Nicholas and Alexandra

Petersburg, Nicholas’s visits became even more frequent. Serious and shy, Alix burned with inner fires. When she set her blue-gray eyes on Nicholas, he was overwhelmed. Unfortunately, she lived far away in Hesse-Darmstadt and his parents saw little to recommend their matching a Russian tsarevich with a minor German princess.

Leaving St. Petersburg in a gloomy mood, Nicholas and George went to Athens, where they were joined by their cousin Prince George of Greece. There the three cousins, accompanied by several young Russian noblemen, including Prince Bariatinsky, Prince Obolensky and Prince Oukhtomsky, boarded a Russian battleship, the Pamiat Azova. By the time the battleship reached Egypt, the cruise had turned into a traveling house party and Nicholas’s spirits had soared. On the Nile, they transferred to the Khedive’s yacht and began a trip up the river. In the broiling heat, Nicholas stared at the riverbank, “always the same, from place to place, villages and clusters of palm trees.” Stopping in towns along the river, the youthful Russians became increasingly interested in the local belly dancers. “Nothing worth talking about,” Nicholas wrote after watching his first performance. But the following night: “This time it was much better. They undressed themselves.” The travelers climbed two pyramids, dined like Arabs, using their fingers, and rode on camels. They got as far as the first cataracts of the Nile at Aswan, where Nicholas watched Egyptian boys swimming in the foaming water.

In India, Bariatinsky and Oblensky each killed a tiger, but Nicholas, to his immense chagrin, shot nothing. The heat was intense and the Tsarevich grew irritable. From Delhi he complained to his mother, “How stifling it is to be surrounded again by the English and to see red uniforms everywhere.” Hurriedly, Marie wrote back:

“I’d like to think you are very courteous to all the English who are taking such pains to give you the best possible reception, shoots, etc. I quite see that the balls and other official doings are not very amusing, especially in that heat, but you must understand that your position brings this with it. You have to set your personal comfort aside, be doubly polite and amiable, and above all, never show you are bored. You will do this, won’t you, my dear Nicky? At balls you must consider it your duty to dance more and smoke less in the garden with officers just because it is more amusing. One simply cannot do this, my dear, but I know you understand all this so well and you know my only wish is that nothing can be said against you and for you to leave a good impression with everybody everywhere.”

George suffered in the Indian heat. His cough persisted and he developed a constant fever. To his great disappointment, his father and mother ordered him to break off the tour. When the Pamiat Azova sailed from Bombay, George left on a destroyer in the opposite direction to return to his quiet life in the Caucasus.

Nicholas continued eastward, stopping in Colombo, Singapore, Batavia and in Bangkok, where he called on the King of Siam. He went on to Saigon and Hong Kong, and arrived in Japan just as the cherry trees were blooming in Tokyo parks. He visited Nagasaki and Kyoto and he was passing through the town of Otsu when his tour—and his life—nearly came to an abrupt end. Suddenly on a street a Japanese jumped at him swinging a sword. The blade, aimed at his head, glanced off his forehead, bringing a gush of blood but failing to bite deep. The assassin swung a second time, but Prince George of Greece forcefully parried the blow with his cane.

The assailant’s motives have never been clear. Nicholas, although he bore a scar for the rest of his life and sometimes suffered headaches in that part of his skull, gave no explanation. Two stories, both largely rumor, have been offered. One attributes the assault to a fanatic outraged by the supposedly disrespectful behavior of Nicholas and his companions in a Japanese temple. The other describes it as the jealous lunge of a Samurai whose wife had received the Tsarevich’s attention. The episode terminated the visit, and Alexander III telegraphed his son to return home immediately. Thereafter, Nicholas never liked Japan and customarily referred to most Japanese as “monkeys.” A subsequent entry in his diary reads, “I received the Swedish minister and the Japanese monkey, the charge d’affaires, who brought me a letter, a portrait and an ancient armor from Her Majesty [the Empress of Japan].”

On his way home, Nicholas stopped in Vladivostock long enough to lay the first stone of the eastern terminus of the Trans-Siberian Railway. He found Vladivostock a desolate frontier town of muddy, unpaved streets, open sewers, unpainted wooden houses and clusters of mud-plastered straw huts inhabited by Chinese and Koreans. On May 31, 1892, he attended an outdoor religious service swept by cold Siberian winds. He wielded a shovel to fill a wheelbarrow with dirt, trundled it along for several yards and emptied it down an embankment of the future railroad. Soon after, he grasped a trowel and cemented into place the first stone of the Vladivostock passenger station.

Upon his return to St. Petersburg, Nicholas again began to see Kschessinska. At first, they rendezvoused secretly in carriages on the bank of the Neva. Later, the Tsarevich began to call on Mathilde at her father’s home. Usually, he brought with him three youthful cousins, Grand Dukes Serge, George and Alexander Mikhailovich. Kschessinska served the young men her father’s champagne and listened while they sang songs from Russian Georgia. On Sundays, Mathilde went to the race track and sat just opposite the Imperial box, never failing to receive a bouquet of flowers, delivered for the Tsarevich by two fellow officers of the Guards.

As Nicholas’s affection for Kschessinska grew stronger, he gave her a gold bracelet studded with diamonds and a large sapphire. The following summer, when Kschessinska returned to the military theatre at Krasnoe Selo, Nicholas came often to rehearsals, sitting in her dressing room, talking until the rehearsal began. After the performance, Nicholas came for Kschessinska, driving his own troika. Alone together they set off on starlit rides, galloping through the shadows on the great plain of Krasnoe Selo. Sometimes, after these blood-stirring rides, the Tsarevich stayed after supper until dawn.

At the end of that summer of 1892, Kschessinska decided that she needed a place of her own. “Though he did not openly mention it,” she said, “I guessed that the Tsarevich shared this wish.” Her father, shattered by her announcement, asked whether she understood that Nicholas could never marry her. Mathilde replied that she cared nothing about the future and wished only to seize whatever brief happiness Fate was offering her. Soon after, she rented a small two-story house in St. Petersburg, owned by the composer Rimsky-Korsakov.

When her house was ready, Nicholas celebrated the housewarming by giving her a vodka service of eight small gold glasses inlaid with jewels. Thereafter, she said, “we led a quiet, retiring life.” Nicholas usually rode up on horseback in time for supper. They gave little parties, attended by the three young Grand Dukes, another dancer or two and a tenor of whom Nicholas was fond. After supper, in “an intimate and delightful atmosphere” the company played baccarat.

Nicholas, meanwhile, continued his functions at court. “I have been nominated a member of the Finance Committee,” he wrote at one point. “A great honor, but not much pleasure.… I received six members of this institution; I admit that I never suspected its existence.” He became president of a committee to aid those who were starving in a famine, and he worked hard at the job, raising money and donating substantial funds of his own. His relations with his father remained distant and deferential. “I would have liked to exercise with the Hussars today,” he wrote, “but I forgot to ask Papa.” Sergius Witte, the burly, efficient Finance Minister who built the Trans-Siberian Railway and later served Nicholas during the Japanese War and the 1905 Revolution, gave an account of a conversation he had with Alexander III. According to Witte, he began the conversation by suggesting to the Tsar that the Tsarevich be appointed president of the Trans-Siberian Railroad. Witte says Alexander III was astonished by his proposal.

“What? But you know the Tsarevich. Have you ever had a serious conversation with him?”

“No, Sire, I have never had the pleasure of having such a conversation with the Heir.”

“He is still absolutely a child, he has only infantile judgments, how would he be able to be president of a committee?”

“Nevertheless, Sire, if you do not begin to initiate him to affairs of state, he will never understand them.”

In 1893, Nicholas was sent to London to represent the family at the wedding of his first cousin George, Duke of York—later King George V—to Princess Mary of Teck. The Tsarevich was lodged in Marlborough House with most of the royal personages of Europe living just down the hall. The Prince of Wales, always concerned with sartorial matters, immediately decided that the young visitor needed sprucing. “Uncle Bertie, of course, sent me at once a tailor, a bootmaker and a hatter,” Nicholas reported to his mother. This was his first visit to London. “I never thought I would like it so much,” he said, describing his visits to Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s and the Tower. Appropriately, he avoided that citadel of representative government, the Houses of Parliament.

Nicholas was immediately taken with Princess Mary. “May is delightful and much better looking than her photographs,” he wrote. As for his cousin George, Nicholas and the bridegroom looked so much alike that even people who knew them well confused one with the other. George was shorter and slimmer than Nicholas, his face