-Buckingham Palace. -Certainly, sir.
Last winter, we shot over 12,000 pheasants between us,
but that doesn't account for individual tallies.
So, to spice things up, I told Leicester to put the names of guns
and individual scores up in the smoking room.
That's a wonderful idea.
Look at this Ceylon war issue.
How many pheasants do you suppose Papa shot last weekend?
It should be carmine pink. Instead, it's almost lilac.
106 brace.
This war's a horrid old thing,
but its effect on the ink supply has made for some remarkable shades.
Hot tea here!
Get your hot tea here!
Lovely hot tea here!
Sir.
I have been asked to give you this letter from Downing Street, sir.
Thank you.
Would you look at that! The war stamp overprint
is missing the "S."
Another rarity for the collection.
We should check the backs of them.
Sometimes they pick up wet ink from the sheet underneath.
What is it?
Your Majesty, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness.
-A letter from the prime minister. -Can't it wait?
Concerning their Imperial Majesties, the Tsar and Tsarina of Russia.
The government is willing to send a ship
to bring the Romanovs to safety here in England.
The prime minister does not wish to do so without your support.
Public perception and so forth.
The war.
Shall I go back with a yes?
To their rescue?
Show it to your mother.
Her judgment is unfailingly better than mine.
Yes.
You must get dressed immediately.
You are being moved to a safer place.
I repeat.
You are being moved.
It's Cousin George.
I told you he wouldn't let us down!
Do you think he's going to save us?
That he's sending a ship for us?
Alexei, sweetheart. Wake up.
Girls! Girls! We are leaving! Wake up!
Cousin George has saved us.
-Hurry, we have to leave now.
A quick photograph, sir. Before you go.
To show that you are alive and well.
-Here, please. Stand against the wall.
No chairs. May we not sit?
Bring two chairs, quickly!
-My beautiful boy. -Ladies, spread out a little bit.
You stand over there.
Good.
We're ready.
The photographer will be here any minute now, sir.
-Ready, chaps? -I'm ready.
I've been looking forward to this.
In view of the fact that your relatives in Europe
continue to attack Soviet Russia,
the Ural Executive Committee has sentenced you to death.
What?
This is for the workers.
For the revolution!
-Got ya!
Hurry up, man.
-Loaders, keep up. -Congratulations, gentlemen.
Very good day.
Shall we?
Those who can, do. To the day.
-To the day. -To the day.
There are scenes of extraordinary drama here in Moscow tonight.
Scenes of destruction, of fire, even of blood on the streets.
Hopes for a peaceful and democratic Russia are in peril
as Soviet hardliners mount a coup to restore communist rule.
But thousands of protestors have taken to the streets
against the forces that have declared themselves in charge.
There is a growing sense that the coup is collapsing
as the masses rally to Boris Yeltsin,
the first elected president of Russia and leader of the popular resistance.
In a defiant speech,
he told the hardliners there will be no return to the Cold War
and that democracy will prevail.
It must have been a fascinating trip.
It was.
The first Western leader to visit Moscow since the coup.
I am curious to hear your impressions of Mr. Yeltsin.
When the coup was launched, he could easily have
compromised with the plotters, tried to make a deal with them,
but he never wavered, and the people love him for it.
That said, I'm not certain I've seen him sober yet.
I thought you had spent several days in his company.
I did.
He can't have been drunk all that time.
I think he might have been.
Not least because I think
I may have been.
But once you get used to the table slamming and the profanity…
…he's straightforward and likable.
And it turns out…
Mr. Yeltsin is something of an Anglophile.
Really?
Obsessed with the idea of meeting me, apparently.
And receiving a formal invitation to the palace.
-That's nice.
-Is that all you have to say? -Sorry, I'm late, that's all.
What for now?
Flight to Munich.
Then to Hamburg for a Duke of Edinburgh award ceremony.
Followed by a World Wildlife Fund event in Brazil,
then Alaska, Canada, then back to London.
We've managed to combine it all
with a couple of carriage-driving competitions too.
Ah, here it is.
Don't you ever get tired?
Only by sitting still.
We're different that way.
-Yes.
More and more different.
Right.
I'm off.
-See you in three weeks. -Yes.
The Duke of Edinburgh had invited me
to watch him compete at the Cannon Ground,
which is an easy course
so long as the shackle doesn't pop off as you're crossing the dew pond,
which it did for His Royal Highness,
who I seem to recall refused to let go of the reins.
Before I flew through the air like a graceful parabola,
landing on my head in the grass.
And yet still, he persuaded me to pursue carriage driving as a hobby.
And I've never looked back.
Guten Tag, Hamburg.
The Duke of Edinburgh's award was hailed today
as the world's leading youth achievement program.
Its founder and patron, Prince Philip, was in Germany for the occasion.
Then he set off on a whistle-stop tour of São Paulo, Alaska, and Nova Scotia.
A typically busy schedule for a public servant
who, in his eighth decade, shows no sign of slowing down.
The Queen, meanwhile, is preparing to meet the Russian president Boris Yeltsin
on his first official visit to Britain.
The trip heralds a new era of strong ties and cooperation.
The first Anglo-Russian friendship treaty since 1766 will be signed.
It was Lenin himself who reputedly said,
"There are decades where nothing happens,
and there are weeks where decades happen."
The prime minister has grown rather fond of President Yeltsin
and is keen that we give him lunch at the palace.
Yes. I'd heard that.
I did a little research on Mr. Yeltsin.
It turns out that as a younger man, he was a regional official in the Urals.
First Secretary of the Party Committee in Sverdlovsk Oblast, to be precise.
Sverdlovsk is the name given to the city formerly known as Yekaterinburg.
Yes.
Which is where Ipatiev House was located.
Go on.
Welcome to Buckingham Palace, Your Excellency.
Would you like to follow me?
Your Majesty.
Like to know a secret about the Russian people?
-Oh, please.
In our heart of hearts, we are all still monarchists.
Even at the height of Stalin's purges,
when a Soviet citizen tells a story…
…we start by saying not "once upon a time…"
…"in the good tsarist times…"
To the good tsarist times!
-To your health, Comrade!
-Your health!
-Your Majesty.
-I have a request.
That you would come to Moscow on a state visit…
To celebrate the end of Communism
and the restoration of democracy.
I'm flattered by your invitation.
But there is something you should've considered before extending it.
-What is it?
Ipatiev House.
Where Tsar Nicolas and his family,
beloved cousins of my grandfather, King George V,
were murdered by the Bolsheviks.
I understand you personally gave the order for that house to be demolished.
An act of great disrespect to my family's memory.
Yes, its demolition was a shameful piece…
-…of communist barbarism.
But it was the 1970s, and I was just a local functionary.
Orders came from the top, from Andropov and Brezhnev themselves.
The Romanovs deserve a decent burial.
You have my word that I will do everything I can
to restore their dignity.
-Good.
Then we can discuss royal visits.
Mr. President, on the left, please.
That's it. Yes. And three, two, one.
She has no business lecturing me like that.
On the top row, a little to your left.
We all know the truth. It was in this house
that the Romanovs' deaths were sealed.
Not the Kremlin.
She should be careful.
Or she will end up with a bayonet up her arse too.
-What did he say? -Hmm?
How thrilled he is to be here.
-Ah.
He's very kind.
Hmm.
And call this a palace?
We have shithouses in St. Petersburg that are bigger.
-And thank you.
Your Royal Highness.
-The Queen? -In with the prime minister.
-Let her know I'm back, will you? -Sir.
Within hours of arriving back in Moscow,
President Yeltsin ordered the excavation of the forest near Ipatiev House.
He personally insisted the very best team of forensic scientists be sent.
-Bonjour.
And, sure enough, they soon found bones.
It was clear a horrific murder had taken place
in line with historical accounts.
Skulls smashed in by rifle butts, bullets embedded in temples.
After the slaughter, it seems the Bolsheviks
doused the bodies in acid,
burned their clothes, and buried them in a mass grave.
The authorities are confident
that these are, indeed, the Romanov remains.
But, because of the acid damage,
the authentication process has hit something of a dead end.
Russian pathologists have been painstakingly
assembling the fragments,
grouping them by sex, and cross-referencing with dental records.
But there's only so much they can do.
Which is why they have now come to us.
And more particularly, His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh.
I'm told the best way to identify
and authenticate the remains is through DNA.
And it turns out, the best,
the only place in the world for bone DNA sequencing is here.
In England.
Aldermaston. Yes.
Mmm. And, apparently, because of the age of the bones,
they can only use a particular kind of DNA that passes through the maternal line.
Mitochondrial.
-Oh, you knew that? -Yes.
How?
I read.
Mmm.
Anyway, since your maternal grandmother,
Princess Victoria of Hesse,
was Empress Alexandra's elder sister, making the tsar's wife--
My great aunt. Yes.
It turns out you can be incredibly useful.
Well, that's a first. How?
By helping them to prove if the remains are, or are not, the Romanovs.
By giving a sample of whatever it is that they need.
Can you be more specific?
Hair? Blood? Saliva?
Didn't you ask?
No.
Why not?
Weren't you curious?
Not even a little bit?
To get to my DNA, they took a sample of my blood,
which they vacuum sealed in a plastic bag.
-Then they have to extract it? -Yes.
Using these strange machines.
Look, you see? I did a drawing there.
Then to separate it all out, they use this centrifuge.
Oh, yes.
Eventually, all you're left with is this tiny amount of DNA,
which they subject to an electrical current.
It's amazing what they're doing. 500 years ago, they'd have been called alchemists.
It is alchemy.
What started out as a pile of my blood has been transformed into this image.
A unique pattern of parallel bands called "lanes."
The idea behind it is that we compare these bands
with those of the Romanovs and, um…
Hey, presto.
It was a match?
Yes, with 98.5% certainty.
Which means the case can be closed and the Romanovs buried with dignity.
-All thanks to you. -No, thanks to science.
No, to you.
You were the key. It was your DNA that unlocked a mystery.
All I did was give a sample. Science did the rest.
Thanks to this, we'll be able to learn about your family in their final days.
-You don't find this exciting?
Seeing one's entire essence and history.
What? Reduced to a series of banal, anonymous lines?
I'm sorry. There is nothing banal about this.
This is our essence. Our lives. Written in another glorious language.
Oh, damn!
Nigel, can you just keep it down, please?
I'm sorry, sir. I'm a little deaf.
And the implications that no matter what choices we make,
our basic code remains the same, is so…
Determinist?
Profound.
We're used to looking at genetic predisposition for diseases.
But what about behavior?
Our decisions?
Do we really have any choice at all?
Is any of it really an accident?
That we're even here. In this moment. Talking about this.
Or is it somehow all preordained?
Where do you live?
I live in Moscow.
It's had the most extraordinary effect on him.
Not just the science but connecting with his own past.
You know how he's always been restlessly searching, scratching away,
trying to make sense of who he is or what he is.
He's always been something of a mongrel.
The uncovering of the Romanov remains
seems to have reawakened a fascination in him with all things Russian.
Why?
The person he's related to, the tsarina,
was born Alex of Hesse and was German, not Russian.
-As German as white sausage.
Don't tell Philip that.
Because now that it has been confirmed that we are going to Russia,
he's been reading book after book.
Really?
Yes, connecting with his orthodox roots.
God help us.
Oh, I'm all for it. It's just so good to have him engaged again.
It's recently felt as though we've been growing apart,
but this Russian trip feels like a shared adventure.
A shared passion.
We have so few shared interests these days.
What did the window cleaner see in the Kremlin?
Hmm?
Nothing. That's the trouble with iron curtains.
That's very good.
Very nice to see you.
-Your Royal Highness.
Mr. President…
I stand here today
as the first British monarch to ever set foot in Moscow.
You are the first democratically elected leader in Russian history.
Thanks in part to family ties,
there has always been a strong bond between our countries.
But in recent years,
that close alliance has become estranged.
Warm ties of kinship became frozen
into a decades-long winter.
There have been times
where we have seemed to live in different worlds.
In making this historic trip,
I hope to usher in not merely a thaw
but a comprehensive new footing
based on cooperation,
understanding,
and respect.
A new era of partnership
in which both of us
can flourish together.
Golden words, Your Majesty.
I'm terribly sorry, ma'am,
but there's been a last-minute holdup with the funeral.
Oh no.
It seems they're unable to identify two of the bodies.
Thank you.
This is very disappointing.
We come all this way on the understanding that my relatives will finally be buried,
to discover the burial can't take place.
Why not?
One or two of the bodies still remain unidentified.
And Russian orthodox authorities continue to demand certainty
they haven't mistaken the tsar's body for his cook, for example.
This is before we get to infighting
between the Russian government and various factions
of the Romanov family.
Not to mention the local authorities of Moscow, St. Petersburg,
and Yekaterinburg about when and where the burial should take place.
Oh, give it time.
The great Russian bear is taking its first steps
after years in captivity and suffering.
Bound to be dysfunction.
And it's not just disappointing regarding that.
Disappointing for us too.
I had hoped we'd spend more time together on this trip. I've barely seen you.
I've been busy.
Clearly.
Exploring, among other things,
the grotesque injustices visited upon my relatives by your relatives.
Let's not get proprietorial about relatives.
And reminding myself
not only how much I gained
but how much I gave up when I married you.
Such as?
My career. My autonomy.
My faith.
You might recall I was born--
Honestly, a convention of genealogists couldn't work out what you were born.
I was born Orthodox.
Just one of our many differences.
How else are we different?
After 47 years of marriage,
we might ask ourselves, how are we still alike?
We've got different interests. Different passions.
Different churches.
I'm more energetic.
-More restless. -More curious.
Your desire for calm, for stability, for silence,
not to question, not to probe, not to--
-Provoke. -…interrogate,
has sometimes left me…
What?
Lonely.
I wish this DNA business had never happened.
My disenchantment long predates that.
Oh.
So tell me.
How have you addressed this disenchantment and loneliness?
This is not the time and place.
I disagree. It's the perfect time and place.
Well, I've had to seek companionship elsewhere.
Companionship?
Yes.
Companionship.
Intellectual companionship.
Spiritual companionship.
Oh Lord.
I told you this is the wrong time.
Who?
Well, in essence, it's a group of us.
A gang.
A community of friends
focused on carriage driving, and competitions, and house parties.
All right.
And, I suppose, the closest friendship is with Penny.
Romsey?
Your godson's wife.
Friendship, Lilibet.
She's half your age.
Couldn't it just be a secretary?
A nice girl from the typing pool with a short skirt and adoring eyes.
It's not that sort of companionship. That would make me even more lonely.
Penny is in the family. A married woman.
Yes, and entirely focused on her marriage and her duty,
who would never compromise you.
But it does compromise me.
It compromises me.
Me.
As your soulmate.
And if I ask you…
to end your companionship.
That would be a mistake.
I don't want to be asked to give up something when I've done nothing wrong.
But I accept that the newspapers and some other idiots
might see me in the company of a beautiful young woman
and, well, jump to the wrong conclusions.
So I'd like you to do something.
What?
I'd like you to befriend Penny.
I'd like you to be seen with Penny.
You're asking me to legitimize your…
My friendship.
My companionship. Yes.
You might learn something too.
Tell me, what would I learn?
How the Romanovs really met their death.
We already know that.
-They were slaughtered by the Bolsheviks. -Yeah, well…
The Bolsheviks pulled their triggers and used their bayonets,
but who has the blood on their hands?
-Welcome. -Hello.
-Welcome to Windsor Castle, Lady Romsey. -Thank you.
-The Queen is down by the stables. -All right.
-Shall we? -Yes.
Indeed, ma'am, though Sanction is looking a little spooky, I'm afraid.
-Oh. -He may be trouble.
Oh, hasn't lost his appetite, has he?
-No, clearly.
-Well, just keep up the good work. -Will do.
Lady Romsey has arrived, ma'am.
Thank you.
-It's Emily, isn't it? -Yes, ma'am.
-How are you settling in? -Very well. Thank you, ma'am.
-They keeping you hard at work? -Of course.
Well, thank you very much. I'll pop back in tomorrow.
See you tomorrow, ma'am.
-Morning. -Your Majesty.
-Very hearty breakfast. -He's a greedy lad.
-Mmm.
Your Majesty.
Shall we walk?
-The Duke of Edinburgh… -Ma'am.
…said you might have a theory about who's to blame
for the murder of the Russian Imperial family.
Ah, it's not my theory, ma'am. I'm-- I'm just a curious student.
That's such an attractive quality.
Curiosity.
Some historians suggest that your grandparents,
George V and Queen Mary,
were presented with a clear opportunity to save the Romanovs but chose not to.
I can't imagine such a thing.
King George and Tsar Nicholas were first cousins.
They even looked alike.
No, my grandfather would never, could never,
do anything to harm his beloved Nicky.
It's possible the motivation came from elsewhere,
as suggested by one or two other accounts I read.
Mmm. How many did you read?
Oh, half a dozen.
Good heavens.
Oh, on the English side. A few more on the Russian side.
Ah.
That will have impressed him.
And, um, have been alerted to a source. Here, at the archives in Windsor.
Oh.
-Hello, Ruth. -Good morning.
-Your Majesty.
So, yes, uh,
the diaries of young Edward VIII,
where he described a breakfast with his parents in 1917
and a letter that had come from the Prime Minister Lloyd George.
The letter stated that he had agreed to send a ship
to bring the Romanovs to safety here in England
but wanted the King's agreement.
Shall I go back with a yes?
To their rescue?
Show it to your mother.
Her judgment is unfailingly better than mine.
What say you, my love?
Do we send the ship?
No.
It's possible one might come to regret it.
You see, there was a rivalry between the two women.
Oh.
Um…
Excuse me. Um…
Yes.
So there was a rivalry between the two women
that went all the way back to their time as young German princesses
before they were married.
Alexandra was prettier and from a grander family.
But it was my clever grandmother, Mary,
who Queen Victoria initially wanted for the elder son of Edward VII.
Yes.
But only after Alexandra had first rejected him
and married Nikolai Romanov instead.
Hence, the rivalry.
Mary didn't want the prettier, grander Alexandra here in England upstaging her.
It's a nice theory.
Quite aside from the fact my grandmother was devotedly married to King George,
I'm surprised none of the 13 books or more,
which you so impressively read, in all their languages,
focused on what I believe to be the real reason Queen Mary
didn't want to have Alexandra here in England.
And it had nothing to do with a rivalry between two women.
My grandmother was far too busy protecting the monarchy
against a popular revolt to worry about being looked down upon by Alexandra.
Giving asylum to the Romanovs presented a much greater threat.
There was widespread opposition to the tsarina in England,
as she was seen as pro-German at the very time we were at war with them.
Your Majesty.
The truth is, Queen Mary…
We have received news from Russia.
…was devastated when she heard they'd been killed.
…Imperial Majesty the tsar is dead.
But as sovereign,
one cannot show those emotions, and one buries them.
And that silence becomes part of one's own… DNA.
But how commendable of you to show such interest and…
and do all that reading.
Since the death of my… daughter,
I have somewhat disappeared into books.
-And carriage driving. -Yes.
Yes. That's been a huge help.
It's quite a gang.
So I gather.
It's not Norton's thing?
No.
Our interests, our lives, seem to grow further and further apart.
I could never leave him.
Nor Broadlands.
Leonora's grave is there, and I need to see that every day.
And the house needs me to focus on it. He-- He needs me too.
I'm glad to hear of your… sense of duty.
And of your commitment to your marriage.
And to a house that has been so important to me personally.
Philip and I honeymooned at Broadlands, as you know.
Yes. Yes.
It's important people understand how close the ties are between our families.
Should they see the Duke of Edinburgh
out and about with a… beautiful, younger companion,
it would be an irritation if they felt at liberty
to jump to any wrong conclusions.
So, why don't you come in the car with me to church this Christmas at Sandringham?
To nip all that in the bud.
Thank you for coming along.
Merry Christmas.
-Morning. -Morning, Your Majesty. Merry Christmas.
-Merry Christmas -Morning, sir.
I know that rather well.
Merry Christmas.
This is Timmy.
Please, can you take him to Buckingham Palace with you?
Thank you.
The prime minister, Your Majesty.
-Prime Minister. -Your Majesty.
I'm delighted to say,
Russian scientists have now confirmed the final set of remains as Tsar Nicholas,
which means the official burial of the Imperial family can take place.
Oh. Good.
In his phone call with me, a positively giddy President Yeltsin
said he hoped a line could be drawn under the matter, once and for all,
and that friendship and cooperation between our two countries could resume.
Was that giddiness or… or tipsiness?
Good question.
I believe Yeltsin is sincere in his desire for democracy.
One just wishes he led with greater…
Sobriety?
Authority.
Reports out of Russia suggest the landscape is dangerously unstable.
And the worry is it will result in the need for hard-line leadership again,
and we will be back to square one.
Hmm.
Except… I prefer to think of square one with Russia
as a state of friendship, not enmity.
One forgets our two nations, thanks in part to family ties,
have been more successful as allies than enemies.
Seen like that, the revolution and Cold War
are a blip in an otherwise long and happy marriage.
Speaking of happy marriages, congratulations are in order.
Your wedding anniversary this weekend.
Yes.
Forty-seven years.
And counting.
You and Mrs. Major?
Uh… Uh…
Twenty-four years this year.
We must all be doing something right.
What do you suppose that is?
Mmm.
One of the most memorable accounts of a long, successful marriage
comes from Dostoevsky's wife, Anna.
She and Fyodor were, she said, of… contrasting character.
Different temperaments.
Entirely opposing views,
yet they never tried to change one another.
Nor interfere with the other's soul.
This, she believed, enabled her and her husband to live in harmony.
By having nothing whatsoever in common?
Hmm.
The key to a happy marriage, it seems.
Ready. Where is it?
-Oh!
-Ah. Where's this one? Where's this one?
No, you're not in the least bit interested.
And leave it. Good dog. Good dog.
Where's it gone? Are you ready?
Come along. Come along. Come along.
Here. Where's that? Where's that? Let's go back here.
Dogs! Dogs! Come along.
Are you ready? Oh!
There we go.
Very good.
Now, there's another one.
Who wants a treat?
Who wants a treat? Come here.
Come here. Good.
Come. Good.
Good.
Where's it? Are you ready? Are you ready?
Are you ready? Where is it?
Oh!
Where's this one? Where's this one?
Where is it?
Good boy.