poor Father Arseny led the stampede.

Cyril said, ‘Did someone give the order to abandon ship? Was it something we said?’

It all felt a bit flat. We’d waited so long to be married, and we were already lovers. But something strange occurred. I found I was more in love than ever. Not wildly, as before, but deeply. And we were beyond the reach of anyone’s disapproval, or so I thought.
The snow melted, the sun came out and we spent our honeymoon motoring
around
the lake, rowing
on
the lake, and paddling our feet
in
the lake.

‘Good morning, Wife,’ Cyril would greet me.

‘Good morning, Husband,’ I’d reply. ‘Is the lake still there?’

‘Lake present and correct,’ he’d say.

*

Missy sent a rather lukewarm message. Something along the lines of, she hoped my saintly patience would be rewarded and that marriage to Cyril would live up to my expectations. Aunt Louise sent a card.
And still the ravens haven’t left the Tower!

At the end of October, I went back to Coburg to begin packing for my new life and Cyril travelled on to St Petersburg to announce the news of our marriage.

He said, ‘While I’m gone you must think what name you wish to go by in Russia. You can probably get away with “Victoria” but your patronymic is a problem. “Victoria Alfredovna” doesn’t really work.’

Mother recommended ‘Fyodorovna’. It was the patronymic Dowager Empress Minnie had taken when she went to Russia to be married, and Sunny too.

She said, ‘Saint Fyodor’s a perfectly respectable saint and look, Fyodorovna isn’t so very different from Alfredovna. Quite similar at a glance.’

That was how I became the Grand Duchess Victoria Fyodorovna.

The plan was that Cyril would spend two weeks in St Petersburg, seeing family members and choosing a place for us to live. I would then follow on. We’d be together in Russia in time for Christmas. Cyril said not to buy any new furs, to wait until I got to Russia and he’d buy me a sable.

Three days after his arrival there I received a telegram from
Aunt Miechen.
CYRIL VLADIMIROVICH RETURNING COBURG
, it said.
DISASTER
.

My new husband seemed shorter and less dashing after his brief visit to Saint Petersburg. Half the man, I thought, when he walked back through the door at Rosenau. He had been reduced and humiliated and it showed. Here’s what had happened.

Things had begun well enough. Aunt Miechen and Uncle Vladimir were very happy to hear about our marriage.

‘Thrilled,’ he said. ‘But you know they always loved you.’

After he’d received their congratulations and they’d opened a bottle of champagne, Cyril arranged to go and see Emperor Nicky the next morning. But the reason for Cyril’s arrival in St Petersburg reached Nicky’s ears before bedtime. I suppose if you’re the Emperor of All the Russias you had better know what everyone is up to. Emperor Nicky sent one of his courtiers, Count Fredericks, to deliver the blow. His Imperial Majesty would not receive Cyril the next morning, nor at any other hour. Cyril had contracted a marriage without his Emperor’s consent and must pay the price. He had forty-eight hours to leave Russia, for ever.

Given an opening Aunt Miechen still talks about it, all these years later. ‘Coming to a person’s house on Court business at that time of night,’ she says. ‘Unheard of. Of course it wasn’t poor old Fredericks’s fault. One mustn’t blame the messenger. It was Nicky’s doing and not even entirely his. He’ll have had Sunny urging him on.’

Cyril’s parents were beside themselves, both at Cyril’s punishment and at the way it was announced. Uncle Vladimir went out to Tsarskoe Selo the next morning to protest. He didn’t have an appointment, or even wait to be admitted. He just marched right in to Emperor Nicky’s study. Aunt Miechen told Mother that Nicky’s knees were knocking – well, Uncle Vladimir did have
a very considerable presence and an extremely loud voice – but Uncle Vladimir himself told a rather different story. That Nicky just continued smoking a cigarette and leafing through papers as though he’d no more noticed Uncle Vladimir’s presence than he might a fly on the window pane. Better to accept Uncle Vladimir’s version, I think. Aunt Miechen does tend to embellish. And Uncle Vladimir’s actions speak for themselves. When there was no sign of Emperor Nicky reversing his order, Uncle resigned all his own positions in protest. It was a grand gesture but it made no difference to us. Cyril was stripped of his titles and honours, his allowance, his naval rank and decorations, and the right to live in Russia. I was the Grand Duchess of Nowhere and my husband was unemployed.

I said, ‘Things will work out.’

‘Just a setback,’ Cyril said. ‘We’ll survive.’

Mother didn’t utter a word. Her face said it all. ‘Didn’t I warn you?’

*

The news of our marriage reached Darmstadt via St Petersburg and I received a wire from Ernie.
HOPE YOU’VE FOUND HAPPINESS AT LAST
. I think he meant it sincerely.

Cyril, who had been accustomed to the Navy telling him what to do, seemed not to have a plan. He filled his days playing golf and his evenings smoking too much. As to where we should make our home now Russia was off the menu, he left that up to me. I chose Paris. Dear, banished Grand Duke Uncle Paul was already living there with his new wife, Olga, so it seemed like a fitting place for Cyril’s exile. And his brothers, Boris and Alexei, both loved Paris. I knew they would visit us often. The only difficulty was money. I thought I’d try my hand at watercolours. Ernie had always said I painted quite well.

Mother said, ‘You’re going to paint watercolours? And sell them?’

I said, ‘Just until Cyril can find something.’

Mother said, ‘Find something?’

‘Employment.’

‘And what do you imagine he’ll do? Drive a hansom? Don’t be silly, Ducky. He’s a Grand Duke.’

I said, ‘Well, Pa was a Royal Highness and he had a naval command. That was employment.’

‘Do you really think so, dear?’ she said.

She sat and thought for a while and then she said, ‘Well, before you starve to death I think I’d better buy you an apartment.’

She chose a property in Passy. As she said, the 16th arrondissement was a superior area and the apartment had a south-eastern aspect. It could only be a good investment. That was our first home together, small and simple, with only room for four servants. We were like children playing house.

‘And what’s on the cards for today?’ Cyril would ask me every morning, even though we both knew perfectly well he was going to play golf while I shopped for cushions.

We saw a lot of Uncle Paul and Olga. They lived nearby and as they said, we banished ones had better stick together. Olga would have been happy to stay in Paris for ever but there was always a sadness about Uncle Paul. He longed to go back to Russia. Russians always do, no matter how badly Russia has treated them.

Olga used to say, ‘Paul wants all his children to know each other. What could be more natural? But it won’t happen, not as long as those stiff-necks are on the throne.’

Olga and Uncle Paul had three children by then. Vova was nine, Irina was three, Natalya was just a baby. They’d never even met their half-brother, Dmitri, or their half-sister, Marie. It was the spring of 1906 when we settled in Paris. Only eleven years ago and yet it seems like a lifetime. Marie has been married and divorced,
Dmitri is banished to Persia, and the last we heard of Vova, he was under house arrest. His pen got him into trouble, as we feared it might. I don’t think Minister Kerensky has a highly developed sense of humour. Better anyway not to have put it to the test. But both such lovely boys, Vova and Dmitri Pavlovich. I hope they’ll come through this all right.

Missy visited us the very minute we’d nested. She was pretty jealous.

‘Paris!’ she said. ‘Well, your bread certainly landed butter side up. Mother never offered to buy
me
a place in Paris. But you always were her favourite.’

It wasn’t true at all. Mother didn’t have favourites. She just wasn’t convinced that Cyril could keep me in fitting style, nor could she see the point in our paying rent to a stranger.

Brother-in-law Boris visited us too, and brought news from St Petersburg. The Tsesarevich wasn’t thriving. We’d already heard something to that effect, though Aunt Miechen wasn’t the most reliable of sources, but it seemed it was true. Tsesarevich Alexis had the bleeding disease. One of Pa’s brothers had had it and Ernie’s brother Frittie. Ernie’s sister, Irene, had just lost her youngest son to it. And now Nicky and Sunny’s precious Alyosha, who had been so long in coming, and on whom so much depended.

People said I shouldn’t feel sorry for Sunny and Nicky, after what they’d done to Cyril, but I did feel sorry for them, particularly Sunny. After all, it was her main purpose in life, to give Nicky an heir. I thought she might try again, for another, healthier boy, but Aunt Miechen said she very much doubted it. Empress Sunny had withdrawn to her boudoir with sciatica and Emperor Nicky had other things on his mind. Since his defeat by Japan, the Russian people had begun to change. Some of them weren’t so ready to look upon him as their wise and protecting father. They met in secret
rooms and questioned whether Russia even needed an Emperor or Deputies or bosses of any kind.

Cyril’s old friend Vice-Admiral Kuzmich was assassinated, stabbed in the back by his own port workers. Then there was an attempt on the life of the new Governor of Moscow. A monarchist meeting was attacked, some said by anarchists, some said by socialist revolutionaries. No one could explain to me what the difference was. Every week there was some new outrage, and Emperor Nicky’s answer was always to be more severe, and with everyone, not just the perpetrators.

Cyril said, ‘One can understand Nicky’s thinking. Give troublemakers an inch, they’ll take a mile. He’s evidently decided the most efficient way to keep order is to use the big stick on everyone. Not sure he’s right though. Beat a dog too harshly and it can go either way. It may learn to behave. Or it may just slink away and wait for the next opportunity to bite you. I wonder who’s advising him?’

People were anxious. Aunt Miechen told us so in every letter. But it was hardly any of our concern. Cyril hadn’t deserved to be exiled, and neither had Uncle Paul. It wasn’t our fault if we were having a splendid time in Paris.

It’s funny how things turn out. I was expecting our first child that autumn and feeling absolutely sick and fatigued, when I received a letter from Ernie. He and the Tongue-Twister had had a son, Georg.

Just wanted you to hear it from me, Ducky
, he wrote.
Hope all’s well with you
.

I did feel a pang. What was it? Not regret, that’s for sure. Irritation, perhaps, that with dreary old Onor he’d forced himself to do what he’d resisted with me. I shall never understand Ernie as long as I live.

But his letter unsettled me and made me think of Elli and a lot of pointless What Ifs. What if she hadn’t run about too much at Skierniewice and made herself so thirsty that she drank unboiled water? What if my new baby wasn’t as pretty as she’d been? I found myself hoping the child I was carrying was a boy. It wasn’t. Masha was born on 20th January 1907. I went back to Coburg for my confinement. Mother insisted. She said the French were all very well for gowns and wine but for childbirth there was nothing to beat a German doctor.

Masha wasn’t as beautiful as Elli. She was different. And I felt she was mine in a way Elli never had been. Cyril was delighted with her but he wasn’t the kind of father to look in on the nursery a dozen times a day and pick her up out of her cradle. We wondered whether Cyril’s parents would be allowed to visit us, to see their little granddaughter. Emperor Nicky could easily have forbidden them to travel, but he didn’t. Uncle Vladimir and Aunt Miechen came to stay with us in Passy. It was the first time I’d seen them since Cyril and I had married.