Livadia in the Reign of Alexander III

 by Greg King

Alexander III was an immense man: at six-foot-four-inches, he literally towered over both his family and his Empire. As a boy, he had been awkward and shy. Members of his father's Court noted how he bumped into tables, dropped his food, or spilt his drink when forced to appear at public receptions, but he grew into a powerful, intimidating man. Serge Witte, his Minister of Finance, later wrote: "In many respects Emperor Alexander III did not look like an Emperor. A tall but flabby man, not handsome; an unaffected, slovenly, bear-like man, one could imagine him a Russian peasant from the central provinces by seeing him in one's mind's eye in a sheepskin coat and bast shoes. In many respects he was not majestic. But his fine heart, his strong character, his calmness, his sense of fairness were all reflected in his face, giving him the look of true majesty."1

The new Emperor was a Slavophile at heart. He became the first Russian sovereign since the eighteenth century to sport a beard. Under his reign, the uniforms of all military regiments were re-designed to eliminate Peter the Great's Prussian models; new laws established the primacy of the Orthodox Church to the persecution of other religious faiths; and the Pan-Slavist movement reached its zenith, with a proliferation of Russian music, art and architecture which took its inspiration from traditional medieval models.

Alexander was perhaps the most unassuming of all European monarchs. His tastes were simple, his pleasures common. He possessed a warm heart, and his absurd sense of humor made him a great favorite among his extended family. Unbelievably strong, he could bend iron pokers in half, and ripped apart decks of playing cards to amuse his children. His royal nieces and nephews adored him: on family holidays in Denmark, they happily followed him about, calling him "Uncle Fatty."2

While declaring himself the Autocrat, Alexander III remained very much an enigma: a man who firmly believed in the divine nature of his office, he disliked all pomp and court ceremony, finding the ceremonial duties attached to his role as Emperor tiresome and irritating. He despised the endless round of parties and receptions that characterized the Russian Court. "The poor Grand Duke hates balls and was very unhappy at being dragged to so many," Queen Victoria's daughter Princess Louise reported to her mother after a visit by Alexander to London when he was still Heir to the Throne.3 At another ball, Alexander duly partnered a German Princess. At the end of the dance, she thanked him, but, in characteristic fashion, he replied bluntly: "Why can't you be honest? It was just a duty neither of us could have relished. I have ruined your slippers and you have made me nearly sick with the scent you use."4

Marie Feodorovna was a complete contrast to her mighty husband. Petite, with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes, she loved balls, pomp and, above all else, gossip. As Empress, she had endless opportunities to indulge in these pleasures. Born Princess Marie Sophie Frederike Dagmar of Denmark, she was one of the remarkable children of King Christian IX, who, before his accession to the Danish Throne, had been the Duke of Schleswig-Holstein -Sonderburg-Glucksburg, a German Principality.

Christian's children were, in the words of Theo Aronson, "raised in the utmost simplicity. The parents had taken a hand in their education, the family had devised their own amusements, and the girls had been obliged to make their own clothes. Of luxury, they had known nothing. They might have been royal but their home life had been that of any ordinary Danish bourgeois family."5

It was true that when in Copenhagen the family lived in the Yellow Palace, but this cramped townhouse, whose front door opened directly to the street, was a palace only in name. Their country estate at Bernsdorff, in a landscaped park outside of Copenhagen, was a large villa rather than a palace; on family occasions, visiting relatives often found themselves relegated to gardeners' huts owing to the lack of bedrooms in the main house.

Her elder sister, Alexandra, was married to Albert Edward, the Prince of Wales, Queen Victoria's eldest son and heir, while her brother had accepted an invitation from Athens to become King of the Hellenes. Dagmar was not particularly beautiful; small, with a slender figure, she managed to captivate those round her with her large, luminous blue eyes and a charming, indulgent smile. Nor was she a gifted conversationalist; her parents, by circumstance and inclination, had forgone the usual collection of governesses and tutors for their children, and none of their daughters was very educated. Even as an elderly widow, there remained something slightly carefree and childlike about her. But she was socially adept, and knew how to win the affections of those round her.

Dagmar had not originally been engaged to Alexander, expecting, instead, to wed his elder brother, Tsesarevich Nicholas Alexandrovich. The eldest son of Alexander II, Nicholas Alexandrovich was tall, handsome, intelligent and cultured, well-educated for his future position as Emperor. The Tsesarevich had selected Dagmar as a suitable, pretty Princess, and the pair met when he visited Copenhagen. If it was not a love match, both partners certainly found the other attractive and charming.

The engagement was announced in the fall of 1864. Within a few months, however, the Tsesarevich had fallen ill with what doctors initially assumed to be tuberculosis, believed to have been inherited from his mother. It was only after six months of unsuccessful treatment that physicians finally diagnosed cerebrospinal meningitis, which had progressed too far to be treated.6 In the spring of the following year, in a last effort to save his life, doctors sent the young man to Cannes, hoping that the warm climate would somehow work the miracle which their medicine could not. At Cannes, however, the Tsesarevich's condition grew worse, and, fearing that the end was near, he summoned his fiancée. Both Dagmar and Nicholas's brother Alexander were at his side when he died on 11 April 1865.

Within the Romanov Family, legend had it that, with his last breath, the Tsesarevich had begged his brother to take care of Dagmar, and joined their hands atop his chest.7 "It makes a touching story," writes Theo Aronson, "but one suspects that it was invented to mask the indecent haste with which Dagmar was expected to switch her affections."8

Indeed, within months of the Tsesarevich's death, talk ran high that Dagmar should marry the new Heir to the Throne, Alexander Alexandrovich. Dagmar seemed amenable enough to the idea, but Alexander, who was himself deeply in love with Princess Maria Mescherskaia, a Maid-of-Honor to his mother, was coerced and threatened by his father before finally relenting and agreeing to ask for the Danish Princess's hand.9

Whatever his misgivings, Alexander and Dagmar were duly engaged. She converted to Russian Orthodoxy, taking the name Marie Feodorovna and, in 1866, the pair was married at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg. To each other, they were "Sasha" and "Minny," and theirs was one of the most successful Romanov marriages. Marie Feodorovna took to her role from the very beginning, relishing the power, wealth and prestige that had accompanied her marriage. "For the first time in her life," writes Coryne Hall, "she could have as many pretty dresses as she wanted, and it was a heady experience for a girl of just nineteen."10 Yet she also made powerful enemies, who regarded her as frivolous, naive, and filled with an exaggerated idea of her own importance. Prince Peter Sviatopolk-Mirsky condemned her as "a foolish, untalented woman!"11

Marie Feodorovna fulfilled the principal duty of her position by providing a male heir, Nicholas, who was born on Monday, 18 May 1868. A second son, Grand Duke Alexander Alexandrovich, had been born in 1869, but he lived for less than a year, dying in 1870 of meningitis.12 Nicholas was followed by a second brother, Grand Duke George, in 1871; a sister, Grand Duchess Xenia, in 1875; another brother, Michael, in 1878; and, finally, a second sister, Olga, in 1882. His parents believed in a Spartan upbringing for their children, following the custom of the day. Food was equally meager, and of doubtful quality. Serge Witte, the Minister of Finance under Alexander III, later wrote: "The Imperial Table was always relatively poor, and the food served at the Court Marshal's board was sometimes such as to endanger one's health."13

The children adored their parents. Both Alexander and Marie Feodorovna resented any intrusion in their private lives, and the children all inherited this same zealous attitude. Neither parent was renowned for their intellectual curiosity; what they wanted was an uncomplicated, ideal Victorian family. When one member of the Court suggested that the time had come for the Empress to hire a governess for her daughters, Marie Feodorovna was incredulous. "But why?" she asked. "We had no governess when we were children."14

Marie favored her sons, especially the youngest, Michael, while Alexander doted on the girls. This warm, loving environment was exceptional among Europe's royal families, where children were rarely seen, and certainly not coddled or played with. "They were probably among the least restricted and disciplined Romanov children," writes Coryne Hall. "Dagmar taught them that family life was very important and, because of their parents' happy marriage, they were brought up in an atmosphere of love and security missing from most royal households."15 Yet, as Dominic Lieven notes, Marie Feodorovna's "strong maternal instincts were also linked to intense possessiveness and the attempt to keep her children young for as long as possible."16

Like her sister Alexandra, Marie Feodorovna lived in a surreal, artificial world, in which unpleasant realities were simply blocked out; it was an atmosphere where her children were smothered, subjected to conflicting and traumatic parental expectations. While the Empress coddled and cosseted her eldest son, her husband treated the young Nicholas roughly; he seemed to delight in ridiculing his heir in front of others, crying out, "You are nothing but a little girlie!"17 A year before Nicholas came to the Throne, his father told Serge Witte that the Tsesarevich was "Nothing but a child, with infantile judgments."18 Subjected to such abuse, the sensitive Nicholas sought comfort from his mother, who indulged him even more in an effort to compensate for her husband's harsh treatment. In the end, as Dominic Lieven writes, "It is hard to doubt that, unwittingly, the Empress Marie's influence contributed greatly to her son's unreadiness for the task thrust upon him by his father's death."19

If Nicholas was raised in a rarified environment and, with his brothers, indulged by their mother, the same cannot be said of his sisters. Marie Feodorovna doted on her sons, but her two daughters were often treated as little more than possessions. Queen Alexandra, writes Dominic Lieven, "turned her daughter Victoria into an unmarried slave. Her sister Empress Marie, caused great trouble when her elder daughter, Grand Duchess Xenia, married; and she pushed her younger daughter Olga into marriage with her dreadful homosexual cousin Peter of Oldenburg, in order to keep her firmly under her mother's thumb in Petersburg."20 This seemingly inherited mania for controlling the lives of her children eventually led to disaster and, when Nicholas married Alexandra in 1894, set the two powerful women on an inevitable collusion course over supremacy in the Emperor's affections and influence.

This oppressive emotional atmosphere, coupled with the intense seclusion in which they were raised, meant that Nicholas and his brothers and sisters were immature and dependent. They were absolutely wild and many of their relatives thought them the most badly brought up, ill-mannered royal children in Europe. Alexander III's aunt, Queen Olga of Wurttemberg, visited the Imperial Family and left Gatchina disgusted, telling one official "I don't like watching while people throw pellets of bread across the table."21 This sort of childish behavior, however, was positively encouraged by the Emperor and especially the Empress, who had been raised in just such an environment. "Among the Danish Royal Family and their offshoots, the Greeks," wrote James Pope-Hennessy, "the special joke was to make funny noises and yell if they saw anyone trying to write a letter. There were no 'in' jokes to play on anyone bold enough to read a book since none of them did."22

Grand Duchess Marie, wife of Grand Duke George Mikhailovich, later recalled how state dinners in Denmark with King Christian IX and his extended family often dissolved into food fights, with napkins and pellets of bread being thrown about the table before the startled guests. After dinner, the family carried on in the same manner, turning somersaults in the drawing rooms. "The Princess of Wales was the best at it, because she somehow managed to turn over without her head touching the sofa. It must be remembered that this had to be done in smart evening décolleté dresses with jeweled ornaments or flowers in the coiffure, and when our aunts accomplished it, they aroused our unbounded admiration."23

Such immature if tranquil pleasures were forever shattered with the assassination of Alexander II. The new Emperor and his wife returned to their St. Petersburg residence, the Anichkov Palace, only to find it ringed with a deep trench filled with armed guards.24 When their father and mother left the walls of this fortified prison, their terrified children never knew if they would return alive. A reactionary at heart, the new Emperor suspected everyone who held liberal views of indirect complicity or assent. He trusted no one in St. Petersburg, which one English visitor described as "reeking of dynamite--a nest of invisible assassins."25 Alexander refused to reside in the Winter Palace, much to the chagrin of his wife. Instead, he selected the country estate at Gatchina, some forty miles south of the capital, which could be more easily defended. It became, in the words of one writer, "the citadel of autocracy."26

Undoubtedly influenced by the tragic and uncertain circumstances which brought him to the Russian Throne, Alexander became convinced that his father's liberal policies had opened a dangerous floodgate of revolutionary thought. It was a movement Alexander was determined to stop. In this, he was fully supported by one of the country's most feared and reactionary political minds, Konstantin Pobedonostsev. It was under Pobedonostsev's direction that Alexander III composed his Accession Manifesto, in which he clearly stated his intention to continue autocratic rule: "The Voice of God Commands Us to place Ourself with assurance at the head of the Absolute Power. Confident in the Divine Providence and in His Supreme Wisdom, full of faith in the Justice and Strength of the Autocracy which We are called to maintain, We shall preside serenely over the Destinies of Our Empire, which henceforward will be discussed between God and Ourself alone."27

The Manifesto came as a shock to those who had hoped for a continuation of reform, and was greeted with discontent by a vast section of the Government and middle class. The new Empress, Marie Feodorovna, wrote to her mother, Queen Louise of Denmark: "First they howl that they hadn't been shown a manifesto or something, which they wanted and now that Sasha does so and shows what road he wants to follow, that isn't good either and they howl even more; but it is only St. Petersburg and Petersburg is not all of Russia and in the interior of the country the manifesto has been read with enthusiasm, for it is just a very little group that wants something more...."28 It was a curious echo of sentiments later expressed by Empress Alexandra Feodorovna, but Marie Feodorovna, conveniently ignoring her own earlier views, loudly trumpeted such thoughts as clear evidence that her daughter-in-law understood nothing about the Russian Empire.

One official later declared: "Personally the Emperor is said to be kind hearted, though at the same time hot tempered, while a strange vein of timidity pervades his character. He does not like new faces and prefers to communicate with his Ministers and Generals by writing rather than by word of mouth, because he does not like discussions for which he is not prepared. He is, of course, obliged to receive hundreds of persons, but avoids long conversations if he feels unable to cope in argument with his interlocutors. His personal commerce with those in whom he has confidence is therefore very limited, and he dislikes intercourse with eminent men, because he fears the influence they may exercise upon him, being very desirous of appearing independent.... When he goes abroad only those who have no opinion of their own surround him. Yet the Emperor is very accessible to the advice of fanatics like Pobedonostsev because their resolute convictions impose upon him, and because, above all, he fears foreign influence."29

The Imperial Family retreated into the solitude of Gatchina. Although, as Emperor, he presided over an extended Imperial Family of aunts, uncles and cousins, Alexander rarely received them. His immediate reaction to the turmoil and scandal was to withdraw, from society at large, the Imperial Court, and even members of his own family. Closeting himself at Gatchina, the Emperor established a dangerous precedent. "His father," wrote Charles Lowe, "always kept open house for his relations. Every Grand Duke and Duchess could always come to him uninvited. Soon after his accession to the Throne, his successor restricted this liberty to his own children. Even his brothers did not go uninvited to dine with him."30

His pursuit of an idyllic family life, with his own wife and children, meant that the Emperor begrudged any time spent with his relatives as an unwelcome intrusion. "The sovereign," wrote Grand Duke Michael Nikolaievich, "attaches extraordinary importance to a harmonious and moral family life....He and the Empress live like two turtledoves in agreement, mutual love, and purity. He wishes that everyone else would also lead such a life."31

Alexander III deliberately isolated himself from outside influences, relying only upon his own intuition in making political judgments. Both tendencies did not cause undue harm during his reign; he was an autocrat and, at least under Alexander III, autocracy worked. But when his son came to the Throne, these patterns were to be repeated, to a greater extent, and with devastating results.32

The Emperor's seclusion also set an ultimately fatal pattern that would be repeated under Nicholas II. Alexander, who hated Society and balls, gradually reduced the Imperial entertainment at the Winter Palace, giving rise to a second, rival Court, led by his brother and sister-in-law, Grand Duke Vladimir and his wife, Marie Pavlovna. Society began to look elsewhere for its pleasures and approval. "The gaieties and elegant amusements of the old regime were no more the fashion," recalled on participant. "A sort of medieval gloom fell over the capital.... The Court was little more than a name."33

Isolated, morose, and suspicious, Alexander never fully recovered from the shock of his father's assassination. He became nervous and irritable, and, contrary to his doctor's orders, began to drink more and more, sneaking flasks of vodka behind his wife's back.34 In the atmosphere of paranoia, the Russian Government swung dramatically to the right. As Emperor, Alexander III was not so much loved as he was both respected and feared by his people.

For the first few years of his reign, Alexander III remained too terrified of revolutionaries to venture far beyond the confines of St. Petersburg or Moscow, and Livadia was all but ignored. In 1884, however, he decided to return to the Crimea for the first time since the traumatic family confrontations over his father's morganatic marriage to Catherine Dolgorukaia in 1880. For both Alexander and his wife, however, Livadia had been forever tainted by the memory of that autumn. They refused to live in the Great Palace, largely because Princess Yurievskaia had once lived there. Somewhat surprisingly, in view of their strong feelings against her, the Emperor and Empress allowed Alexander II's second wife and her children to continue to holiday here, although they usually timed their own visits to begin or end before or after her arrival.

As before, the Imperial couple took up residence in the Maly Palace; over the next few years, the Empress ordered the surrounding park redesigned, with new lawns, a sunken rose garden, and brick walks along the crest of the hillside. Over two years, between 1886-1888, the architect Shretter was commissioned to redecorated the Palace itself. The exterior was adorned with new balconies overlooking the Black Sea, and painted in lighter shades of pink, with fretwork, fussy ornaments, pilasters, and quoining added to the facades to make the building more impressive.35

The configuration of the interior rooms remained largely the same, but the Empress wanted an altogether more impressive backdrop against which to receive visitors. Nicholas Svirsky, owner of a fashionable St. Petersburg furniture factory, undertook the renovations, which included cloaking the walls of the public rooms in carved panels of mahogany, maple, and oak, inset with birch and bronze details, topped by English chintzes, stamped and gilded leather, and velvet or silk moire hangings. The simple wooden parquet floors were also replaced with marquetry work in rare and contrasting woods laid in intricate, geometric patterns. Once these rooms were completed, the Empress proceeded to fill them with heavy, overstuffed sofas and chairs, covered in velvet brocades and dripping in fringe; potted palms; statuary; bronzes; framed photographs; stuffed birds and stags' heads; and little tables covered with a profusion of sentimental objets d'art. 36 Such frenzied and chaotic decoration reflected Marie Feodorovna's heritage; in Denmark, people prided themselves on the idea of "hyggelig," roughly the equivalent of the German idea of "gemutlich." Windowsills, tables, walls-every space-was covered with something pleasant or familiar, in an effort to create a comfortable, cozy environment. In this, the Empress's tastes were much the same as those of her future daughter-in-law Empress Alexandra, who likewise filled her houses with a profusion of clutter to surround herself with happy memories.

Alexander and Marie spent their days at Livadia visiting Yalta and the surrounding regions. The Emperor ordered that the harbor be dredged, and over the next few years, new quays were built, along with a pier to accommodate the Imperial yacht. Money poured into the town: roads were widened and paved, grand avenues laid out and planted with rows of palm and lime trees, hotels built, and loans made for the construction of new stone houses. While the Empress rode along the mountain trails, her husband went fishing and gathered members of his suite for hunting parties. Alexander III later wrote: "Those days spent hunting and in the mountains were the best memories of our entire stay in the Crimea."37

Perhaps because he was less open, Alexander III was never as popular in the Crimea as his father had been. "His harsh temper was known to all," wrote one critic, "as was his irascibility, his predilection for parade ground abuse and ruling with a fist, which inclined people to keep at a safe distance. The Tartars couldn't forgive him for his alcoholism. After the death of Alexander III a Tartar elder was heard to ask, 'What sort of a Tsar was he? How could he control Russia if he couldn't even control himself? Is it even possible to imagine that every day a Tsar could drink himself into a stupor towards evening?'"38

The Empress kept herself occupied with drives, gardening, and visits to neighboring estates. "The weather here at Livadia is ideal," the Empress reported to her eldest son during one visit, "not too hot-only 75-80 in the shade-everything is in bloom: the white and yellow acacias and such a wealth of roses as I have never seen before in my life. The whole air is fragrant and I am enjoying it all tremendously."39 In 1886, Grand Duke Serge and his wife Elizabeth came to Livadia; the Grand Duchess reported to Queen Victoria, her grandmother: "The weather is quite splendid like in summer, all is green, and covered with roses, glycinias, honeysuckle, which not only cover the houses but one also sees hanging on the trees. What charms me especially is to have the sea reminding me of Osborne and the grand hills of Scotland....There are quantities of the most beautiful country houses and one especially pleased me."40

The year 1886 also marked the first Easter celebrations during which the Empress received one of the magnificent Faberge Imperial Easter Eggs. That year, Easter fell on 13 April, and after returning from the midnight liturgy at the Palace Church, Alexander III presented his wife with a simple, white enamel eggshell, which broke apart to reveal a golden hen and a sapphire-encrusted basket. The Empress was delighted, and the presentation of a Faberge Easter Egg became a tradition that continued until the Revolution.41

Holidays at Livadia provided a welcome relief from the oppressive atmosphere of the Imperial Court, but, inevitably, there were reminders of the dangers that lurked beyond the carefully guarded confines of Gatchina. In October 1888, while returning to St. Petersburg from their annual stay in the Crimea, the Imperial Family was nearly killed when their train flew off the tracks near Borki and plunged down a steep embankment. The Imperial Family, who had been having lunch in the Dining Car, managed to crawl to safety when the collapsed walls held up the roof. Twenty-two courtiers and members of the Imperial Guard were killed, and another thirty-five injured. Although a later inquiry determined that the train had been travelling too fast, the suspicion remained that the incident had been the work of a terrorist. "I was only six," recalled Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna, "but I became conscious of a danger lurking somewhere."42

In 1889, Alexander III purchased the old Vorontzov estate of Massandra, along with the adjoining vineyard at Ai-Danil, both of which lay across Yalta harbor from Livadia. The usually parsimonious Alexander III willingly laid out some 250,000 rubles for Massandra and Ai-Danil.43 Officially, the properties were purchased by the Department of the Imperial Appanages as an investment. Ai-Danil included 110 acres of cultivated vineyards that annually produced more than twenty thousand bottles of wine.44

At Massandra, Alexander ordered the former Vorontzov Palace, whose construction had been abandoned nearly a decade earlier, enlarged as a Crimean residence for his eldest son and heir. The old Palace was wrapped in new, mellow stone walls, dotted with square and circular towers jutting out from the main block. Alexander had ordered the new Palace to be rebuilt in the French Renaissance style, although this seems to have been more in keeping with his wife's taste than his own. Maximilian Messemacher, a renowned St. Petersburg architect and interior designer, was commissioned to draw up the plans, which called for the replication of the chateaux of the Loire Valley. Thus Massandra sported a vague resemblance to existing models, but here the elements-tall, pyramid roofs, Third Empire-style exterior detailing, steeply-pitched slate roofs decorated with iron fretwork, chimneys, loggias, balconies, and elaborate carved stonework-were all at stark contrast with the tropical surroundings. Nor were Messemacher's interiors, some designed and executed by Ernst Jibert, in harmony with the Peninsula: instead, the rooms were dark, lined with heavily-carved woodwork, their low ceilings further creating a claustrophobic environment.45

The Vorontzovs had planted the Massandra estate with extensive vineyards; Alexander III hired Prince Lev Galitzine, one of the Peninsula's most famous vintners, to take over the estate, and soon wine from Massandra began to appear with great regularity on the finest tables across the Empire. By the turn of the century, the output was so great that only wines from Massandra and Ai-Danil were served at the Imperial tables.46

On 9 November 1891, Alexander and Marie celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary at Livadia, surrounded by their children, members of the Imperial Family, and royal relatives from across Europe, including the Empress's parents, King Christian IX and Queen Louise of Denmark. Another guest was Marie Feodorovna's sister Alexandra, Princess of Wales, accompanied by her daughters Maud and Victoria; notably absent was Prince Albert Edward, "Bertie," Alexandra's husband, the Prince of Wales, whose own fiftieth birthday fell on 9 November. This deliberate and very public snub to her wayward husband was no accident of planning on his wife's part; she had elected to go to Livadia rather than Sandringham for their usual family celebration. "No one supposed that had all been well between husband and wife," wrote Georgina Battiscombe, "the Princess would have chosen to attend her sister's Silver Wedding rather than be present at the festivities planned for her husband's fiftieth birthday."47

The problem lay in her husband's indiscretions: first, the uproar over the Baccarat scandal at Tranby Croft, followed quickly by revelations of highly intimate letters written by the Prince to Lady Beresford and used by his enemies in an attempt to blackmail him. The Princess of Wales, well aware of her husband's infidelities, was publicly humiliated. "It was not in Alexandra's nature to confront her husband when she was unhappy," writes George Plumptre. "Instead, she tended to remove herself. During the autumn of 1891, her usual absence from England was extended. She accompanied Bertie to Cowes and then, as was customary, left to visit her family in Denmark, shortly after he had departed for Homburg. But as public discussion of Tranby Croft quietened down, rumors circulating in society about the continuing Beresford scandal upset her enormously. Instead of returning to England as planned on 13 October, at the last minute, she went to Livadia in the Crimea."48

On 9 November, following a Te Deum held in the Palace Church at Livadia, members of the Romanov Dynasty presented the Emperor and Empress with their gift, an immense clock of silver, onyx, and diamonds, designed by Leon Benois and executed by Michael Perchin in the Faberge workshops in St. Petersburg. Rose cut diamonds formed the numerals on the central clock face, surrounded by twenty-five silver putti, festooned with laurel leaves, and crowned with a silver double headed eagle; engraved on the back of the clock were the names of the thirty-two members of the Imperial Family who had ordered the piece from Faberge: aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews. At a cost of 18,585 gold rubles, it was the most expensive Imperial commission, including the Easter Eggs, which the House of Faberge received during Alexander III's reign.49

Alexander took great delight in leading his guests on an outing to Massandra, where they strolled in the garden and took tea while a military band played on the terrace. That evening, there was a family dinner in the Great Palace at Livadia, followed by a colorful display of hundreds of fireworks above the Black Sea. "Most pleasant," noted Tsesarevich Nicholas, "was that there was nothing official about the celebrations. Everyone wore frock coats and it was completely patriarchal!"50

The Silver Wedding festivities marked the high point in Livadia's life under Alexander III. For the next two years, the Imperial Family came for their annual holiday, sailing from Sevastopol aboard one of their yachts, and spending their days hunting, riding, and visiting relatives and friends at neighboring estates. By 1891, however, the first cracks of unhappiness were beginning to appear: Grand Duke George, Alexander and Marie's second son, was ill with the tuberculosis which, in 1899, claimed his life, and was often unwell when visiting, or confined to his estate high in the Caucasus, unable to join his family. In 1893, family unity was further fractured when Grand Duchess Xenia, the eldest daughter, became engaged to her second cousin Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, an event which neither of her parents greeted with much joy.

The holiday at Livadia in the autumn of 1893 was also beset with another, new worry: Alexander III was himself increasingly unwell. He began to complain of insomnia, loss of appetite, and weakness. "The Emperor's Personal Physician," wrote General Epanchin, "was Gustav Ivanovich Hirsch, a very good man but a doctor of the old school and hardly the sort of man who should have attended His Majesty.... The Emperor was built like a titan and so strong that he could bend a silver ruble with his fingers and he considered medical aid superfluous."51

The situation worsened when the Emperor began to suffer from uncontrollable nosebleeds, which left him greatly weakened. Pneumonia, and a high, fluctuating temperature followed this. Worried, Hirsch called in Professor Nicholas Veliaminov, who ordered complete rest. Within a few weeks, the Emperor had seemingly recovered, and, as usual, moved with his family to the Anichkov Palace in St. Petersburg at the beginning of 1894, to take part in the customary Social Season.52

At the first ball of the Season, held in the glittering halls of the Winter Palace, guests noticed how pale their sovereign seemed; his clothing hung loosely on his enormous frame, and he scarcely had the strength to join in the lengthy festivities. The Emperor himself refused to admit that he was ill, and it was contrary to the intense protocol of the Russian Court to mention the health of the sovereign, except in emergencies. For several weeks, no one dared force the uncooperative Alexander to sit through another examination, and he continued to suffer repeated nosebleeds and intense abdominal pain, coupled with a terrible, rasping cough. He complained of his legs swelling, and that his shoes no longer fit properly.53

After consulting with Veliaminov, Hirsch summoned Professor Zakharin from Moscow to review the case and examine the Emperor. "The daily chemical and microscopical examinations I made," he later wrote, "showed for a few days an insignificant quantity of albumen, a customary symptom of acite fevers; but there were no other signs of nephritis. Before my departure the albumen disappeared, not to reappear for more than a week. The action of the heart was normal."54

By spring, Alexander seemed to have recovered. "Thank God he is now recuperating and can finally sleep better at night," wrote Marie Feodorovna to her father, King Christian, in April; "and long before, in Gatchina, he had such uneasiness and restless that he was never able to lie in bed, and instead sat or walked around the room, and sometimes fell asleep in a chair, which probably gave him even worse of a chill since as you know we always keep the bedroom quite cold and he did cough for two months and looked so poorly, so the whole time I was afraid it would end with pneumonia. Now the cough has finally disappeared entirely thank God, but he is still weak."55

In early June, Zakharin returned to St. Petersburg to examine the Emperor. "I found the appetite good and the digestion quite in order after a supper of sour milk and prostokvasha rusks," he wrote in his report. "There was some oppression of the chest; the lungs were sound, the action of the heart satisfactory. There was a slight cough, proceeding from a catarrh of the glottis, usually present with smokers. The Emperor was thinner, but not more than was desirable. He slept well, but his head was clear and his whole appearance that of a healthy man."56

Against the advice of his physicians, the Emperor refused to alter his planned schedule, attending the wedding of his daughter, Grand Duchess Xenia, to Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, that summer at Peterhof, followed by the annual military maneuvers at Krasnoye Selo. "For the first time that he appeared in public," recalled an observer, "every one who knew him was struck with the change in his appearance and a whisper went round, 'He is very ill still.' At the launch of the Sissoy Veliky he looked worse; in fact, it was patent to all observers that something much graver than a mere convalescence accounted for the shrunken giant form and the colorless drawn face."57

These ceremonies left Alexander III exhausted. Zakharin was called to Peterhof, where he discovered that the Emperor was suffering from an enlarged heart, a weak pulse, nausea, and difficulty in urination. After consulting with Hirsch, Zakharin made a formal diagnosis of nephritis. Together, the two men composed a report for the Emperor, in which they warned that the disease often proved fatal. "The contributing causes," Zakharin noted in a report that fall, "were over-work, the Emperor's habit of being out in all weathers, and especially the exceeding cold and damp of last summer. Another cause was the damp and cold of the ground floor of the Imperial apartments at Alexandria, near Peterhof; the bedroom there, in particular, was intensely cold and in the highest degree damp. The Emperor could not bear heat, and always sought a cool place. It was only in August that I first saw these rooms and I induced the Emperor to change them for a better room on the second floor."58

In a letter to his fiancée Princess Alix of Hesse and By Rhine, Tsesarevich Nicholas reported: "Thank God it is nothing to be anxious about. It is the fatigue from having worked all these years far into the night. The old doctor from Moscow says he must rest for a couple of months and change air for some time. That is why going to Poland where the air is dry ought to be good for him! We leave for that place a week from today, but if there is any change I will directly wire you. Poor Papa is in very low spirits, having to give himself up into the hands of doctors, which is of itself a bore, not always, alas, to be avoided. He feels it more than others do, having been ill only twice in his life, twenty-two-years ago and now this winter." That same night, Nicholas confided in his diary: "Zakharin spent a long time with Papa but could not find anything seriously wrong, thank God! He needs rest and a dry climate! But Papa is depressed by the thought that a cure is essential."59

On 31 August, the Emperor and his family boarded the Imperial train for scheduled visits to their Polish hunting preserves. They arrived at Bielovezh the following day, only to find the area wrapped in a dismal, misty rain and thick fog. After two weeks at Bielovezh, the Imperial Family moved on to Spala. Alexander III asked his wife to cable their son George to come to them at once, fearing it might be his last opportunity to see his son. The Empress, who knew nothing at all of the fatal diagnosis her husband had received the previous month, argued that such a journey would put the delicate, tubercular George at great risk, but the Emperor insisted, and his son duly arrived at Spala in the third week of September. During the Grand Duke's stay at Spala, the Emperor grew worse. This setback has been attributed to several conflicting stories. According to a source quoted in a Vienna paper, on the night of George's arrival, "The Empress, as usual, remained near her husband's bedside till after midnight; and when she retired for a few hours' rest, the Tsar rose, dressed very slightly, and ordered his valet to conduct him to the bedroom of Prince George, which was situated some distance from his own chamber through a cold passage. The Prince was fast asleep, and the Tsar remained several minutes to watch him in his sleep. Thereupon he returned to his room, having caught a chill, which made his condition worse."60 More dramatically, the English newspaper magnate W. T. Stead reported that the Emperor and his son had been out hunting one day when George shot a duck and went after it, only to find himself sinking into a marsh; the Emperor, who was nearby, came to rescue, plunging into the bog and retrieving his son, but in the process caught a chill which later developed into a high temperature.61

Whatever the truth behind such stories, there is no doubt that Alexander III grew desperately ill. The Empress summoned Zakharin and Hirsch, who arrived within a day; they, in turn, were distraught at what they found. Alexander had completely lost his appetite, his legs became swollen, and he was so weak that he could scarcely walk. Immediately, the two physicians sent an urgent cable to Professor Ernst Leyden, a celebrated Berlin specialist in internal medicine who happened to be in Warsaw treating General Gurko.62

Leyden arrived at Spala on 27 September. At first, Alexander refused to submit to another examination, and Leyden later declared that he had found the Emperor to be one "of the most disobedient patients I have ever had to deal with."63 Finally, under intense pressure from his wife and brother Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich, Alexander III allowed Leyden to conduct a his examination.

After consulting with Zakharin and Hirsch, Leyden concurred with their earlier finding of nephritis. The disease had progressed beyond any treatment. It was left to Zakharin to communicate the news to the Emperor. "Your Majesty's malady," he supposedly told Alexander, "is incurable. With care and attention your valuable life may be prolonged for some months, but it is useless to conceal the fact that no remedies will avail beyond a certain period."64

Leyden and Zakharin also informed Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich and Count Hilarion Vorontzov-Dashkov, the Minister of the Imperial Court, of the fatal diagnosis; the Empress and the rest of the Imperial Family, including the Tsesarevich, had no idea that Alexander III's days were numbered.65 That night, Nicholas wrote innocently in his diary: "Leyden found exactly the same thing Zakarin had done, an inflammation of the kidneys, combined with a sharp, nervous derangement, the result of overwork. Thank God Papa submitted to all his prescriptions and intends to follow the treatment which he ordered."66

Nicholas never knew that his father had only weeks to live, and Alexander III did nothing to make his heir aware of the situation. Nor did the Emperor make any attempt, even at this late day, to draw his eldest son into his confidence.

Zakharin, Hirsch, and Leyden all warned Alexander that he must spend the winter in a warmer climate; they suggested Cairo, or Corfu. The Emperor did a fair bit of grumbling about the former, finally agreeing in principle to the offer of the Greek Royal Palace of Mon Repos. Vorontzov-Dashkov immediately dispatched a team of architects and decorators to the little Palace, to begin the necessary renovations, along with a whole vessel which carried nothing but French furniture and new silk upholstery and wallcoverings.67

The workers estimated that it would take them nearly a month to ready Mon Repos; the Emperor was in such a state of decline that his doctors ordered him to the Crimea, suggesting that he wait there until the Palace was finished.68 With this decision, Vorontzov-Dashkov was forced to release an official bulletin: "Since the severe attack of influenza, from which the Emperor recovered in January last, His Majesty's health has not been fully restored. This summer, disease of the kidneys, nephritis, supervened, and this renders it necessary for His Majesty during the cold season to stay in a warmer climate in order that a cure may be better effected. Acting therefore upon the advice of Professors Zakharin and Leyden, the Emperor will make a temporary stay in Livadia."69 There was no mention of Corfu as the eventual destination.

The Tsesarevich had intended to leave for Darmstadt on an extended visit to his fiancée that same month; now, all of his plans were thrust aside while the Imperial Family consulted with the doctors. In his diary, he wrote: "All day long, I struggled with my feelings, torn between my duty to remain with my beloved parents and accompany them to the Crimea, and my ardent desire to fly to Wolfsgarten to my beloved Alix. The first feeling eventually won out, and after I told Mama, I immediately felt better about it."70 To Alix, he explained in a letter written that same night from Spala: "You will understand that I could not do otherwise, than to sacrifice my own happiness at this time."71

The day after Leyden had delivered his fatal analysis, the Imperial Family left Spala for the Crimea. It took six days for the Imperial train to reach Sevastopol; the Emperor was heavily medicated with morphia during the journey to ease his suffering. They found "bright, sunny weather," as Nicholas wrote to Alix, when the train pulled into Sevastopol at ten on the morning of 3 October. "Sevastopol does look lovely on a fine day," the Tsesarevich continued, "with the Black Sea Fleet in the middle of the Gulf, drawn up in two huge columns. The churches and houses of the town are so white it reminds you of the South of Italy, the lovely blue sky above all."72

At the quay, the Emperor and his family boarded the Imperial yacht Orel, which steamed out of the harbor just after eleven. Lunch was served beneath the awning-covered decks as the family watched the shoreline of the Peninsula pass by. Three hours later, the little yacht churned into the steady waters of Yalta, where Grand Duchess Xenia Alexandrovna and her new husband, Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, known as Sandro within the Imperial Family, stood waiting to greet them. A Guard of Honor, drawn from the 52nd Vilna Regiment, stood at attention; despite his great pain, the Emperor insisted on conducting the customary inspection before he climbed into the waiting black landau with his wife and set off up the steep hillside toward Livadia. The day had taken its toll: "Papa was tired and did not feel so well," Nicholas noted in his diary.73

Tsesarevich Nicholas, still unaware of the terminal nature of Alexander III's illness, carefully chronicled the Emperor's progress in his diary:

4 October: "The weather was clear and bright, but windy. Papa slept later than usual and so felt much stronger as a result. After taking breakfast with Mama, I went for a walk along the shore....We rode to Oreanda, where Papa and Mama later joined us for a short time; we returned home at five. Papa had his first salt water bath today."74

5 October: "Papa had a good night; this morning, he took a short walk, after which he sat for more than an hour in the garden, not far from the house. So far, lucky for us, the weather has been warmer, and the wind less biting than yesterday. I had three letters today from my Dear Alix-the happiest thing that could have happened!"75

6 October: "A wonderful, summer day. After breakfast we went...into the orchard and enjoyed ourselves eating grapes. I got two more letters from Alix, filled with despair and lamenting the woeful change in my plans and impossibility of joining her.... At two o'clock, we rode over to Ai-Todor, where Papa and Mama had gone earlier."76

11 October: "Dear Papa is slightly better; he looks brighter, but he also feels depressed. He is almost constantly sick, and his legs are so swollen that they prevent him from moving about as he would like."77

The following day, the Emperor felt well enough to take a carriage ride to Massandra, where they sat in the garden and drove through the park. The expedition, however, came to a quick end when Alexander complained that he felt sick. His attempt to prove that he was recovering instead only weakened him further; over the next few days, he began to cough up blood, could scarcely sleep, and was unable to eat.78

Leyden was quickly summoned to Livadia, together with Zakharin, Nicholas Veliaminov, and two further doctors, Popov and Gruibe. After examining the Emperor, they released an official bulletin that declared: "The disease of the kidneys shows no improvement and His Majesty's strength has diminished."79 Nicholas noted in his diary: "An unhappy day! Dear Papa was so weak that he himself wanted to go to bed. This took place after a rather sad lunch."80

Although by now the work at Mon Repos was at an end, Alexander was too weak to continue the intended journey. Hearing this, scattered members of the Imperial Family began to make their way to the Crimea, fearing the inevitable end. The days passed in agonized uncertainty as the devastating illness took hold. "Every movement became an agony," remembered his youngest daughter, Olga, then a girl of twelve. "He could not even lie in bed. He felt slightly more comfortable when they wheeled his chair to an open window."81

The tense atmosphere at Livadia took its toll on the members of the Imperial Family gathered there. With their father dying, and their mother preoccupied with nursing him, the children were all but ignored. The two youngest, sixteen-year-old Michael, and his sister, Olga, spent the long, seemingly endless days alone with their tutors and governesses, tucked away in the furthest corners of the Maly Palace. Xenia and her husband, Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, took her parents' places as official hosts at the daily, ceremonial luncheons, which continued despite the crisis.

During his conversation with the doctors on 16 October, Alexander had turned to Leyden and asked in a hoarse whisper, "Tell me the whole truth. How long have I to live?"

"That is in God's hands, Your Majesty," Leyden replied, "but with this disease, I have seen cases of marvelous cures."

"Can I live a fortnight?" the Emperor asked.

"Yes, certainly," the doctor told him.82

This conversation seems to have reassured Alexander. The following day, after speaking with Marie Feodorovna, the Emperor asked to see his eldest son and, together, the couple requested that he send a cable to Princess Alix in Darmstadt, inviting her to join them at Livadia. Nicholas, unaware that his father's life was drawing to a close, was enraptured, writing in his diary, "I am deeply moved by their loving wish to see her again. How joyful it will be to see her again so soon, so unexpectedly, but it is sad that we should have to meet again under such trying circumstances."83 Left unspoken was the implicit message behind the invitation: Alexander III wished to properly receive the future Empress of Russia before he died.

Other messages also went out from Livadia, urgent pleas to family members scattered across Russia and Europe. Empress Marie hastily dispatched a pitiful telegram to her sister Alexandra, the Princess of Wales, begging her to come at once to Livadia; Alexandra and her husband left London for Russia that same evening. Another arrival, on 20 October, was Queen Olga of Greece, the Empress's sister-in-law, and Alexander III's cousin. At her husband's request, the Empress also summoned Father Ioann Yanishev, Personal Confessor to the Imperial Family, and Father Ivan of Kronstadt.84

Father Ivan was perhaps the most famous religious figure in Imperial Russia. Born Ivan Ilyich Sergeyev in 1829, he was the son of a poor peasant family, and had been lucky enough to receive a good education that took him through primary and secondary schools and on to the Arkhangelsk Seminary. After taking up the priesthood, he became an Orthodox missionary in North America, finally returning to Russia where he became head of the Cathedral of St. Andrei at Kronstadt. His powerful reputation as a devout man who could perform miracles likely played as much part in his invitation to Livadia as his great faith.85

Queen Olga and Father Ivan both arrived at Livadia on 20 October. Nicholas noted: "Dear Papa feels better and has a better appetite today. He felt better and, in general, ate more."86 And, on the following day, he wrote: "Dear Papa was feeling weak, even though he slept a bit more; the doctors were satisfied with his condition. He suffered several nosebleeds. After the service, Father Yanishev brought the Holy Sacrament to Papa and after he received it, he was more peaceful and quiet than he has been for some time. We all, in the meantime, had lunch, and, as usual on a Sunday, music, though I thought it not very suitable."87

On Monday, 22 October, Nicholas left Livadia to go meet his fiancée. On receiving his cable, Alix quickly packed a bag and left Darmstadt, traveling across the continent. In Warsaw, she was met by her sister Grand Duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna, who quickly ushered her into a regularly scheduled passenger train, and they set off across Poland and into the Empire, bound for the Crimea. Court officials and dignitaries were far too involved in the unfolding drama at Livadia to concern themselves with the arrival of the Tsesarevich's fiancée, and so Russia's future Empress traveled across her new country unescorted, alone except for her sister and a few retainers.

A few minutes past one that afternoon, Alix and her sister Ella arrived at Alushta, where Nicholas, his uncles Serge and Vladimir Alexandrovich, and the latter's wife, Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna, waited. After a quick lunch, Nicholas and Alix climbed into an open carriage for the nearly four-hour drive to Livadia. "My God," Nicholas wrote in his diary, "what happiness to meet her in my own country, and to have her near me. Half of my troubles and worries seem to have been lifted from my shoulders."88 On the drive, many Tartars crowded the roadway, throwing flowers before the carriage, and offering up gifts from their village and the traditional welcome of bread and salt.89

At Massandra, the couple climbed into a second carriage, this one an Imperial landau whose sides had been hung with wreaths of flowers and bunches of grapes, and set off along the Coastal Road along Yalta. Hundreds of curious people had turned out to wave flags, clap, and cheer as their future Empress passed them. As the carriage pulled up before the Maly Palace, a Guard of Honor, drawn from His Majesty's Rifle Regiment, saluted the Princess, and greeted the Tsesarevich with the opening strains of God Save the Tsar.

Despite his illness, Alexander III insisted on wearing full dress uniform to receive his future daughter-in-law, making certain that every medal and decoration was in its right place; the tall, very beautiful, golden-haired Princess entered his Second Floor corner Bedroom, and knelt before the once powerful Emperor, who sat slumped in an armchair, scarcely able to rise and kiss her.90 An official statement, released by Count Vorontzov-Dashkov, declared: "The meeting of the Emperor with the Princess Alix, whom he had for a long time been craving to see, strongly excited the patient, in spite of the joy it caused him. The physicians had feared this but the night passed favorably."91

Each day, the doctors held a conference with Empress Marie Feodorovna, and Alexander's powerful brother, Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich, describing the Emperor's rapid decline. At first, the Tsesarevich was not included in these consultations; Nicholas was far too polite to show how hurt he was by such treatment, but his fiancée, more imperious and headstrong, insisted that he demand to be included. He had already begun, for the first time in his life, to open and read through the official dispatches, which arrived daily in leather boxes from the ministries in St. Petersburg. And, each night, he continued to record his father's decline in the pages of his diary, now often joined by messages of support, consolation, and courage written by his fiancée Alix, his "Sunny":

26 October: "Dear Papa passed the night quite well, but, after breakfast, he felt weaker again!"92

27 October: "Papa felt a little better today!"93

Following this entry, Alix wrote:

"Sweet child, pray to God, He will comfort you. Don't feel too low, He will help you in your trouble. Your Sunny is praying for you and the beloved patient. Darling Boysy, me loves you so so very tenderly and deep. Be firm and make the Drs. Leyden or the other Z[akharin] come alone to you every day and tell you how they find him, and exactly, what they wish him to do, so that you are always the first to know. You can help persuading him then too, to do what is right. And if the Dr. has any wishes or needs anything, make him come direct to you. Don't let others be put first and you left out. You are Father's Dear Son and must be told all and be asked about everything. Show your own mind and don't let others forget who you are. Forgive me Lovy."94

The last week of October also marked the last days of Alexander III. His son continued to record his father's downfall in his diary, again woven with comments left by Alix:

28 October: "Papa felt better, but vomited during the doctors' visit."95

Alix, who had been studying Russian Orthodoxy with Father Yanishev in preparation for her eventual conversion, wrote below this:

"I have been able to pray with you in Church for your Darling Father. What a comfort-you near me, all seems easier, and I know you will always help me. God be with you, my soul. Sweetest Darling, God bless you. He is near you and Sunny is also, in her thoughts, so Sweetykins must never feel lonely."96

The following day, 29 October, marked the sixth anniversary of the Borki train wreck, and a special thanksgiving service was held in the Palace Church at Livadia; Alexander III was too weak to attend, but Yanishev and Father Ivan of Kronstadt brought the Holy Sacrament to the Maly Palace and administered it to the Emperor. He received several cables of congratulations, among them a telegram from the men of the Moscow District Garrison. He ordered a reply dispatched, thanking them for their kind remembrance; it was to be the last cable he ever sent.97

Of his father, Nicholas wrote in his diary that night:

"He felt weak from the agitation, and besides, slept badly at night.... After dinner, spent the evening with Papa--he is suffering from a terrible cough in the throat."98

To this, Alix added:

"Tell me everything, My Soul. You can fully trust me, look upon me as a bit of yourself. Let your joys and sorrows be mine, so that we may ever draw nearer together. My Sweet One, how I Love You, Darling Treasure, my Very Own One. My Soul, when you feel low and sad, come to Sunny and she will try to comfort you and like her namesake warm you with her rays, God helping. Only Yours, Quite Yours, Your Very Own Little Spitzbube! Pussy Mine!"99

On Tuesday, 30 October, Alexander III took a definite turn for the worse. Nicholas wrote in his diary:

"A very sad and painful day! Dear Papa has not slept at all, and felt so bad in the morning that they woke us and called us all upstairs! What an ordeal it is! Then Papa became a little quieter, and dozed off and on throughout the day, while I read papers sent to me by different ministers. About eleven o'clock, there was a consultation of doctors in Uncle Vladimir's rooms-a perfectly awful ordeal. We lunched downstairs so as not to disturb Papa with noise. After tea I read some more papers. By the evening it seemed as if Dear Papa was better, but he is so terribly weak! All my comfort and hope rests in the Mercy of Our Lord!"100

The decline continued over the next day. Nicholas wrote:

"In the morning, Dear Papa slept continuously for four hours, and in the afternoon sat up in an armchair. But our worries really began anew toward evening, when Papa moved into the bedroom and went to bed; again, his weakness has become terrible to witness! Everyone wandered about the garden as if in a daze by themselves, not knowing what to do."101

Thursday, 1 November 1894 dawned bright and clear over Livadia; throughout the night, the Palaces had buzzed with activity, as family, doctors, and priests floated in and out of the Emperor's bedroom. The Empress had remained at her husband's side until the early morning hours, when she finally went into an adjoining room to lay down for a few hours. "I have even before my death got to know an Angel," the Emperor was heard to remark softly, kissing her hand before she left.102

When the Empress awoke, she entered the bedroom to find that her husband had not slept all night. "I feel the end approaching," he said to her. "Be calm; I am quite calm." He asked that the family come to him, along with Yanishev of Father Ivan of Kronstadt.

Slowly, they filtered in to the corner bedroom, its white walls and polished parquet floors gleaming in the brilliant morning sunshine that poured through the tall windows. With the assistance of his valet, the Emperor had put on a light gray military tunic; the doctors had helped move him across the room to an overstuffed armchair, and covered his lap with a cream-colored blanket. Alexander asked that the French doors to the small balcony be opened, so that he might hear the birds singing and look out over the Black Sea.103

While Leyden and Veliaminov wandered in and out of the room, uncertain what to do, Romanovs slowly appeared in the doorways, each approaching the Emperor in turn to greet him. Nearly two dozen people crowded the corners of the room, fringed by rows of Court officials who stood half-hidden from view in the adjoining chambers. An eerie, hushed silence settled over them, mesmerized and terrified as they were at the rasping coughs and guttural moans emanating from the dying man. It was, wrote Prince Nicholas of Greece, like watching "a magnificent building crumbling away."104

With his family gathered round him, Yanishev and Father Ivan heard Alexander's confession, and gave him the Holy Sacrament. All then slowly left, except for the Empress, who knelt down on the floor beside her husband's chair, her dark blue dress swirling out across the parquet. With Father Ivan, the couple said prayers.105

The Emperor turned to the priest and declared in a hoarse whisper, "My people love you."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Father Ivan replied, "your people love me."

"And I also belong to the Russian people," Alexander said. "I love you too, and I want you to pray for me. I know I am dying, but I wish you to know that I have always tried to do my best for all-for all. And I am not afraid, no, I am not afraid. And I wish you to tell my people that I have no fear. Probably God thinks I have done enough that He calls me. I am content to do what He wants."106

Within a few minutes of this conversation, the family was quickly called back to the Emperor's room, where Father Ivan administered the Last Rites. By noon, Alexander had difficulty breathing, and doctors were forced to administer oxygen. At two, convulsions began to rack his body; Marie Feodorovna cradled her husband in her arms, sitting perched on the side of his armchair. "Nicky and I stood on the veranda of the beautiful Palace in Livadia," Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich wrote, "armed with bags of oxygen and watching the end of the Colossus. He died as he lived, a bitter enemy of resounding phrases, a confirmed hater of melodrama. Just muttered a short prayer and kissed his wife."107 Within minutes, his head fell to his heaving chest, and Alexander III, Emperor of Russia, lay dead at the age of forty-nine.

"The Empress remained completely still, as if petrified," recalled Veliaminov. "Everyone stood up and approached the deceased, parting with him in accordance with Russian Orthodoox tradition, but the Empress remained motionless for round one hour....When the parting had ended, she was still in the same position, her arms around her husband's head; those who were standing close to her realized that she was unconscious. They lifted her and carried her carefully to a couch."108

"Everyone in the crowd of relatives, physicians, courtiers, and servants," wrote Alexander Mikhailovich, "gathered round his now lifeless body, realized that our country had lost the only support which kept it from falling down a precipice. Nobody understood this better than Nicky. For the first and last time in my life I saw tears in his blue eyes. He took me by the arm and led me downstairs to his room. We embraced and cried together. He could not collect his thoughts. He knew that he was the Emperor now, and the weight of this terrifying fact crushed him."109

"Sandro, what am I going to do?" Nicholas cried out in private. "What is going to happen to me, to you, to Xenia, to Alix, to Mama, to all of Russia? I am not prepared to be a Emperor. I never wanted to become one. I know nothing of the business of ruling. I have no idea of even how to talk to the ministers."110 In his diary, the new Emperor wrote: "My God, My God, what a day! The Lord has summoned our adored, dear, deeply beloved Papa to Him. My head is spinning, I don't want to believe it - the awful reality seems so cruel.... It was the death of a saint!"111

In the midst of the mourning, three men at Livadia cast aside their personal feelings and sprung into action. These were Count Hilarion Vorontzov-Dashkov, the Minister of the Imperial Court and Household; Count Konstantin Pahlen, the Grand Marshal of the Imperial Court; and Count Alexander Hendrikov, the Grand Master of Ceremonies. An Adjutant, his uniform covered with gold braid and shining medals, sent a courier to Yalta, the small harbor lying below Livadia; within minutes of the Emperor's death, the guns of the cruiser Pamiyat Merkuriya which lay at anchor in the dark waters began to boom out, announcing Alexander III's passing. The guns were soon joined by the tolling of dozens of church bells, which created a cacophony of sounds splitting the tranquility of the late afternoon all along the Crimean coast.

At three, Vorontzov-Dashkov dispatched the official announcement: "The Sovereign Emperor Alexander III passed to his rest with God at a quarter past two o'clock this afternoon, peacefully and quietly."112 Dozens of cables also went out across the Empire, informing the country that it had a new sovereign. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs began the lengthy process of sending ciphered cables to their embassies round the world, allowing diplomats to inform their missions in person. In Moscow, word was quickly conveyed to the city garrison, and, almost immediately, processions left their barracks, rolling out their mounted guns to begin their salutes.

The repeated thunder from their cannon shook the mighty brick walls of the Kremlin, shattering the creeping darkness of the Moscow night. Against the endless waves of rain drenching St. Petersburg, the guns of the Fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul opened fire, sending terrified gulls high against the gray skies over the Neva.

An hour after the Emperor's death, the doors to his Bedroom were opened, and the courtiers - summoned from the Turkish, Oriental and neo-classical villas that surrounded the estate - reverently made their ways up the narrow staircase of the Maly Palace and filed past his body. The sallow expression on his face, coupled with his wasted frame, was a poignant contrast to the man these courtiers had once known and respected. Slowly, they stopped to kiss his cold hand, before moving across the room to do homage to the late sovereign's family and their new Emperor. Alexander's widow, Empress Marie Feodorovna, stood quietly in the growing twilight, her eyes red from crying and her expression twisted in grief. The long months of her husband's ordeal showed clearly in her strained, sad face as the courtiers swept curtsies or dropped sharp bows. Nicholas stood at her side, appearing completely overwhelmed at this personal tragedy.

Death, and its attendant mourning, were constant companions of Europe's royal families, where the passing of relatives and foreign princes was acknowledged with elaborate ceremonial. No royal ever traveled without an appropriate set of mourning clothes: black trousers, frock coat, and black tie for men, and, for those in the military, black arm bands and cockades; and black satin dresses, black caps, and tulle veils for women. Nor were the palaces neglected. Vorontzov-Dashkov ordered pages and court chamberlains into storerooms and trunks hidden in dusty palace attics, to unearth endless yards of black bunting and crepe. Because it was never known when mourning accessories might be needed, black material was always kept in readiness in all the Imperial dwellings.

Within a few hours, the palaces at Livadia had been covered with the symbols of death: windows and doorways were hung with heavy swags, columns twisted with black swirls, façades draped with mourning ribbons, and chandeliers wreathed in black netting. Even the ordinary, crested writing paper and envelopes on the desks had been replaced, with black-edged vellum. The swags and billows lent a haunting quality to the somber rooms, as shafts of light played across the dull black cloth spread over pelmets and ringing looking glasses. In the fading autumn sunshine, servants scurried from room to room, building fires when night fell and lighting chandeliers, the flickering flames of which filled the palace with their spectral illuminations.

Against this backdrop, the first scenes of the new reign took place. Late that afternoon, as the autumn sun slowly faded from the southern sky in a magnificent crimson sunset, chamberlains hastily erected an altar on the lawn before the Maly Palace, draping it with a richly embroidered cloth whose golden threads glittered in the passing light. Father Ioann Yanishev, attired in the heavily-embellished dalmatic of his ecclesiastical office, made his way across the garden to the rapidly-growing assembly, whose haunted eyes bore silent witness to their loss. Courtiers, pages and other officials watched as the new Emperor's family gathered round the altar to witness Nicholas II's formal Accession to the Throne.

In the midst of the mourning, the women wore white; for hundreds of years, tradition had demanded that no black clothing be worn at an Accession Ceremony. All the same, their swollen eyes betrayed their loss. They slowly formed a half-circle: the newly widowed Empress Marie Feodorovna, held the hands of her distraught children Michael and Olga, while Xenia and George, along with aunts, uncles and cousins, stood quietly by. Alone, almost ignored by the mourning family, was the bewildered Princess Alix. As the warships in the Yalta harbor continued to fire their salutes, Father Yanishev consecrated the shaken young man, proclaiming him, "By the Grace of God His Imperial Majesty Nicholas II, the Emperor and Autocrat of all the Russias, of Moscow, of Kiev, of Vladimir, of Novgorod; Tsar of Kazan, of Astrakhan, of Poland, of Siberia, of Kherson and Taurida, of Grousi; Sovereign of Pskov; Grand Duke of Smolensk, of Lithuania, of Volhyynaia, of Podolia, and of Finland; Prince of Estonia, of Livonia, of Courland, of Corekia, of Foer, of Ingor, of Perm, of Viatka, of Bulgaria, and of other countries; Master and Grand Duke of the Lower Countries in Novgorod, of Tchernigov, of Riazan, of Polotsk, of Rostov, of Yaroslavl, of Bielosersk, of Oudork, of Obdorsk, of Kondisk, of Vitelsk, of Mstilav, and of all the countries of the North; Master Absolute of Ivers, of Kastalnisk, of Kabardinsk, and of the territory of Armenia; Sovereign of Mountain Princes of Tcherkask, Master of Turkestan, Heir Presumptive of Norway and Duke of Schleswig-Holstein."113

At the same time, Alexander III's valets were busy within the Maly Palace. They carefully lifted the Emperor's stiffening corpse from the chair where he had died and laid it upon the nearby bed, covering the body from the chest to the feet with a white eiderdown. Between his folded hands on his chest, they placed an icon and a cross. The bed was pulled into the center of the room, set at an angle to the wall. Round it, chamberlains set small cushions so that those praying for the Emperor's soul could kneel in comfort; tall, silver candlesticks stood about, their candles glowing eerily against the pale features of the dead sovereign. At half-past nine that evening, Yanishev, assisted by Father Ivan of Kronstadt, began the recitation of prayers for Alexander III's soul.

The following day, those gathered at Livadia awoke to find the estate wreathed in a thick veil of mist and incessant rain. Below the exquisite gardens and marble terraces, the Black Sea pounded against the rocky beach, spitting angry sprays of white foam into the gray air. The black crepe and bunting fluttered miserably in the strong sea breezes as courtiers, heads bent against the driving rain, made their ways from palace to palace; Livadia, steeped in mourning, had become a place of whispers.

Amidst this desolate scene, a vivid splash of pageantry and color took place. That morning, after a requiem for the dead Emperor, Nicholas II's fiancee, Princess Alix, was officially confirmed into the Russian Orthodox Church. She had been studying with Alexander III's Personal Confessor, Father Yanishev, since the early days of her engagement, and had announced her desire to convert as soon as she arrived at Livadia. Now, Yanishev formally received her into the Orthodox Church.

The Church of the Exaltation of the Cross at Livadia stood sheltered against the balconies and covered walkways of the Great Palace. Inside, arches supported its intricately frescoed roof, where the faces of saints stared in beatific peace on the mosaic floor and the iconostasis. Alix wore black, and her future mother-in-law wept openly. Yanishev held a conversion book for the Princess whilst she read, in a clear voice, her responses in Russian. He then led her in reciting the Creed of the Orthodox Church. He conducted Alix through a repudiation of Lutheranism and its "heresies," and then anointed the Princess with holy oil on her forehead, eyes, neck, throat and the palms and wrists of her hands. "In the midst of our deep sorrow," wrote Nicholas in his diary, "the Lord has sent us a quiet and radiant joy: at 10 o'clock in the presence of the family my dear darling Alix was anointed with the holy oils and after the service we took communion together, with dear Mama and Ella. Alix repeated her responses and prayers wonderfully well and distinctly!"114 With the advice of Count Vorontzov-Dashkov and members of the Imperial Family, Princess Alix had agreed to take the name of Alexandra Feodorovna in place of her own string of Christian names. Alexandra was the closest Russian equivalent of Alix, while Feodorovna was the most common patronym. When the service ended, Vorontzov-Dashkov issued one of the new Emperor's first Imperial Ukazes: "The Bride of Our Choice has today been anointed with the Holy Chrism and has accepted Our Orthodox Faith under the name of Alexandra, to the great comfort of Ourselves and all Russia. After the painful trial imposed upon Us by the inscrutable will of God We believe together with Our People that the soul of Our Well Beloved Father from Its Celestial Abode has sent down a blessing upon the choice of His Heart and of Our Own for consenting to share in a faithful and loving spirit Our incessant solicitude for the welfare and prosperity of Our Fatherland. All Our Loyal Subjects join Us in imploring Gods Blessing upon Our destiny and that of the People confided to Our care. In announcing this much wished for event to all Our Faithful Subjects We Command that henceforth Our August Betrothed Princess Alix be called by the Name and Title of Her Imperial Highness The Orthodox Lady and Truly Believing Grand Duchess Alexandra Feodorovna."115

Two days after Alexander's death, Vorontzov-Dashkov formally welcomed the Prince and Princess of Wales, sister and brother-in-law of Empress Marie Feodorovna, to the Crimea. A delegation met their train at Sevastopol and a guard of honor escorted them to Livadia. Whilst Princess Alexandra comforted her grieving sister, holding her, praying with her and even sleeping at her side, her husband immediately thrust himself into the midst of the intricate funeral preparations. Vorontzov-Dashkov, Pahlen and Hendrikov were too deferential to protest, and the Prince of Wales spent endless hours questioning them about the route for the train to Moscow, church services in the former capital and the state funeral in St. Petersburg itself. "I wonder," Alexander III's daughter, Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna, said many years later, "what his tiresome old mother would have said if she had seen everybody accept Uncle Bertie's authority! In Russia of all places!"116

The Prince of Wales was appalled to find that, for thirty hours, Alexander III's body had lay untouched on his bed; by the end of the second day, it had begun to decompose, and Nicholas, along with his uncles, carried his father's corpse down the narrow wooden staircase of the Maly Palace to a corner drawing room, whose windows could be opened to provide better ventilation, and whose heavy mahogany doors could be closed against the ever-increasing stench. "Thank God Mama was completely calm and is bearing her sorrow in a truly heroic way!" Nicholas noted in his diary.117

Vorontzov-Dashkov had ordered an oak coffin, decorated with gilded mounts, beading, and hung with golden tassels at the corners, and lined with ivory satin, for the late Emperor from a local undertaker in Yalta; it arrived at Livadia by carriage on 3 November and, two days after Alexander's death, the doctors finally began their work. The post mortem, conducted by Veliaminov and Leyden, showed "chronic intestinal nephritis, accompanied by progressive cardiac affection, and hemorrhagic infarction in the left lung with inflammation. Death had been immediately due to paralysis of the heart, consequent upon a degeneration of the muscles and atrophy of the heart and intestines, and nephritis."118 After the Revolution, a source in the Crimea, said to be well-placed, elaborated on the official report: "I heard from one of the Yalta doctors who took part in the autopsy and embalming of the body that alcohol had caused a horrifying devastation of Alexander III's organs, which had been destroyed. A minor case of influenza was enough to send this man, who only looked as if he was in the pink of good health, to the grave. During the post mortem, it was discovered that the heart had degenerated, that the kidneys were ruined, and the liver was a lump of material which had come unraveled."119

Alexander's corpse would have to be on public display for upwards of three weeks, and the Russian Orthodox Church, which did not normally permit a body to be embalmed, thankfully made an exception on this occasion. Two morticians worked on the Emperor all afternoon. When they had finished, his body was washed, and attired in the dark green dress uniform of the Preobrazhensky Guard. The body was placed in the casket, covered up to the chest with an ermine mantle. "I still cannot bring myself to go into the corner room where dear Papa's body is lying," Nicholas noted in his diary. "He is so changed since being embalmed, I cannot bear to dispel the wonderful impression of the first day!"120

The following evening, in the orange glow of a full moon, Nicholas II, along with his brother, Grand Duke George, and their four uncles the Grand Dukes Vladimir, Alexei, Serge and Paul, themselves carried the Emperor's coffin from the drawing room to the front door of the Maly Palace. A group of Terek Cossacks, in long blue coats and bearskin hats, lifted the coffin on to their shoulders and bore it down the stairs, following the weaving brick walkway round the Maly Palace, the wrought iron gas lamps casting eerie halos in the gray fog, and the escort's torches licking their flames into the misty night. The sad cortege crossed the Imperial Park, the white-robed Bishops of Taurida and Simferopol leading a military escort along the roadway beneath the shaking palms and rapidly thundering skies. Guns in the harbor at Yalta below thundered their salutes, while the dozen priests chanted the Liturgy for the Dead; against the tolling bells and whistling wind, a massed band of the Imperial Rifle Regiment played "How Great and Glorious is God in Zion." Behind the cortege walked the mourners: Nicholas, leading his mother, who was heavily veiled in black; the Prince and Princess of Wales; Queen Olga of the Hellenes; the Grand Dukes and Duchesses, including the new Alexandra Feodorovna; and members of the Suite and Household, surrounded on all sides by robed soldiers with crackling torches which glowed against their golden helmets.121 The cortege halted before the Church of the Exaltation of the Cross, where the body was to lay in state. The coffin rested on a low bier before the iconostasis; a mantle of ermine draped across the lower half of its open top, leaving Alexander's features visible. Around the clock, candles burned and a guard of honor stood watch, heads bowed in respect and swords turned upward. Every morning and evening, members of the Imperial Court joined the grieving family for prayers; at the end of each service, they kissed the icon that the dead Emperor held in his hands. Alexander III left Livadia for the last time six days after his death. The storm over the Crimea had passed, replaced with a cloudless, cerulean sky. His coffin, now draped in a purple pall and topped with the Imperial State Crown, Sceptre, and the Emperor's Sword of State, rested on a horse-drawn gun carriage, followed by the Emperor's favorite charger, led by a Groom attired in black, with Alexander III's boots turned backward in the stirrups. The entire three mile route, from the Great Palace at Livadia to the quay at Yalta, had been watered down, the sandy roadway strewn with rose petals, branches of cypress, and laurel leaves, and lined with more than a thousand soldiers, stationed every twenty feet along the winding, steep hillside. The new Emperor, his brothers, uncles and cousins all walked bareheaded behind the cortege, while the Empress and the women of the Imperial Family, clad in long black silk gowns and thick lace and tulle veils, rode in carriages. Dozens of Court officials solemnly marched behind the procession accompanied by the sound of booming guns in the harbor and the constant tolling of the church bells. "The sun shone gloriously," the Princess of Wales reported to Queen Victoria, "and the sea was sparkling in its rays whilst the whole road was lined with thousands of weeping people who fell on their knees and crossed themselves reverently as their beloved Emperor was carried by them for the last time."122 Two squadrons of mounted Cossack Guards, two Infantry Battalions, a Field Battery Platoon, a hundred bare-headed representatives of Yalta merchants, white-clad schoolchildren singing hymns in hushed voices, civic officials, and public servants, processed behind the cortege, led by the Bishop of Simferopol, carrying an Icon of the Madonna, and a sea of white-robed clergy with lighted tapers who droned dirges. It took the mournful cortege two hours to reach the harbor.123

Beneath the shade of the cypress and palm trees lining the quay, the procession reached the dock at Yalta, which was decorated with swags of black bunting. Sixteen Cossack Guards carried the coffin aboard the Pamiyat Merkuriya, and the members of the Imperial Family followed up the gangway. The Cossacks placed the coffin beneath a black canopy on the ship's quarterdeck and, with the late Emperor's Adjutant Generals, formed a Guard-of-Honor. Six other warships of the Russian Black Sea Fleet lay at anchor in the harbor, their flags at half-mast, and decks lined with sailors, heads bowed in silence as their guns thundered a last salute. At last the mighty roar of the Pamiyat Merkuriya's engines shook the great vessel as she steamed out of the harbor. Above, a flock of circling gulls escorted the ship until it disappeared into the horizon, her screws churning waves of white foam against the blue sea.

At sunset, the Pamiyat Merkuriya slowly entered the placid harbor at Sevastopol. An Honor Guard, formed from the Oarsmen of the vessel, gently lifted the coffin from the catafalque and carried it down the gangplank. A full escort of officers from the Preobrazhensky and Imperial Horse Guards Regiments lined the quay, standing rigid as the coffin was taken to the end of the Mole, whose walls had been draped in black bunting and swagged in black crepe decorated with silver rosettes. Here, two Imperial trains waited to convey the dead Emperor and his family on their journey across Russia. The dark blue salon cars of the funeral train, embellished with gilded, double-headed eagles, were plumbed with black ostrich feathers, their windows carefully shuttered, their roofs draped in heavy swags. Once the coffin had been placed on board, the Empress, her face hidden by a thick veil, climbed the steps to the second train, followed by her sister and her family, and, with a shrill whistle and a burst of steam, the two locomotives set off for Moscow.

With thanks to Karen Roth for her generous assistance.

Source Notes

1. Witte, 92.

2. Grand Duchess George, 22.

3. Princess Louise to Queen Victoria, 26 June, 1873, in Fulford, 174.

4. Almedingen, 272.

5. Aronson, 5.

6. Hall, 21.

7. Vorres, 21.

8. Aronson, 26.

9. Marie Feodorovna, 82-86.

10. Hall, 46.

11. Cited, Pipes, 284.

12. Hall, 54.

13. Witte, 39.

14. Vassili, 214.

15. Hall, 61.

16. Lieven, 28.

17. Surguchev, 45-6.

18. Witte, 319.

19. Lieven, 28.

20. Ibid., 28.

21. Lambsdorff, 98.

22. Pope-Hennessy, 327-28.

23. Grand Duchess George, 22.

24. Duff, 131-32.

25. Tisdall, 97-8.

26. Poliakoff, 141.

27. Maylunas and Mironenko, 7.

28. Marie Feodorovna to King Christian IX, 8 May, 1881, quoted in Marie Feodorovna, 146.

29. Lowe, 321-22.

30. Ibid. 323.

31. Peretts, I. A., "Dnevnik 1880-1883," quoted in Marie Feodorovna, 246.

32. Chavchavadze, 92.

33. Cited, Cowles, 224.

34. Cited, Marie Feodorovna, 250.

35. Fromenko, 8-9; Demindenko, 289-90.

36. Fromenko, 9.

37. Alexander III, in The State Archives of the Russian Federation (GARF), F. 677, Op 1, D. 275.

38. Krymskii Vestnik, 22 June, 1917.

39. Marie Feodorovna to Tsesarevich Nicholas, 24 May, 1891, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 172.

40. Grand Duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna to Queen Victoria, 2/14 May, 1886, in The Royal Archives, Windsor, quoted by Millar, 42-3.

41. Faberge, Proler and Skurlov, 95.

42. Vorres, 30; Marie Feodorovna, 156.

43. Marie Feodorovna, 106.

44. Fromenko, 10-11; Zemlyanichenko, 59-60.

45. Nashokina, 301-02.

46. Fromenko, 11.

47. Battiscombe, 187.

48. Plumptre, 121.

49. Marie Feodorovna, 444; Habsburg and Lopato, 173.

50. Diary of Tsesarevich Nicholas Alexandrovich, 9 November, 1891, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 182.

51. Quoted, Shelayev, Shelayeva and Semenov, 21.

52. Letter from Professor Zakharin, published in Moskva Gazeta, November, 1894, quoted in Lowe, 276.

53. Vassili, 189.

54. Letter from Zakharin, quoted in Lowe, 277.

55. Marie Feodorovna to King Christian IX, 24 April, 1894, quoted in Marie Feodorovna, 160.

56. Letter from Zakharin, quoted in Lowe, 277.

57. Report filed by the St Petersburg correspondent of the Daily Telegraph, London, quoted by Lowe, 278.

58. Letter from Zakharin, quoted by Lowe, 277

59. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 24 August, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

60. Lowe, 279.

61. Ibid. 280.

62. Ibid. 281.

63. Iroshnikov, Protsai and Shelayev, 19.

64. Lowe, 281.

65. Radziwill, 68.

66. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 27 September, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

67. Lowe, 285.

68. Vassili, 191.

69. Lowe, 281.

70. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 27 September, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 2, D. 233.

71. Tsesarevich Nicholas to Princess Alix of Hesse and By Rhine, 27 September, 1894, in GARF, F. 640, Op. 1, D. 143.

72. Ibid.

73. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 3 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

74. Ibid. 4 October, 1894.

75. Ibid. 5 October, 1894.

76. Ibid. 6 October, 1894.

77. Ibid. 11 October, 1894.

78. Lowe, 283-84.

79. Ibid. 284-85.

80. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 16 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

81. Vorres, 51.

82. Lowe, 285.

83. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 17 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

84. Lowe, 283-84.

85. Sergeyev, 4.

86. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 20 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

87. Ibid. 21 October, 1894.

88. Ibid. 22 October, 1894.

89. Buxhoeveden, 58.

90. Vorres, 63.

91. Lowe, 286.

92. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 26 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

93. Ibid., 27 October, 1894.

94. Princess Alix of Hesse and By Rhine, writing in Tsesarevich Nicholas's diary, entry of 27 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, 233.

95. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 28 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

96. Princess Alix of Hesse and By Rhine, writing in Tsesarevich Nicholas's diary, entry of 28 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

97. Lowe, 287.

98. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 29 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

99. Princess Alix of Hesse and By Rhine, writing in Tsesarevich Nicholas's diary, entry of 29 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

100. Tsesarevich Nicholas, Diary, 30 October, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

101. Ibid. 31 October, 1894.

102. Lowe, 287.

103. Ibid. 288-89.

104. Nicholas of Greece, 116.

105. Lowe, 288-89.

106. Vassili, 196.

107. Alexander Mikhailovich, 112.

108. Veliaminov, 308.

109. Alexander Mikhailovich, 112.

110. Ibid. 112.

111. Nicholas II, Diary, 1 November, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

112. Lowe, 273.

113. Ibid. 274-75.

114. Nicholas II, Diary, 2 November, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

115. Lowe, 367.

116. Vorres, 56.

117. Nicholas II, Diary, 3 November, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

118. Lowe, 289.

119. Krymskii Vestnik, 22 June, 1917.

120. Nicholas II, Diary, 4 November, 1894, in GARF, F. 601, Op. 1, D. 233.

121. Lowe, 290-91.

122. Letter from Alexandra, Princess of Wales to Queen Victoria, 7 November, 1894, cited in Battiscombe, 205.

123. Lowe, 292-93.

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