Farewell My Beloved, Goodbye Dear Leader

By Brigitte M. Wareham

The only certainty in life is death. Even the most powerful leaders throughout history were unable to cheat the Grim Reaper. World leaders, whether revered or reviled, are rarely allowed to exit gracefully from life but instead receive a state funeral, a major international event incorporating splendid symbols and messages, religious faith, and tradition.

The body of Tsar Alexander III was carried across half of Russia before finally being buried in St. Petersburg. People paid obscene amounts of money for a room that gave a glimpse of Queen Victoria’s fascinating State funeral. The cortège for China’s Empress-Dowager Cixi was not to be photographed – nevertheless photos showed up a century later. For political reasons Generalissimo Franco’s body was exhumed decades after his death. The world became acquainted with a rather unusual ancient Roman Catholic ritual, when Pope John Paul I died. The body of India’s Indira Gandhi was confined to sacred flames. The last journey of Marshal Tito turned into an event of “Funeral Diplomacy”, whilst Khomeini’s funeral ended in frenzy and tumult. In 2021 the massive restrictions imposed due to the Covid-19 pandemic meant a rigid downsizing of Prince Philip’s funeral, hardly any guests were allowed to attend.

This revealing and entertaining book provides an insight into unique obsequies from across the world, seen as both a celebration of life and the honouring of death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781398496545

Brigitte M. Wareham

Brigitte M. Wareham was born and educated in Austria. She has travelled the world, and lived and worked in different countries in Europe, Central Asia and the Middle East. Her life-long passion for politics and history led to further university studies in preparation for her first book. With her English husband she lives in West Sussex. Sebastian Schmitz runs his own bookshop in Essen, Germany. His interest in the funerals of world leaders was spurred on by visits to the graves of Tito and Khomeini.

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About the Author

Brigitte M. Wareham was born and educated in Austria. She has travelled the world, and lived and worked in different countries in Europe, Central Asia and the Middle East. Her life-long passion for politics and history led to further university studies in preparation for her first book. With her English husband she lives in West Sussex.

Sebastian Schmitz runs his own bookshop in Essen, Germany. His interest in the funerals of world leaders was spurred on by visits to the graves of Tito and Khomeini.

Dedication

For my late father, Karl, who died before I could know him.

Copyright Information ©

Brigitte M. Wareham 2024

The right of Brigitte M. Wareham to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The story, experiences, and words are the author’s alone.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398496538 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398496545 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

Without Sebastian Schmitz having the glorious idea of putting funeral celebrations of world leaders in focus, and also contributing with the narratives of Tito, Khomeini and Kim Jong-Il, this book would not have been written.

I am tremendously grateful to His Grace, the 18th Duke of Norfolk, Edward Fitzalan-Howard, who provided precious information to the state obsequies of the late Queen Elizabeth II, and dedicated his time to our conversations.

I owe most to my husband, Nicholas, whose eye for detail, and tireless support helped immensely in the writing of this book.

Many thanks to all my friends who inspired me with their thoughts, recommendations and endless support.

Foreword

In the intricate tapestry of human history, the threads of power, influence, and leadership are woven with the inevitable reality of mortality. The lives of world leaders, their triumphs, and tribulations are etched into the annals of time. Yet, there comes a moment for every towering figure when the ceaseless march of time claims its due, ushering them into the realm of the eternal unknown.

This collection delves into the poignant narratives surrounding the deaths and funerals of a select group of world leaders, exploring the profound impact of their departure from the global stage. It is a contemplative journey that invites readers to reflect on the fragility of human existence and the enduring legacies these leaders leave behind.

As we navigate the chapters of this book, we encounter the solemn rituals and ceremonies that accompany the passing of these figures. From the grandeur of state funerals to the intimate moments of private grief, each story is a testament to the shared human experience of loss, transcending political boundaries and ideological divides.

Through meticulous research and empathetic storytelling, this book illuminates the nuanced tapestry of emotions that surround the end of an era. It serves as a mirror reflecting not only the public personas of these leaders but also the complex interplay of personal, political, and cultural forces that shape the narratives of their lives and deaths.

As we embark on this exploration, let us remember that the tales within these pages are not just stories of political figures but are windows into the human condition. In celebrating the lives and mourning the deaths of these world leaders, we are reminded of our shared mortality and the interconnectedness of our global story.

May this collection serve as a solemn yet enlightening tribute to those who have shaped our world, offering readers a contemplative space to reflect on the ephemeral nature of power and the enduring impact of those who once held it.

The Duke of Norfolk

Introduction

When beggars die, there are no comets seen,

the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

William Shakespeare

While living in Kazakhstan I met Sebastian Schmitz, a young journalist who was visiting to write a magazine article about the national airline I worked for. We discovered that we share the interest of travelling, and the—perhaps somewhat morbid—fascination for tombs and funeral rites.

Obviously, we have stayed in touch and over time, the idea was born to write a book about funerals, state funerals of world leaders.

We realised there is a lack of information available on the deaths and the funeral ceremonies of state leaders, as usually biographies or other publications end with the demise of the protagonists, leaving out any description of the burials or the final resting places. Intrigued by these omissions, we selected a group of figureheads by the allure of their funeral ceremonies, and mainly to satisfy our personal preferences. I tried to choose male and female world leaders—some better known than others—who have intriguing, celebrated or bizarre stories, died within the last 130 years, and were buried according to religious or secular rites, protocols and ceremonies.

All funerals are celebrations of life and honour the death of the deceased, acknowledging the significance of mourning and remembrance. They are as much about the symbolism and message as they are about faith and tradition. Even more so, state funerals frequently leave an eerie fascination or provide a glimpse of widespread propaganda. Part of funeral ceremonies is often the viewing of the body, or lying-in-state, which helps people to understand that this death has indeed occurred and provides comfort and a means of support to mourners.

By seeing (and often touching) the deceased, death becomes factual, because being dead is different from being alive: the person is truly dead, not simply gone away.

Additionally, during the spectacle of rulers’ funeral celebrations, other world leaders may find an opportunity to meet in private—known as Funeral Diplomacy—and discuss the latest political crisis preoccupying them.

On our travels, we visited various resting places of many of the selected protagonists that we narrate here. To name a few, Sebastian who would become the co-author of the book traced the last footsteps of Kim Jong-II in North Korea and paid his respects at Tito’s mausoleum in Belgrade. I paid homage to Evita’s grave in Buenos Aires and among others visited Alexander III’s tomb in St Petersburg. Sojourns like these helped to connect and stirred our fascination to learn about these late rulers’ lives, deaths and funerals.

Intensive and fulfilling research led us to source information that sometimes was shocking and bizarre (remembering the hysterics during Khomeini’s funeral) or at other times, amusing and hilarious (thinking of the archaic rites in the Vatican to confirm the death of a pope), other ceremonies were magnificent and solemn (one recalls the splendid farewells of the queens, Victoria or Elizabeth II).

Sebastian’s eccentric fascination for Idi Amin, the uneducated and cunning soldier who rose to power in Uganda, meant a book chapter to be reserved for the ruthless dictator. As Idi Amin in his last years was forced into isolation in Saudi Arabia (and the Saudis made sure that he kept a low profile), little is known about his death and even less about his funeral. (It must have been an unspectacular goodbye, quickly buried in a shallow grave that would certainly not have amused Idi Amin.) Nevertheless, in 2021, Sebastian managed to contact one of his sons who on one hand seemed to support the idea to have his father’s death and funeral described in a book, and on the other hand, did not respond to Sebastian’s questions or regularly wandered off-topic and was more interested in promoting himself. After too many phony-baloney stories, we abandoned the idea of writing about Idi Amin. Perhaps, the less attention one pays to that butcher of Africa, the better it is.

In piecing together these narratives which has been utterly enjoyable, I would like to stress that information has been gathered from sources such as books, newspapers archives and films. Sebastian and I entwined into the stories different perspectives and make no claims to be comprehensive in our research and conclusions but wish to entertain and intrigue the reader.

1. Imperial Russia’s Last Farewell

Alexander III Tsar of Russia 1845–1894

In the nineteenth century, Russia was the largest country in the world, stretching from Eastern Europe to the Bering Straits in Asia. By train, it took at least ten days to travel from one end to the other. The Russian Empire and its ruling dynasty, the Romanovs, had had a century-long history of oppression and severe persecution, of tragedy and mystics, of power and pomp. The main pillars for the dynasty had been the Orthodox Church and autocratic rule: the tsars were known as oppressive rulers, answerable to God, the Almighty only.

Alexander III was the second son of Russia’s Liberator Tsar, Alexander II. Born in March 1845, he became heir to the throne only when his older brother, Nicholas suddenly died. During a period of grief and mourning, Alexander and his late brother’s fiancé, the charming Princess Dagmar of Denmark, had become closer and fell in love. After the year of mourning, Alexander proposed to Dagmar, and she accepted. The marriage turned out to be a happy one; five children were born. Their oldest child was Nicholas who would eventually become the fateful Nicholas II and last Tsar of Russia.

Formed by his education, Alexander was ultra-conservative, highly reactionary and stern. His physical bearing was astonishing. Legend has it that he was strong as a bear and able to bend a horseshoe double in his hand and fold it in half. They said that he loved newspapers and that he had specially appointed officials who selected news articles for him. These articles were then copied in faultless calligraphy on the finest paper and presented to him. This may be an entertaining story and yet, it gives an insight into the splendour and flamboyance of the Russian Imperial Court. As Tsarevich, he enjoyed family and domestic life, which could have gone on for a few more years, but came to an abrupt halt in March 1881, when his father was assassinated. Alexander II was targeted by a member of the revolutionary group Narodnaya Volya with a bomb. His body was torn apart, one leg was missing, his face was bleeding when he whispered:

To the palace to die.

The young Tsarevich regarded this murder in cold blood of an unarmed man as an insult and a threat; he was deeply shocked and appalled. On this day, he dismissed Russia’s hope for a constitution and with it, any other liberal proposals. Instead, his declaration as Tsar had been in favour of absolute autocracy and of a dominant Orthodox Church – to rule with faith in God and with autocratic right.

As extremely strong-willed and authoritarian as he was, he managed to stabilise the empire and even brought some desperately needed industrial development and infrastructure to Russia. It was during his reign that the building works of the Trans-Siberian railway, a mammoth project, commenced. Eventually, it would span the country from Moscow to Vladivostok but had not been completed before his death.

Fate struck again in October 1888 when the Tsar and his family travelled on the Imperial Train across Russia. They sat in the dining carriage when the train plunged down a steep embarkment and the roof collapsed. Legend has it, that the passengers were rescued through the strength of Alexander, who was able to hold up the wagon roof on his shoulders until everyone was able to get out.

The accident was not the work of anarchists (as it was feared), the train had simply travelled much too fast to impress the passengers, something Alexander III did not want to hear; instead, he became even more suspicious and neurotic than before. He locked himself and his family away in the huge palace of Gatchina, an impressive and somehow sinister building secured like a fortress outside St Petersburg.

In October 1894, Alexander was complaining of exhaustion, insomnia, and kidney pains. Baffled physicians recommended a change of sights and a move to milder climates. The Crimea was chosen and the Tsar, his wife and his suite travelled to the Imperial Estate on the shores of the Black Sea. At Livadia, a tiny village near Yalta, he was enjoying the mild air, the gardens and the tranquillity, but his health did not improve. His worried wife called for Father John of Kronstadt, their spiritual advisor, and a member of the most Holy Synod of the Russian Orthodox Church who arrived as quickly as he could. Sadly, despite all prayers, the thickset Tsar was ailing. Alexander knew that he was dying when in the presence of Nicholas, his son and heir, he dictated letters by which the news of his death should be communicated to the wider public and to other states. The young Tsarevich in his twenties, still immature was unprepared, frightened and devastated. He was not ready to be Tsar ruling over the Russian Empire. Newly engaged to Princess Alix of Hesse, he summoned his beautiful but shy fiancé, who later would be the tragic Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna, to the Crimea.

Alexander III wished to welcome Alix as appropriate for the wife of a future Tsar and give his blessings. He received the young couple wearing his full regalia. It was a touching moment and one that seemed to have revived Alexander, as for several days he remarked to his wife, Marie Feodorovna, that he was sleeping well, enjoying meals. He dined on fish, fowl and farina pudding on Wednesday, 31 October before he rested peacefully in his reclining chair.

Alas, the convalescence did not last, and death was knocking on the door. On Thursday, 1 November 1894, the Imperial Family and Father John spent the morning kneeling and praying in the Tsar’s bedroom. The atmosphere in the palace appeared bleak and doomed. Everyone was in disbelief, everyone was terribly saddened. Alexander’s end was approaching fast and too early.

In the afternoon, just after the Tsar had received the Holy Communion, his breathing was quiet and there seemed to be no agony, no pain when his soul went to heaven. He died in the arms of his devastated, yet calm wife.

She later wrote in a letter to a relative:

My husband’s death was beautiful and saint-like.

All family members rose quietly and one by one kissed the dead Tsar’s forehead and hand. Then they kissed his widow, and for the first time they kissed the hand of his son and heir. The tsar is dead, long live the tsar. (In a hereditary monarchy death and new beginning always go hand in hand.)

Alexander’s body had been preserved and dressed in the uniform of the Preobrazhensky regiment, the oldest Russian elite guards of the Imperial Army. For five days, his corpse had been laid out in full state regalia in Livadia, while all the arrangements were finalised for the return to St Petersburg, Russia’s Imperial Capital.

On the day the cortège left by the Byzantine Church, it was three o’clock in the afternoon and night was falling. The solemn procession was headed by the chief of the Palace Police and the Master of Ceremonies, both mounted, and by troops of Tartar soldiers. Servants of the Imperial Household were the next in line, followed by representatives of District Assembly of Yalta. Alexander’s Russian and foreign decorations, which represented his imperial power were carried on a silver clothed cushion. Ahead of the coffin, which was borne by members of his bodyguard, and sailors from the imperial yachts, the clergy carried lit candles and torches. In the gloomy twilight to the sounds of solemn trumpets, the coffin was taken on foot the one and a half miles from Livadia along the beautiful coast to Yalta. Following the coffin came the young Tsar, the Prince of Wales (Alexander’s brother-in-law who had arrived from London earlier) and the Russian grand dukes, whilst the dowager-empress and the grand duchesses travelled in carriages. The entire route was lined with troops underscoring the orthodox tradition, the imperial pomp and the solemn and imposing mood, which accompanied the cortège.

In Yalta, prayers for the repose of the soul were held, and salutes were fired before the coffin was boarded onto the vessel Pamiat Merkuria—an unarmoured cruiser of the Imperial Russian Navy—and escorted by battleships to Sebastopol.

At Sebastopol, amid the tolling of bells and the firing of salutes, the coffin was carried on shore and placed in the black-draped Imperial Train fitted with a funeral chapel. High military officers would guard the body throughout the journey of 1,300 miles across Russia via Moscow to Sankt Petersburg. Along the route, there were devout and pious peasants curiously waiting for hours, falling on their knees as the train passed, and priests chanted prayers.

Sunday, 11 November in Moscow. The sky was dull, a strong north wind blew, and the temperature was below zero degrees Celsius. Despite the cold, the old and venerable city of Moscow was crowded with residents, peasants and foreigners. The buildings were draped in black and white. For days, thousands of labourers worked on a new paving for the streets through which the cortège would pass, to smother the rattling of the carriages. By now, these streets were closed off, and the way for the procession was cleared.

The ecclesiastical Metropolitan of Moscow and the Governor-General accompanied by other Muscovite dignitaries were waiting at a specially erected train station for the arrival of the Imperial Party and the coffin.

At half past ten in the morning, the train reached its destination, and Nicholas II, dressed in the uniform of a Russian general, and the body of Alexander III were received with all honours. After a short mass and the assembling of the cortège, three guns gave signal and amid the tolling of thousands of bells the procession moved towards the Red Gate of Moscow. The Master of Ceremonies rode first in full uniform and was followed by members of the Moscow Household Dragoons. Then standards and flags including the Grand Escutcheon of the Russian Empire were carried. On cushions embroidered in gold and silver, the decorations of the deceased, and the imperial regalia, including the Great Imperial Crown were carried and adorned by the orb in red gold and the sceptre with the famous Orlov diamond, the legendary rose-cut gem from India. Behind the splendour and the elegance of the jewels, the Metropolitan of Moscow representing the Russian Orthodox Church led the clergy. All of them were carrying lit tapers.

The hearse with Alexander III’s body was drawn by eight horses, at the centre of the cortège. The tassels of the canopy were held by adjutant generals and flanked by cadets holding torches. Nicholas II rode behind and was followed by ministers of the Imperial Court and his sublime Russian uncles, the Prince of Wales and other male family members.

Alexander’s widow, Marie Feodorovna together with her future daughter-in-law, Alix of Hesse, and her daughter, Xenia, sat in the first carriage, whilst the second carriage was occupied by the Princess of Wales and other family members. Both carriages were flanked with esquires and Cossacks and followed by other carriages. The entire route was lined with dragoons. Thousands of black draped portraits of the late Tsar were displayed in windows.

Many churches were passed, icons were carried, and priests prayed in liturgical cadence for the Tsar of the Third Rome (as they had done since the early days of Christian Constantinople). The overwhelming scale of the mourning services affected many spectators: no one spoke, and some fell to their knees in the streets. From the beginning to the end of the procession, guns were fired.

Just after one o’clock in the afternoon, the long solemn procession finally arrived at the Kremlin, at St Michael the Archangel Cathedral, where the metropolitan and clergy were waiting. Generals placed the coffin on the dais and removed the pall. The body was wrapped in a shroud of white silk, and the hands were folded across the chest. He looked peaceful.

Nicholas II, his mother and the rest of the family gathered at the foot of the coffin, listened in silence