Three months later.
It was hot August in Russia--the month of drought and dust.
Luba de Rosen had returned to her mother's house in Petersburg, where
her property and her dead mother's handsome income, which had been
confiscated by the State, had been returned to her. Several times both
Her Highness and myself had visited her, while one afternoon she had
been received in private audience at Gatchina by the Emperor, who had
sympathised with her and promised to make amends in every way for the
injustice she had suffered.
The camarilla who had so long ruled Russia, placing the onus of their
oppression upon the Emperor, had, thanks to Natalia, been broken up, and
a new and honest Cabinet established in its place.
Danilo Danilovitch, on the day following Markoff's assassination, had
telegraphed openly from Germany to His Majesty, announcing that he had
rid Russia of her worst enemy. And probably that message did not cause
the Emperor much displeasure. It was the carrying out of the old
Biblical law of an eye for an eye. And as the catspaw was beyond the
frontier, and the crime a political one, its perpetrator was immune from
arrest.
Five weeks later, however, the Supreme Council of the People's Will,
held in an upstairs room in Greek Street, Soho, and presided over by
Danilovitch in person, heard from him a long and complete statement, in
which he described his audience at Tzarskoie-Selo, and delivered the
message sent by the Emperor to the Revolutionists.
Unanimously it was then decided to put an end to all militant measures,
now that the Emperor knew the truth, and to trust the assurances given
from the throne. A loyal reply was drafted to His Majesty's message,
and this was duly despatched by a confidential messenger to Russia and
placed in the Emperor's own hands--a declaration of loyalty which gave
him the greatest gratification.
Diplomatic Europe, in ignorance of what was actually in progress, was
surprised at the sudden turn of events in Russia, and on account of the
unexpected dismissal of Ministers and the establishment of the Duma,
felt that open revolution was imminent. From the official busybodies at
the various Embassies the truth was carefully concealed. It was, of
course, known that General Markoff had all along been the worst enemy of
Russia, and in consequence the Revolutionary Party made open rejoicing
at the news of his death. Yet the actual facts were ingeniously
suppressed, both from the diplomatic corps and from the correspondents
of the foreign newspapers.
The entire change in the Emperor's policy and the granting of many
much-needed reforms were regarded abroad as the natural reaction after
the drastic autocracy. But nobody dreamed of the truth, how the
Emperor, after all a humane man and a benign ruler, had at last learned
the bitter truth, and had instantly acted for the welfare and safety of
his beloved people.
Many of the London journals published leading articles upon what they
termed "the new era in Russia," attributing it to all causes except the
right one, the popular opinion being that His Majesty had at last been
terrorised into granting justice and a proper representation to the
people. Exile of political prisoners to Siberia had been suddenly
abolished by Imperial ukase, together with the major powers vested in
the Secret Police. The safety and sanctity of the home was guaranteed,
and no person could in future be consigned to a dungeon or exiled
without fair and open trial.
All this, it was said, was a triumph of the Revolution. Journalists
believed that the Emperor had been forced to accord the people their
demand. Little, indeed, did the world dream the actual truth, the
secret of which was so well kept that only the British Foreign Minister
at Downing Street was aware of it, for by the Emperor's express
permission I was able to sit one day in that sombre private room in the
Foreign Office and there in confidence relate the strange events, the
shadows of a throne, which I have endeavoured to set down in the
foregoing pages.
Since the day of the dismissal of Serge Markoff with five members of the
Cabinet, and the breaking up of that disgraceful camarilla which had
surrounded the Sovereign, suppressing the truth, preventing reforms, and
ruling Holy Russia with a hand of iron, the nation had indeed entered
upon an era of financial and social progress. Russia has become a
nation of enlightenment, prosperity and industry, even, perhaps, against
the will of her upper classes.
I was present on that August day in the handsome private church attached
to the great Palace of Peterhof, and there witnessed the marriage of Her
Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia to Richard Drury, Count of
Ozerna, who had become a naturalised Russian subject and been ennobled
by the Emperor.
It was a brilliant function, for all the Ministers, foreign Ambassadors
and the whole Imperial Court, including the Emperor and Empress, were
present. The Court now being out of mourning for the Grand Duke
Nicholas, the display of smart gowns, uniforms and decorations was more
striking than even at a State ball at the Winter Palace.
Standing beside Captain Stoyanovitch, I was near Natalia, the
incorrigible little madcap of the Romanoffs, when with her husband she
knelt before the altar while the priest, in his gorgeous robes, bestowed
upon them his blessing. And when they rose and passed out, their
handsome faces reflected the supreme joy of the triumph of their mutual
love.
Some years have now passed.
His Imperial Majesty, alas! lies in his great sarcophagus in Moscow, and
the Tzarevitch reigns in his stead. But in Russia the Revolutionary
movement is no longer a militant one, for the people know well that
their ruler's aims and aspirations are those of his father, and
patiently await the reforms which, though perhaps slow in progress,
nevertheless do from time to time become law and bestow the greatest
benefits upon the many millions of souls from the German frontier to the
Sea of Japan.
Ivan Hartwig, the Anglo-Russian, still lives on the outskirts of
Petersburg as Otto Schenk, and is still head of the Russian Surete, and
from him I only recently heard that Danilo Danilovitch had been
discovered in Chicago, leading the life of a highly-respected citizen.
He had changed his name into Daniels, and was the proprietor of one of
the largest boot factories in that progressive city. Miss West has been
pensioned and remains in Brighton, but Davey, the English maid, is still
in the Grand Duchess's service.
As for myself--well, I am still a diplomat, and still a bachelor.
After service as Councillor of Embassy in Berlin, Washington and Paris,
I was appointed by the late King Edward his _Envoy extraordinaire et
Ministre plenipotentiaire_ to a certain brilliant Court in the South of
Europe, where I still reside in the great white Embassy as chief of a
large and brilliant staff.
Sometimes when I go on leave, I manage to snatch a week or two with
Count Drury and his pretty wife, at the Grand Ducal Palace in
Petersburg, where they live together in perfect idyllic happiness, and
where splendid receptions are given during the winter season. More than
once, too, I have been guest at their great Castle of Ozerna, a gloomy
mediaeval fortress, near Orel in Central Russia, to enjoy the excellent
boar-hunting in the huge forests surrounding.
And often as I have sat at their table, waited on by the gorgeous
flunkeys in the blue-and-gold Grand Ducal livery, headed by old Igor, I
have looked into Natalia's pretty face and reflected how Little the
Russian people ever dream that for the liberty which has recently come
to them they are indebted solely to a woman--to the girl who was once
declared to be an incorrigible flirt, and who had scandalised the
Imperial family--the little Grand Duchess, who, at the sacrifice of her
own great love, boldly exposed and denounced that unscrupulous and
powerful official, Markoff, the one-time Chief of Secret Police, the man
who had sacrificed so many innocent lives as the Price of Power.
The End.