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During the evening there would be singing by a band of gypsies – singing, unique and unimaginable, according to the Baroness de Stoeckl, who heard them at a private party on the Islands at St Petersburg, and had often pictured ‘these wonderful beautiful singers, for whom many young officers ruined themselves’. But when they entered, she could hardly believe her eyes: ‘the women were ugly; one squinted; another, with toothache, had her head wrapped in a kerchief. The men were surly and unkempt. Yet suddenly a voice of extraordinary sweetness rang out, softly followed by others. Then abruptly, wildness seized the whole troupe until the lovely pleading voice came forth again from the mad bacchanalian yells … I began to feel their influence, something one could not define, a feeling of hope, of a dream, as if one could go on for ever listening. Still they sang and danced and played, sometimes wildly, at others the melody could have made one weep’. Afterwards she asked someone: ‘Tell me, what brings on this extraordinary rapture?’, and he answered, ‘The music in their souls.’
After eating and drinking, and being entertained in this style, followed by innumerable toasts drunk in champagne, on at least one recorded occasion, when these valiant fellows had fallen into bed at three a.m., the Grand Duke Michael had the ‘Boots and Saddles’ sounded at four. But, being Hussars, they were ready for inspection in fifteen minutes. ‘Each man as firm in his seat as though he had slept eight hours’.
The Emperor took particular personal pride in the Hussars, in which every Tsarevitch was entered at birth, and dined with them every month, arriving at the Mess alone without even an aide-de-camp. He would take his place amongst them as a friend and comrade, and unless an earlier departure was necessitated by urgent engagements next day, he remained as a rule all night.
After dining, there were songs by the magnificent Regimental choir. The General then advanced, bearing the silver loving-cup studded with precious stones, filled with champagne and declaimed: ‘Nikolai Alexandrovitch!’, and the singers broke into joyful strains. The Tsar, taking the cup, drained it and cried: ‘Your health, my Hussars!’, and all the officers bowed low. The singers then seized their illustrious guest by his imperial legs and raised him above their shoulders. Every officer was then, after a toast and a song, held up in the same manner and passed, standing, to the singers. This ritual, obviously needing judgement and concentration even when cold-sober, must have presented some difficulty under the circumstances.
More singing, this time by the gypsies, ended the night, or rather the morning, except that sometimes impromptu entertainments followed, one of the most popular being Poum’s imitation of an American negro doing the cakewalk - particularly enjoyed by the Tsar.
During the winter of 1902-03 there was much gaiety at court, including a sumptuous ball when the Hussars wore historical dress uniform, and where Chakrabongse and Poum doubtless did credit to the Régisseur of the Imperial Ballet. But it was still towards the Machavaya Ulitsa that the two young men made their way most eagerly, though now Poum sometimes went alone for he had fallen deeply in love with the charming widow – a love that was fully returned. And while he maintained the discretion of an officer and gentleman, Chakrabongse naturally knew of his happiness, though he himself was not so fortunate.
Prince Chakrabongse sitting at the dinning table with officers from the Hussars in 1903 (Photograph taken by Nai Poum).
Prince Chakrabongse in 17th century infantry uniform for the costume ball in the Winter Palace.
One young girl who caught his fancy was a certain Natasha, who conveyed to him by tender glances and pressing his hand that she loved him, and with whom he had a gentle flirtation at a variety of social gatherings. When, at a lesson in Military Jurisprudence, he got top marks, he wrote: ‘As Natasha had agreed to think of me during this class, I couldn’t have got anything lower.’
In the spring of 1903, the annual Review took place on the Champs de Mars. Fifty or sixty thousand troops – Cuirassiers, Cossacks, Ataman of the Tsarevitch, Dragoon Guards, Mounted Grenadiers, Chevaliers-Gardes of Empress Marie, Gendarmes of the Guard, the Cossacks of the Emperor, the Hussars and many more – filed in glittering array before their Tsar. After an hour of brilliant manoeuvres, the Review ended with the traditional breathtaking Cavalry Charge. Withdrawing in perfect formation, a considerable distance from the Imperial entourage, which included the Empress and Grand-Duchesses in open carriages, the Cavalry took up position. Silence fell, broken only by the clink of harness. Then a whip-crack command echoed from regiment to regiment and, helmets gleaming, lances glinting, the entire force thundered towards the Tsar but, within a few feet of him, at a shrill command, reined back, halted and stopped dead.
After this splendid finale to another phase of their life in Russia, Chakrabongse and Poum had special leave to visit their native land in the autumn and winter of 1903-1904. Received at Singapore by one of Chulalongkorn’s aide-de-camps, they continued their journey in the royal yacht, and three days later were welcomed by the King with a state reception in Bangkok. Chakrabongse stayed with his brother, Crown Prince Vajiravudh, at Saranrom Palace – where the Tsar had stayed when Tsarevitch in 1893. He was given a commission in the First Infantry Regiment, King Chulalongkorn’s own bodyguard.
All manner of lavish banquets, fêtes and entertainments had been planned to demonstrate his father’s satisfaction with his excellent achievements in Russia, – satisfaction fully shared by his mother, Queen Saowabha. But when Chakrabongse fell more than a little in love with a pretty princess, one of his numerous half-sisters, Chulalongkorn was displeased and told him: ‘Such marriages are out-of-date. You are heir-presumptive and can marry anyone you wish’, meaning of course that his son could pick and choose among the highest in the land when the right time came for him to do so.
While consanguineous marriages were still commonplace, it is likely that Chulalongkorn felt they were no longer desirable and it is even more likely that the King considered that marriage at this point would interfere with his son’s future prospects and progress in Russia. Chulalongkorn could not foresee how much he would regret his words and the interpretation that would be put on them in time to come.
Leaving Siam in January 1904, Chakrabongse and Poum arrived in Singapore in the royal yacht, and boarded the SS Roon, on their way to Russia via Genoa. The Secretary of the Siamese Legation in Tokyo, who was sailing with then, told them war was imminent between Russia and Japan – information which they disbelieved as did everyone else on board. Yet on landing at Genoa, they heard that two Russian warships had already been sunk by the Japanese at Port Arthur.
This conflict – most unpopular in Russia – had support from circles close to the Tsar, who thought that ‘a small victorious war’ would provide diversion from increasing revolutionary unrest. But, as it turned out, the war was a disaster and a great loss of prestige for the Russian army, while the flickering flame of revolution burned still higher and more steadily.
The repressive Minister of the Interior, Pleve had been assassinated in 1904 to be replaced by the more liberal Mirsky (a short lived appointment). In December 1904 a manifesto promising some form of nation-wide elections was drafted, and the highly charged atmosphere led in early 1905 to a general strike of Petersburg workers. On 9th January 1905, 150,000 workers, their wives and children, led by the priest Father Gapon marched to the Winter Palace to petition the Tsar to grant reforms, only to be met with unprecedented violence and repression with hundreds left dead or wounded. Hundreds of thousands of workers reacted with solidarity strikes and throughout January St. Petersburg was in turmoil.