occasion. It was suggested that Anastasie’s future home might be in
England, and the Empress welcomed the idea.... An English marriage would
have been very near her heart. But “_l’homme propose, et Dieu dispose_.”
If Russia had not betrayed herself, or if she had remained as solidly
united as France, nothing would ever have been heard of the
pro-Germanism attributed to the Empress. She was essentially
English--English in her dress, her personal habits, her absolutely
Victorian outlook; some of her ideas respecting a _ménage_ were akin to
those of the _Hausfrau_, but even these were English, as domesticity has
always been a British attribute.
The Empress showed no special marks of favour to Germans who had settled
in Russia. The reports of her having done so are untrue, or greatly
exaggerated. There is no doubt that German agents were very active in
Russia, and that the octopus of espionage put forth its tentacles in
every direction. But in justice to a much defamed woman, surely it is
unfair to credit her with being the instigator of this. Every European
country was riddled with Germans, England more so than any other, and,
although it was more intimately connected with Germany by marriage and
consanguinity, no stones were ever hurled at the various personages,
Royal and otherwise, who were really not as English as was the Empress.
I remember, in connection with her impartial outlook, that, in 1910, a
wealthy German named Faltsfein, was obsessed with the idea of becoming a
Russian nobleman. A friend of his, an officer named Masloff, asked the
Empress to make it possible for Herr Faltsfein to change his skin, but
she was very disgusted, and told Masloff that nothing would induce her
to put such a proposal before the Emperor!
One awful day a lorry full of soldiers, in charge of an excessively
ill-favoured officer, arrived at the Palace. Kotzebue interviewed him.
“I’ve come to fetch the Emperor,” said the officer, with an unprintable
oath. “He’s going to be imprisoned in ‘Peter and Paul.’”
“You cannot remove the Emperor,” answered Kotzebue. “I am commandant
here. I refuse to give up the Emperor at your orders.”
“Ah ... ah ... I knew it,” shouted the officer. “The Emperor has
fled!... we were told so in Petrograd. Let’s search the Palace.”
Kotzebue almost came to blows with the man. “I tell you the Emperor is
_here_ ... I’ll prove it.” He then sent for Count Benckendorff and told
him to ask the Emperor to pass through the corridor whilst the soldiers
were looking. In a few moments the Emperor came slowly down the corridor
... the officer rushed threateningly towards him, but Kotzebue
restrained him, saying, “Well, you----, now you’ve seen the Emperor. Go
back to the Soviet, tell them he’s still here, and don’t come again on a
fool’s errand.”
The Emperor now walked in the Park every day, and each time he returned
greatly depressed at some fresh mark of disrespect. “But,” he said,
“it’s very foolish to think that this behaviour can affect my soul--how
petty of them to seek to humiliate me by calling me ‘Colonel’ ... after
all, it’s a very worthy appellation.”
The Empress was a tragic figure, and, in her invariable Red Cross
uniform, she symbolised Pity, in a world which knew not the meaning of
the word. Every hour that I knew her, I loved her more.
One day, Kotzebue told me that Titi was ill; in fact, _very_ ill, but I
did not like to agitate the Empress until Kotzebue came to ask her to
permit me to go with him and telephone from the basement of the Palace.
She was greatly distressed to hear that her godson was ill, and equally
concerned at not having been told before. “My poor girl, what you must
have suffered!” she said.
Kotzebue and I descended into the basement: two soldiers guarded the
telephone, and I was informed that I could only be allowed five minutes’
conversation.
“How is the child?” was my first question.
“Very ill, Madame,” answered my maid.
“Please, please bring him to the ‘phone.’” I waited impatiently, and
then a little feeble voice whispered: “_Maman ... c’est vraiment toi!
quand viendras-tu?_”
At that moment a soldier interposed.
“Your five minutes is up!”
I returned to the Empress, almost heart-broken, but I endeavoured to
appear cheerful. The interminable day wore away, evening fell, and I
assisted at what had now become a sort of nightly routine. Every evening
the Emperor wheeled the Empress in her invalid-chair across the Palace
in order to visit the suite. It was a melancholy pilgrimage. She first
stopped to talk with the Benckendorffs, and afterwards passed from group
to group of her faithful adherents, taking Anna’s room on the way
back--Anna, so to speak, representing the last word in dejection, as she
was ever full of terrors and presentiments.
That night I was glad to seek refuge in the red drawing-room and find
myself alone, and able to indulge in what is described as “a good cry.”
As I left the mauve boudoir, the Emperor and the Empress kissed me, and
made the Sign of the Cross. I felt instinctively that they loved me, and
were sorry for me.
A bright fire was burning in the red drawing-room, but I did not
undress--I sat in front of the fire thinking of Titi. Yet even the
knowledge that my son was seriously ill did not suffice to make me feel
that my place was not here. I knew in my soul that the Empress came
first, and would always be first where my duty was in question. I was
well aware that I might never see my husband or my child again ... but I
knew that I should follow the Imperial Family wherever Destiny might
beckon me. I confess I had my moments of weakness, when I longed for the
security of home, and the peaceful existence which had hitherto been
mine. To-night I felt more than usually despondent. The fire burnt low,
and I sought to read the future in the red embers, just as I had done at
Revovka in the long ago. Suddenly I heard the door of the salon open
very softly, and a line of light pierced the darkness ... someone was
coming in!
I turned quickly to face the person who dared intrude upon the privacy
of the apartments occupied by the Imperial Family.... Was it some fresh
assumption of power on the part of the Revolutionaries?
But my visitor was no emissary of the Revolution--the slender figure
standing in the doorway was that of the Empress. She looked more than
usually fragile ... she breathed with difficulty, her face was pale with
fatigue, and, when I remembered the arduous ascent of the stairs, I was
terrified lest a heart attack would ensue.
“Madame, Madame,” I cried, “is anything amiss? Are you in danger?”
“Hush, Lili,” said the Empress. “The Emperor and I are quite safe. But I
couldn’t rest without coming to see you. I know all about Titi, I quite
realise what you feel.” She took me in her arms just as a tender mother
might have done, and she soothed me and caressed me. “My poor, dear
child,” she said. “Only God can help you. Trust in Him, as I do, Lili.”
We mingled our tears, and she stayed with me for some considerable time.
It was a strange scene, but I wish that those who revile the memory of
the Empress could have seen her then, and experienced the pity, love and
understanding which were so essentially her prerogatives. She
strengthened and consoled me as no other could have done, and her last
words of comfort before she left me were: “Perhaps they’ll let us bring
Titi from Petrograd to the Red Cross Hospital opposite the Palace, then
you could always see him through one of the windows.”
CHAPTER V
The Tsarevitch was now almost well, and running about the Palace much as
usual. I do not think he noticed many changes, the Revolution conveyed
nothing to him except when he missed certain of his soldiers and his
friends. He was still a happy, light-hearted child.
The Imperial Family had no presentiment of disaster for themselves, but
they suffered untold agonies of mind over the fate of Russia. “Can you
imagine what it means to the Emperor to know that he is cut off from
active life?” said the Empress.
Soon after the episode of telephoning from the basement, Kotzebue went
to Petrograd. I was anxious for his return, as he had promised to go and
see Titi, and bring me the latest news from home. Days passed ... I
became apprehensive, and made enquiries, only to be told that we should
not see him again at Tsarkoe! I saw in this an omen of coming trouble,
so I went at once to the Emperor and acquainted him with what I had
heard. The Emperor and the Empress were watching some of the
ladies-in-waiting who were walking in the Park, followed by sentinels;
the Empress noticed my agitation.
“Why, Lili, whatever is the matter?” she enquired.
“Madame ... I hear that Kotzebue is to be replaced.”
The Emperor looked at me. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he remarked:
“Well--it can’t be helped” and straightway changed the conversation ...
possibly to calm our fears, or more probably to show how unaffected he
was by the mandates of the Revolutionaries.
The long, monotonous days passed--we endured them alternately with the
calmness of despair and with gratitude for their dullness. Once we
witnessed a sight of horror. Hearing a sound of military music, and the
tramp, tramp of many people, we went to the windows, and saw a funeral
procession wending its way across the snow-covered Park. But this was no
ordinary funeral; the dead were some of the soldiers who had been killed
at Tsarkoe Selo on the first day of the Revolution. It was a red
burial--the coffins were covered in scarlet, the mourners were dressed
in scarlet, and scarlet flags waved everywhere. Seen in the distance the
procession looked like a river of blood flowing slowly through the Park.
Everything was red and white, and the superstitious might have inferred
from this a presage of the innocent blood so soon to be outpoured ...
since the snow was not whiter than the souls of the young and beautiful
who are now safe in the keeping of a God of Justice, who most surely
will repay!
None of us could forget the impression produced by this funeral; blood
seemed everywhere, and terror lurked in the shadows. The soldiers were
buried in the Park, within sight of the Palace--another refinement of
torture for those whose imaginations were already overexcited. Our
nerves were frayed, although I do not think that we were guilty of
giving way to our emotions. But it was difficult to maintain our
composure when insolent officers treated us in a shameful manner, or a
soldier called the Empress by some filthy epithet. One soldier, however,
was a Bayard. He possessed an English name, and his father taught in a
school at Riga. This man was really extraordinary. He was not only
polite, but he invariably tried to show us that he did not share the
Revolutionary outlook. The two regiments which were at the Palace
distinguished themselves by a series of petty thefts; not even the
spoons were safe. I suppose they would have described these articles as
“Souvenir spoons”!
* * * * *
We were no longer to complain of monotony. Even then, events unknown to
us were moving quickly, and in my case definitely.
The Grand Duchess Marie was still very ill, and Anna, who knew this,
decided to go and see her. The Empress was against the idea; Anna was
ill, she said, and it was better for her health and her safety to keep
as quiet as possible, and not to draw any undue attention to her
presence in the Palace. So strongly did the Empress disapprove, that she
was taken in her wheeled chair to see Anna, but she returned more
nervous and apprehensive than before.
I spent the morning with the Empress, and I lunched with Anna, in the
apparently forlorn hope of dissuading her from attempting to see Marie.
After luncheon we discussed the burning question of Kotzebue’s
disappearance. Suddenly we were startled by hearing a noise in the
corridor.... Anna instantly rang the bell. A servant answered it.
“Who is outside?” demanded Anna.
“I don’t know,” replied the man, who was evidently much disturbed; “the
soldiers are here.” At this moment a _skorohod_[12] entered, and handed
me a tiny folded note. I opened it.... Written in pencil, in the
Empress’s handwriting, were these ominous words:
“_Kerensky passe par toutes nos chambres, pas avoir peur--Dieu est là.
Vous embrasse toutes les deux._”[13]
[Illustration]
Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor. I had barely time to slip the
precious note inside my bodice when the door was flung open, and a man,
followed by two others, came in. I stood up at once and looked at our
visitor--it was Kerensky himself!
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS AT TOBOLSK]
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS WITH GRAND DUCHESS TATIANA
[During the Captivity at Tsarskoe Selo]]
[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESSES (left) MARIE: ANASTASIE (right)]
I saw a slight man with a pale face, thin lips, shifty eyes, seen under
lowered lids, and a nondescript nose. Kerensky gave one the impression
of being _mal soigné_.... He was not tall, but slight in figure, and his
head drooped in a curious manner: he wore the blue jacket of an ordinary
workman.
Kerensky slowly considered us.
“Are you Madame Anna Virouboff?” he said, addressing Anna.
“Yes,” replied Anna, faintly.
“Well, put on your clothes immediately and be ready to follow me.”
Anna made no answer.
“Why the devil are you in bed?” he demanded, staring at Anna’s invalid
_déshabillée_.
“Because I’m ill,” whimpered Anna, looking more childish than ever.
“Well” ... said Kerensky, turning to an officer, “perhaps we had better
not move her. I’ll have a chat with the doctors. In the meantime,
isolate Madame Virouboff. Place sentinels before the door--she’s to hold
no communication with anyone. Nobody is to come into this bedroom or to
leave it until I give the order.”
He went out of the room, followed by the officers. Anna and I looked at
each other, speechless with dismay. My first collected thought was for
the Empress. I would not be separated from her.
“I _must_ try and see Their Majesties,” I said wildly.
“Yes, Lili, do. For God’s sake see them,” sobbed Anna.
I opened the bedroom door very softly: the sentinels had not yet
arrived. I caught a glimpse of Kerensky entering the room occupied by
the doctors; then, impelled by some desperate courage, I ran down the
corridors, and arrived breathless in the Grand Duchesses’ apartments. I
found the Empress with Olga. I told her, in a few words, what had
happened. Then distant footsteps warned us of Kerensky’s approach.
“Run ... Lili--hide in Marie’s room--it’s dark _there_,” whispered the
Empress.
I had barely time to crouch down behind a screen in Marie’s room when
Kerensky came in. He took no notice of the sick girl, but went in search
of the Empress, who, with the Emperor, had now gone into the schoolroom.
From where I was hiding I could hear Kerensky shouting. In a few moments
the Empress entered; she was trembling visibly.... The Grand Duchesses
Olga and Tatiana (now convalescent) rushed forward.
“Mamma, Mamma, what is the matter?”
“Kerensky has insisted upon my leaving him alone with the Emperor,”
answered the Empress.... “They’ll most probably arrest me.”
The two girls clung to their mother, and slowly made their way back to
Marie. I had now emerged from behind the screen, and I went into the
schoolroom, where I determined to remain until I saw the Emperor.
After what seemed a very long time the Emperor came out--alone.
“Your Majesty,” I cried, “tell me, I implore you, if there is anything
dreadful in store for Her Majesty?”
The Emperor was painfully nervous. “No, no, Lili, and if Kerensky had
uttered one word against Her Majesty, you would have heard me strike the
table--thus--” and he struck the writing-table with his fist. “But I
hear they’ve arrested Anna. Poor unfortunate woman, what will become of
_her_?”
At the sound of her husband’s voice the Empress came out of Marie’s
bedroom. The Emperor told her that Kerensky had arrested Anna because he
suspected that she was implicated in political plots. “If it’s true,
it’s an awful thing,” said Kerensky; “but I suppose everything will now
be disclosed.”
Their Majesties then related the particulars of their interview with
Kerensky.
“His first words,” said the Empress, “were, ‘I am Kerensky. You probably
know my name.’
“We made no answer.
“‘But you must have heard of me?’ he persisted.
“Still no reply.
“‘Well,’ said Kerensky, ‘I’m sure I don’t know why we are standing.
Let’s sit down--it’s far more comfortable!’
“He seated himself,” continued the Empress. “The Emperor and I slowly
followed his example, and, finding that I still declined to speak,
Kerensky insisted upon being left alone with the Emperor.”
Shortly afterwards, to our great relief, we were informed that Kerensky
had left the Palace and gone to the Town Hall. The new commandant,
Colonel Korovichenko, was then presented to the Empress, who begged him
to allow her to say good-bye to Anna. Korovichenko consented, and the
Empress went, unaccompanied, to Anna’s room. She sat very silent when
she returned: she felt the parting keenly, as both the friends knew
that, in all probability, it might be for ever!
The Emperor, the Grand Duchesses and myself now took up our position in
“Orchie’s room,”[14] from which the windows commanded a view of the
entrance to Anna’s apartments. I was sitting by the Empress near the
window.... All at once she took my hand, and said in a voice choked with
emotion:
“At least, God will allow you to remain, and....”
Her sentence remained unfinished.... At this moment someone knocked at
the door; it was Count Benckendorff, who had hurried along to tell the
Empress that he still hoped better things for Anna.
This was only a temporary respite. A little later we heard the sound of
an automobile in the courtyard. I looked down, and saw two automobiles
drawn up in front of the Imperial entrance to the Palace. Another knock!
This time it was a servant who announced:
“The new Commandant wishes to speak to Madame Dehn.”
I went out; Korovitchenko, a fair-haired, common-looking man with a hard
mouth, was standing at the end of the corridor.
“Madame Dehn?” he enquired brusquely.
“Yes ... I am Madame Dehn.”
“Well ... get ready. Take as little as possible with you; you are going
with Kerensky to Petrograd.”
I nearly fainted, but I managed to run back to “Orchie’s room.” In a few
hurried words I acquainted the Empress with Korovitchenko’s orders.... I
could not look at any of them. I tried to be calm, but at the sound of
Tatiana’s uncontrollable sobbing I broke down and wept in the arms of
the Empress.
“_Eh bien_ ...” she said, releasing me gently from her embrace, “_il n’y
rien à faire_.”
“Is Madame Dehn ready?” shouted someone outside.
The Empress called Zanoty (one of her dressers) and told her to put some
things together in a suit-case. She did not speak to me--or I to
her--our hearts were too full. It was like some terrible nightmare. At
length I managed to go into Anastasie’s room.... She was in bed. I
kissed her many times, and told her that I would never forsake them.
Poor Marie lay asleep in her darkened room.... I kissed her flushed
cheek, blessed her, and went out quietly. There was no time to say
good-bye to the Tsarevitch.
* * * * *
Zanoty had packed my suit-case, and the Empress now sent her to fetch a
sacred medal, which she hung round my neck, blessing me as she did so.
At the last moment Tatiana ran out of the room, and returned with a
little leather case containing portraits of the Emperor and the Empress,
which had stood on her especial table ever since she was a tiny child.
“Lili ...” she cried, “if Kerensky _is_ going to take you away from us,
you shall at least have Papa and Mamma to console you.”
Another imperative summons told us that the moment of parting was at
hand. I put on my hat, and we left “Orchie’s room”; the Emperor and the
Empress walked on either side of me, and the Grand Duchesses Olga and
Tatiana followed us. I had never imagined in the “happy” days that it
would ever be my lot to traverse this corridor with a breaking heart, or
under such conditions. For ten years I had received nothing but
affection from the Imperial Family--I had watched the children grow up,
I had been their playmate and their friend--now I had to leave them in
hostile and menacing surroundings.
Russia had already deprived them of their Imperial state, their
possessions and their liberty: surely she might not have deprived them
of their friends!
We walked slowly towards the head of the great staircase ... the moment
for saying farewell had arrived ... I tried to be brave ... the silence
was unbroken save by Tatiana’s stifled sobbing. Olga and the Empress
were quite calm, but Tatiana, who has been described by most
contemporary historians as proud and reserved, made no secret of her
grief.
Two soldiers were waiting on the staircase ... the little group of the
Imperial Family stopped, and surrounded me ... then all pretence of
self-control vanished. We clung together, but our unavailing tears made
no impression on hearts harder than the marble staircase on which we
stood.
“Come ... Madame ...” said one of the soldiers, seizing me by the arm.
I turned to the Empress. With a tremendous effort of will, she forced
herself to smile reassuringly; then, in a voice whose every accent
bespoke intense love and deep religious conviction, she said: “Lili, by
suffering we are purified for Heaven. This good-bye matters little--we
shall meet in another world.”
The soldiers hurried me down the staircase, but I stopped half-way, and
looked back. The Imperial Family was still where I had left them; with a
rough gesture, my guards motioned me to descend. I could see my beloved
Empress no longer.
I walked to the door of the second entrance where some officers and
soldiers stood, laughing and talking. Two automobiles were waiting
outside. It was bitterly cold, and a bleak wind howled round the Palace,
and drove the snow in stinging dust against my face as I sat in the open
automobile waiting for Anna. At last she appeared; she looked ghastly,
and her eyes were swollen with crying. Two officers sat facing us, and a
third took his place beside the chauffeur. In this manner we saw the
last of Tsarkoe Selo ... but I had left my heart behind.
We proceeded rapidly towards the private station, where the automobile
stopped. I walked quickly inside. I held myself erect ... I would _not_
let our enemies think that I knew the meaning of the word FEAR. As I
passed, some of the soldiers sneered ... “See how haughty she is,” they
remarked; but I took no notice.
The Imperial train was waiting, and the thought flashed across my mind
that the Revolutionaries were surely most inconsistent people, since
Kerensky & Co. did not scruple to avail themselves of the luxuries
appertaining to Imperial state. Anna and I made our way to the
drawing-room compartment, where we seated ourselves--I say “ourselves,”
but, in reality, Anna was lying half fainting on a chair. I could just
see the Palace through the window of the saloon, and I looked at nothing
else until the train moved out of the station, and, even then, my
straining eyes sought the familiar building which held so much that was
dear to me.
Suddenly I became aware that someone was shouting, and thumping on the
floor with a stick. I withdrew from the window to see what was the
matter, and I encountered the angry gaze of Kerensky.
“Look here ... you’d better listen when I’m talking to you,” he raged.
I simply looked at him. Nobody had ever addressed me in such a manner! I
am a tall woman; perhaps my height (I towered above him) and my unspoken
contempt made him think better of continuing in this strain.
“I merely wanted to tell you that I am taking you to the prison of the
Palais de Justice,” said Kerensky. “From there you will be transferred
(with deep meaning) _somewhere else_, and _that_ will be the actual
place of your imprisonment.”
I still looked through him, and he beat a retreat into his own
compartment. Ten minutes later we were at Petrograd!
The A.D.C.’s made Anna go first; I followed and as we walked down the
train we passed through the saloon where Kerensky and another man were
stretched out comfortably in the Emperor’s easy chairs! When Kerensky
saw me he sat up, and looked me up and down with a kind of half-fierce
curiosity. I returned his appraising glance with one of disdain ... the
next moment Anna and I were told to get into a closed carriage (another
relic of Imperialism), and we drove away in the company of the
A.D.C.’s--mere boys--who were evidently keenly interested in us both.
I was horrified at the change which the Revolution had wrought in
Petrograd. Its quiet, well-bred look had completely disappeared, it wore
the aspect of a person just recovering from a drunken bout. Red flags
were everywhere, and crowds of unrestful people were waiting in long
queues outside the bakers’ shops. This sight roused Anna from her
lethargy of grief, and, childish as ever, she remarked, quite happily,
“Well, Lili, it’s no better _after_ the Revolution than it was before.”
I silenced her further criticisms with a glance at the A.D.C.’s, and I
felt quite relieved when our carriage sank first in one, and then in
another of the dirty heaps of snow which cumbered the streets, and which
had not been removed by the road sweepers. No policemen were visible;
law and order had ceased to exist, but groups of odd-looking people hung
about at the corners of the streets. These loungers were unmistakably
Jews.... The Ghetto-like appearance of Petrograd was amply accounted
for.
The carriage stopped outside the Palais de Justice, and we were
conducted down seemingly endless corridors to a room on the fourth
floor. This room was empty, save for two easy chairs, a small chair and
a table on which stood a carafe of cold water. The aides-de-camp told us
to ask the sentinels for anything we wanted, and they were about to
leave us alone when I said to one of them: “Will you try and let my
servants know that I’m here?”
“Impossible,” he answered, “but in your next prison you’ll be allowed to
see your friends once a week.” The young men then went away, and Anna at
once began to cry. I tried to console her, but I was completely worn
out--my powers of endurance had snapped, since there was no one to be
brave for!
The room was bitterly cold, and we huddled together, wondering what next
would happen. Suddenly shots rang out in the corridor ... were they
harbingers of death? The firing was followed by coarse laughter, and a
soldier ran into our room. “Ah ... ha!... ha!!...” he mocked, “were you
afraid ... did you think you were going to be killed?”[15]
As I sat in the cheerless room, thinking over many things, I suddenly
remembered that Anna had a great predilection for carrying letters and
photographs about with her--my heart sank--supposing that she had done
so now?
“Anna,” I said, trying to speak lightly, “what papers have you brought
away with you?”
“Oh, lots, Lili,” answered Anna. “I’ve some letters of the Empress, some
letters from Gregory, and two photographs of him.”
I suppose my expression must have betrayed me. Anna began to whimper....
“Oh, Lili, why do you look so grave? Surely they won’t treat us badly?
What _shall_ we do?”
“You must give me every paper in your possession.”
She demurred. “But _why_, Lili?”
“Because it’s dangerous to retain anything connected either with Her
Majesty or with Rasputin. The worst construction is likely to be placed
on the most innocent expressions ... you cannot surely wish to injure
the Empress!”
Anna instantly handed over the letters, but the difficulty arose as to
how best to destroy them. To burn them was impossible, as we had no
stove; I therefore decided to tear the letters up in minute pieces, and
throw them down the lavatory which we were permitted to use. In this
way, I destroyed what might have been considered “compromising”
documents!
After what seemed an interminable time, steps sounded in the corridor,
the door was flung open, and Kerensky entered. He deliberately turned
his back on Anna, but he surveyed me with the same appraising yet
hostile scrutiny. We looked at each other without speaking.... At last,
he shrugged his shoulders, and remarked to an officer:
“This place is damnably cold. Have the stove seen to immediately.”
He left us without another word, and we heard him speaking at some
length outside. The sentinels were then changed, and the soldier who was
on duty in our room began to talk to me.
“Well, Mademoiselle,” he said, “it’s ten thousand pities to see you
here ... you _do_ look sad. Whatever have you done?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s horrible ... they’ve no right to arrest young ladies like you.”
“Perhaps the new regulations are responsible for our arrest.”
“The new regulations!” The man laughed loudly. “That’s a good idea ... I
don’t think they’ll bring much luck. How can we get on without an
Emperor? Don’t imagine that _we_ wanted this. Do you think we joined
willingly? Why, they had to use force to get us ... we were unarmed, it
was no good attempting to resist them.”
This kindly soul came from South Russia, and, when I told him who I was
and where my estates were situated, he was ready to do anything for me.
“I’m on duty again to-morrow,” he said, “so try and write a letter, and
I’ll see that it’s delivered.”
Night fell, and we were faint with hunger and fatigue. A little soup was
brought us, but we could not swallow it. Every few minutes the door
opened, and soldiers came in and made fun of us.
“We’ve two pretty girls now to look at,” they mocked, but their laughter
was better than their coarse jokes ... some of these made me grow
scarlet with, shame, and I trembled lest their coarseness might become
something unspeakable. We wanted to wash ... but washing was
impossible--we had neither jug nor basin--the only water available was
that in the carafe. I opened my suit-case, and as Zanoty had put some
cotton-wool and lint with my things I quickly made a pad of some of the
wool, and, pouring a little water into the glass, I damped the pad and
mopped my face, drying it afterwards with some more cotton wool. At 1
a.m. we were surprised to see the two A.D.C.’s come in with some
soldiers. One of the A.D.C.’s addressed Anna.
“Madame ... we have orders to remove you.”
Anna caught hold of my hand. “Oh, Lili, Lili,” she moaned, “don’t let
them take me away. Can’t you come with me?... I daren’t go to another
prison without you.”
“Cannot you let me accompany Madame Virouboff?” I said.
“The order is for _Madame Virouboff_,” replied the A.D.C., and at this
moment an officer entered.
“What’s all the fuss about?” he demanded. The A.D.C. explained. “What
... is Madame Virouboff really here?” cried the officer. “Well, I’ve
always wanted to have a look at her ... which one is it?” The A.D.C.
indicated Anna, who was gazing from one to the other with frightened
eyes.
“Get up,” ordered the officer.
Anna meekly obeyed; as she did so, her crutch was visible.
“But ... what’s wrong?” asked the officer, now evidently greatly
astonished.
“I’m a cripple,” faltered Anna.
“Good God,” exclaimed the officer. He was silent, but he examined Anna
much in the same way that a naturalist surveys a prehistoric beast. He
could not reconcile the Anna of reality with the Anna of fiction. In
common with many people, not only in Russia, but all the world over, he
had imagined a totally different Anna Virouboff. Perhaps he had
visualised her as an adventuress of melodrama, a passionate
_intrigante_, a subtle schemer, the masterful confidante of a weak
Empress!
What did he actually see?
Rasputin’s reputed _sorcière-en-chef_ stood before him, a little
trembling creature, with the prettiness and the plaintive voice of a
child. The officer could not believe his eyes.
“Do you mean to tell me that you are a cripple?” he stammered.
“I’ve always used a crutch since my railway accident,” she said,
helplessly, “I couldn’t avoid being in an accident, could I?”
“Extraordinary, extraordinary,” muttered the officer--he was still
looking at her--“now, come along.” But Anna threw herself on my neck,
and refused to leave me. Her sobs were heart-breaking. To do them
justice, the soldiers handled this butterfly broken on the wheel very
gently. A group of journalists, male and female, all equally unkempt,
were busy taking notes, and they glanced half-scornfully and
half-pityingly at the shrinking figure of Anna Virouboff as she
disappeared in the darkness.
CHAPTER VI
The long days passed in their monotonous progress. I no longer seemed to
belong to the outside world. I heard nothing, nobody came near me--I was
as one dead. But, if my days were monotonous, my nights were full of
horror. When darkness fell, and the authorities relaxed their incessant
watchfulness, the soldiers became brutish ... when I say that I dared
not fall asleep, some idea may be gathered of my dread! I had never met
the eyes of lust until now ... but it was impossible not to understand
the glances of many of the soldiers. And I was not under any false
illusions about the morality of freedom, it might surely be called the
Freedom of Immorality! I thought of my husband far away in England, of
my child lying ill within a short distance of my prison, and of that
dear family for whose sakes I would gladly suffer untold misery. Memory
opened her book, and I saw within its pages people and scenes which
stirred many bitter-sweet recollections in my heart. Once again I walked
under the linden trees at Revovka, and listened to the nightingales. I
saw the forgotten grave with the wild rose weeping her petal-tears over
_la morte amoureuse_; once again I stood in the Winter Garden waiting to
see the Empress, sometimes I played with Titi and the Grand Duchesses
and heard the Empress’s kind voice. The pale face and hypnotic eyes of
Rasputin recalled my pilgrimage.... The church towers and houses of
Tobolsk rose against the evening sky, the dark and sinister river flowed
past me....
Memory turned back more pages of her wonderful book, and I saw the
Tsarkoe Selo of yesterday, the sick children, their fragile mother, and
the Emperor, to whom Destiny had proved so cruel.
I endeavoured to preserve a calm mental outlook, it was useless.... I
wondered whether escape might be possible, but my room was situated on
the fourth floor, I dared not risk the descent from the window. One idea
obsessed me. I _must_ see Kerensky, and this idea grew more intense when
I heard that I was shortly to be removed to another prison. “They are
making enquiries about you,” said the A.D.C.
“Well, I want you to do something, and inform the Minister Kerensky that
I would like to see him.”
The A.D.C. was evidently startled by my request.
“Hm ... I’ll do my best, but--” his gesture was significant of the
hopelessness of such a request.
Upon his return, the A.D.C. said tersely:
“I’ve seen about your affair, but Kerensky sleeps; he has just dined.”
“Will you ask him to see me when he awakes?”
“Yes....” Again the significant gesture.
I waited impatiently. I felt that this interview with Kerensky would
prove the critical point in my present desperate situation. I paced up
and down the room, and my nervous agitation aroused the pity of one of
the soldiers, who remarked kindly:
“Poor young lady! You _do_ seem worried!”
Three hours passed.... They seemed like centuries, and then the A.D.C.
entered.
“The Minister will receive you,” he said.
I hastily arranged my sadly crumpled Red Cross uniform, and two soldiers
with fixed bayonets stationed themselves on either side of me. The
A.D.C. led the way down endless stairs and lengthy corridors. At last we
halted before a half-open door, and, as I stood there, I smelt the
delicate fragrance of roses. Surely no roses grew in this terrible
prison soil? But the perfume was unmistakable, and I was not left long
to wonder from whence it proceeded.
I was ushered into a large, well-furnished reception room, formerly
occupied by some Minister under the Empire, and on a table stood an
enormous basket of blood-red roses. On another table was a basket of
scarlet carnations, the warm air was heavy with the mingled odours of
roses and clove pinks. So the Ministers of the Revolution were able to
indulge their taste for roses in March, whilst the Sons of Freedom
clamoured in the snow for bread!
The door at the extreme end of the room was ajar; presently it opened,
and Kerensky came in. He glanced at me, walked to the writing-table,
where he seated himself, and indicated a place for me.
KERENSKY: “Well, what do you want. You asked to see me?”
MYSELF: “I want to ask you why I am under arrest. I have never meddled
in politics, they are the last things that interest me. I can’t regard
myself as a political prisoner.”
KERENSKY (taking a roll of paper off the desk, and perusing it):
“Listen.... Firstly, you are accused of staying voluntarily with Their
Majesties when you had no official position at Court. Can you deny
this?”
MYSELF: “Certainly not, I have no wish to do so. I stayed with Their
Majesties, as I could not possibly desert them at such a moment. I love
the Imperial Family as individuals. Surely this cannot constitute a
crime in your eyes.”
KERENSKY: “Well ... let it pass.... What is this close friendship
between you and the Empress?”
MYSELF: “I am honoured with the friendship of the Empress. She knows my
husband, she has been so good to us that we cannot be devoted enough to
her.”
KERENSKY (impatiently): “Enough of the Empress. What do you want?”
MYSELF: “What I ask is _not_ freedom, but imprisonment in my own house.
My child is ill. I want to be with him.”
KERENSKY (laughing satirically): “You didn’t consider your child when
you left him alone in Petrograd in order to remain with your beloved
Empress.”
MYSELF (angrily): “I know best _why_ I left him. You call yourself a
patriot ... I suppose you put the love of your country before family
ties? I love the Imperial Family, they come before my family ties.
You’ve taken me away from _them_--I haven’t gone willingly. Why deprive
me of my child?”
KERENSKY (with sinister emphasis): “Listen, Madame Dehn, _you know too
much_. You have been constantly with the Empress since the beginning of
the Revolution. You can, if you choose, throw quite another light on
certain happenings which we have represented in a different aspect.
You’re DANGEROUS.”
A long silence.
KERENSKY: “Can you explain why all orders from the Empress passed
through you? You had no official position ... it’s a most suspicious
occurrence.”
MYSELF: “We were practically isolated in the private apartments through
fear of contagion. Besides, what orders could the Empress give without
their being known to _you_?”
KERENSKY: “The servants are witnesses that all orders came through you.
Enquiries will reveal the truth ... if you are honest ... well and good.
If not ... that’s another matter.”
I looked at him. Kerensky seemed absolutely implacable, but I decided to
make one last appeal. He apparently loved flowers; this proved that, as
his senses could be appealed to, why not his heart?
“If _you_ had a child of your own, you’d understand my feelings,” I
said.
Kerensky surveyed me with that now familiar appraising scrutiny. “I
don’t think much of you as a mother,” he replied, smiling coldly,
“but--how old is your child?”
“He is seven.”
“Well, Madame, it so happens that I _have_ a child, and he, too, is
seven. I can decide nothing, but I am now going to a Council at which
Prince Lvoff will be present. _He_ must decide.”
I looked him straight in the eyes. This time he met my gaze fully and
squarely.
“I’m perfectly certain that you can do anything you like, without
consulting anyone,” I said. This tribute to his vanity appealed at once
to Kerensky. With most men vanity is the most powerful factor. Wound a
man’s vanity and he will never forgive you; pander to it, and he is your
friend for life. Kerensky was no exception: I had discovered the heel of
this Russian Achilles.
“You are quite right. Of course I can do what I like. Go back to your
room--I’ll send you my answer later in the evening.” He pressed an
electric bell on his table. The A.D.C. entered.
“Has Madame Dehn a bed in her room?” asked Kerensky. “If not, see that
one is placed there.”
“Oh, I don’t want a bed,” I interrupted. “Please let me go to my child.”
“I’ve already told you,” said Kerensky, “that I’ll let you know later.
But ... if I allow you to go home, you must give me your written promise
not to act in any way against us.”
The A.D.C. made a sign to the soldiers, Kerensky took no further notice
of me, and I was hurried out of the warm flower-scented apartment into
the icy corridor.
Black despair overcame me when I regained my room. Kerensky had been
non-committal; but I had hopes that my allusion to him as omnipotent
might have some favourable effect; so I sat in the corner nearest the
door, straining my ears to catch the sound of approaching footsteps.
Shortly after midnight my friend the A.D.C. made his appearance, and,
with a theatrical gesture, indicative of boundless space, he advanced,
saying:
“The Minister grants you permission to go home.”
My feelings are better imagined than described. I sprang up, and made
the Sign of the Cross, and my hand sought the beloved medal hidden in my
dress. So I was really free! I could hardly believe it, surely I could
not have heard aright!
The A.D.C. told me to put on my hat and cloak and follow him.... Before
I did so he asked me to sign a paper agreeing not to leave Petrograd,
and to hold myself in readiness to be interrogated. I did so; then,
picking up my suit-case, I went downstairs.
He left me in the hall. I had now apparently lost all interest for him,
as he did not trouble to bid me farewell.... He merely pointed out the
door, and disappeared. I looked round, hardly daring to move. I was not
able to realize that I was free to go when, and where, I chose. I pushed
open the heavy door, and found myself in the cold and darkness outside.
Not a single fiacre was in sight; I felt too exhausted to move, but I
made a supreme effort to walk.... Impossible! My feet slipped in all
directions in the melted snow and slush of the road. Suddenly I noticed
a man who was regarding me with evident curiosity.... My heart sank.
What if this scrutiny meant that I was about to be rearrested?
The man made his way to where I was standing. “Are you Madame Dehn?” he
enquired civilly.
“I am.”
“I thought I recognised you, Madame. I’ve been at your house several
times. I was formerly Madame Kazarinoff’s footman. Poor, poor Madame,
who would have believed this could happen to you. Let me help you. I
know where I can find a fiacre.”
He presently returned with a fiacre, and assisted me to get in with all
the courtesy and deference of a well-trained servant. I thanked him many
times.... He gave the direction to the driver, and we drove away.
It was one in the morning before I arrived home. I rang the bell, and
after some delay the door was opened by my maid ... who nearly fainted
when she saw me.... I couldn’t speak. My thoughts were concentrated on
Titi.... I ran past her upstairs to his room.... It was empty! What had
happened--could he be dead? I hurried across the landing to my
bedroom.... A light was burning.... Someone was in bed.... Thank God, I
recognised the beloved dark head of my boy--he was safe. I fell on my
knees beside him. With a little start, and a smile, which was like balm
to my yearning heart, Titi awoke....
“Mother, mother....” He flung his arms round me. I covered his face with
kisses. “Where have you come from?” he enquired.
“From prison.”
The child began to cry. I realized the tactlessness of my reply. “If
they ever take you away again I’ll go too,” he sobbed. “But where’s
‘Aunt Baby’? What has happened to her? And where is Papa? They say he’s
been killed.”[16]
“Darling, darling, I can tell you nothing about Papa.”
Hearing the sound of voices, my father now came into the room. He was
greatly relieved to know that I was safe, as all sorts of stories were
current respecting my fate and that of Anna Virouboff. But my one
thought was for my child: he was much better, but the room struck cold,
and I asked my father how it was that there was no fire. He shrugged his
shoulders. “_Ma chère_,” he replied, “the answer is quite simple--we
have no wood! The servants manage to steal a little to burn during the
day, but at night _c’est bien autre chose_.”
I undressed as quickly as possible, and got into bed. I held Titi close.
I kissed him passionately. I trembled with mingled joy and fear!.... No
one should separate us. I knew nothing as to our ultimate fate, but I
had made up my mind, during these first hours of freedom, to escape as
soon as possible to my estates in South Russia, and, if the Imperial
Family were removed from Tsarkoe, to join them.
It was a strange home-coming. The whole house was disorganised. The
servants were still devoted to my interests, but food and fuel were
difficult to obtain. I spent the morning of the next day lying on a
couch in my dressing-room. I was really ill; the long strain had told,
and Nature was now exacting her toll in the shape of occasional heart
attacks. The hours passed peacefully and slowly, but at ten o’clock in
the evening the telephone rang, and my maid told me that the Commandant
of the Equipage de la Garde wanted to speak to me.
I was surprised and vexed. After the way in which certain officers had
treated the Imperial Family, it was not agreeable for me to continue
their acquaintance. However, I went to the ’phone.
“Madame Dehn,” said a well-known voice, “have you actually come back
from the Palace?”
“Yes, I returned to Petrograd a few days ago.”
“I heard that you had been placed under arrest. How is it then that you
are at home?”
“Kerensky has given me permission to be with Titi. Cannot you, for my
husband’s sake, and as one of his brother-officers, come over and see
me?”
“Impossible,” answered the voice. “Look here, you can’t stay where you
are.”
“Very well, since you order, I suppose I must obey. I’ll try and find
somewhere else, as soon as I am rested.”
“You must go NOW.”
“I haven’t anywhere to go, and the child is ill.”
“Take him to an hotel. I won’t be responsible for your safety. Lots of
things may happen during the night.... The sailors may come and murder
you.” The Commandant then rang off, and left me to face this new terror.
But my mind was made up. I would not leave home at a moment’s notice. If
we had to die, we would die together. I was too exhausted, and the child
was too ill, to contemplate a midnight flight.
I rang up my husband’s nephew, who was in barracks, and he promised to
keep me well advised; but fortunately the night passed peacefully.
Nobody came near the house.
Weeks elapsed, and Kerensky seemed to have completely forgotten my
existence. I led a quiet life, but my heart was torn with anxiety
concerning my beloved friends. I received some letters from the Empress,
and I wrote constantly to her, and to the Grand Duchesses. It was in
connection with this correspondence that I was summoned to Tsarkoe Selo,
by order of Commandant Kobilinsky.
I was instructed to leave Petrograd secretly, and to wear my Red Cross
uniform. It was early in July, and the trees were bravely apparelled in
their young verdure. It was very different to that bleak March afternoon
when the snow lay thickly on the ground, and the wind had stung my face
with its icy breath. Outwardly, at all events, everything was peaceful,
but tears filled my eyes at the recollection of past Julys.... Surely
God would not permit the innocent to suffer; surely Justice would awaken
in the soul of misguided Russia, and all might yet be well.
As I approached the Palace I became sensible of an eerie change, both in
it and in its immediate surroundings. I stopped to consider in what the
change consisted. Then knowledge dawned upon me. Tsarkoe was a _dead_
place. Its windows were almost hidden by the straggling branches of the
unclipped trees, grass grew between the stones of its silent courtyard,
and I instantly likened it to a famous Russian picture, “Le Chateau
Oublié.” ... It was indeed a forgotten castle! I walked to and fro
gazing up at the windows, but those within the Palace gave no sign of
life. I wanted to call aloud that I was there, but I dared not imperil
their safety or my own. I considered even now that I held my life in
trust for the service of the Empress.... Who knew when she might require
me?
Kobilinsky had taken up his quarters in the large building opposite the
Palace, so I repaired thither. There were hardly any people visible, and
I was directed to Kobilinsky’s private room. He was a dark, shortish,
nervous man, wearing military uniform, and, as the Empress had written
that he was kind to them, I was naturally anxious to make a good
impression. This interview is of some importance as I am enabled to
contradict a part of Kobilinsky’s deposition which appeared in a recent
publication. In this deposition he queries the name of the writer of
certain letters
[Illustration: PART OF LETTER FROM HER IMPERIAL MAJESTY WRITTEN ON THE
DAY OF DEPARTURE FOR SIBERIA.
(_The note in centre is in the handwriting of the Tsarevitch._)]
[Illustration: LETTER RECEIVED AT VLADIVOSTOK, IN 1916, WHEN I WAS ON MY
WAY TO JAPAN WITH MY HUSBAND. HER IMPERIAL MAJESTY HERE GIVES ME A
REPORT OF THE DOINGS OF MY LITTLE SON WHOM I HAD LEFT IN HER CHARGE.]
which came to Tsarkoe Selo, and attributes them to quite another person.
The actual writer was myself, and the confusion respecting the signature
arose from the fact that I had used a fanciful name composed of that of
Titi and myself. There was not, and never has been, any “Mysterious
Personage” as Kobilinsky’s deposition leads one to suppose.
“Are you Madame Dehn?” asked Kobilinsky, eyeing me with some degree of
curiosity.
“Yes, Commandant!”
“Are these from you?...” he continued, handing me a packet of letters.
“Most certainly. They are all in my handwriting,” I said.
“Then why on earth don’t you sign your full name when you write?” he
queried testily.
“Because I’ve never been in the habit of doing so. ‘Tili’ is a fanciful
name, a combination of ‘Lili’ and ‘Titi.’”
“I don’t believe you,” he said bluntly. “It is the name of another
lady.”
“Why don’t you make enquiries if you doubt my word?” I returned. “You’ll
easily find out that I’m telling the truth.”
“Well, well,” he grumbled. “I suppose I must believe you. But, see here,
Madame, you’ve got to promise me something. You _must_ agree to destroy
all the letters which the Empress has sent you. If you don’t, I won’t
allow you to write or to receive any more letters. I suppose,” he added,
“that such a devoted friend as yourself has not come to-day without
bringing some letters for the Family?”
I acknowledged that such was the case. Kobilinsky smiled, and took the
letters. He then signified that the interview was over.
Kobilinsky “passed” many letters to and from the Empress after this, but
I was always haunted by the fear lest my precious correspondence might
be stolen, or else forcibly destroyed. Fortune favoured me, and an
opportunity occurred to send my letters and certain private papers to
England under the safe conduct of General Poole. These papers were
ultimately deposited in a safe in London belonging to Prince George
Shrinsky-Shihmatoff.
The Empress and the Grand Duchesses corresponded with me regularly after
they left Tsarkoe, in fact up to a few weeks of their departure for
Ekaterinburg. These letters were entrusted to confidential persons and
smuggled by them out of the prison. Those who expect startling
revelations of political importance will be sadly disappointed in these
pathetic little leaves which have drifted from Friendship’s tree across
a passion-racked country, and, like the song, “have found their home” in
the heart of a friend. But, for the student of psychology, the just man
or woman, the curious seeker “behind the scenes” of Royalty, they will,
I think, possess some interest. They will plead for a hearing far more
effectively than any poor words of mine. Not one of them contains a sigh
for the splendours of a throne. The woman who longed to be in the Crimea
at a time of year when the acacias were like “perfumed clouds” made no
allusion to the past glories of the Winter Palace, or the comfortable
“English” life at Tsarkoe Selo. Perhaps the words of the writer who
“being dead yet speaketh” may serve to efface some of the lies and
scandals which have bespattered the name of an Empress who has been
condemned so unmercifully.
The Empress and I have never met since that March afternoon when she
bade me farewell. I cannot accept the almost overwhelming proofs of the
tragedy of Ekaterinburg. From time to time reports of the safety of the
Imperial Family have reached us, but the next moment we are faced with
evidence that the whole of them have perished. God alone knows the
truth, but I still permit myself to hope.
After my interview with Kobilinsky I returned to Petrograd, where I
spent some uneventful weeks. Poor Anna was right when she said that
things were no better after the Revolution than they were before!
Existence was a difficult problem: a period of starvation set in, and
we, like others, became familiar with the pangs of hunger. It was
impossible to procure nourishing food for Titi; so, almost at my wits’
end, I applied for permission to remove him to South Russia.
This permission was most unexpectedly granted. Two weeks later
Kerensky’s Government fell, and for the moment I was forgotten!
We lived very quietly at Beletskovka, and I was always planning the best
way of escape to rejoin my beloved friends. “_L’homme propose, et Dieu
dispose._” A wave of Bolshevism swept over South Russia, and our safety
was menaced to such an extent that I was forced to escape with Titi to
Odessa, and, as our adventures in no way touch on the subject of this
book, I shall refrain from relating them. Suffice it to say that we
managed to reach Odessa, and from thence, under the protection of the
French, we went to Constantinople.
From Constantinople we made our way to Gibraltar, and from Gibraltar to
England, where my husband was awaiting me after a three years’
separation.
EXTRACT FROM THE LETTER OF 5 JUNE, 1917.
TSARKOE SELO.
Oh! how pleased I am that they have appointed a new
Commander-in-Chief of the Baltic Fleet (Admiral Raswosoff). I hope
to God it will be better now. He is a real sailor and I hope he
will succeed in restoring order now. The heart of a soldier’s
daughter and wife is suffering terribly, in seeing what is going
on. Cannot get accustomed and do not wish to. They were such hero
soldiers, and how they were spoilt just at a time when it was
necessary to start to get rid of the enemy (Germans). It will take
many years to fight yet. You will understand how he (Tsar) must
suffer. He reads, and tears stand in his eyes (newspapers), but I
believe they will yet win (the War). We have so many friends in the
fighting line. I can imagine how terribly they must suffer. Of
course nobody can write. Yesterday we saw quite new people (new
guard)--such a difference. It was at last quite a pleasure to see
them. Am writing again what I ought not to, but this does not go by
post, or you would not have received it. Of course, I have nothing
of interest to write. To-day is a prayer at 12 o’clock. Anastasia
is to-day 16 years old. How the time flies....
I am remembering the past. It is necessary to look more calmly on
everything. What is to be done? Once He sent us such trials,
evidently He thinks we are sufficiently prepared for it. It is a
sort of examination--it is necessary to prove that we did not go
through it in vain. One can find in everything something good and
useful--whatever sufferings we go through--let it be, He will give
us force and patience and will not leave us. He is merciful. It is
only necessary to bow to His wish without murmur and await--there
on the other side He is preparing to all who love Him undescribable
joy. You are young and so are our children--how many I have besides
my own--you will see better times yet here. I believe strongly the
bad will pass and there will be clear and cloudless sky. But the
thunder-storm has not passed yet and therefore it is stifling--but
I know it will be better afterwards. One must have only a little
patience--and is it really so difficult? For every day that passes
quietly I thank God....
Three months have passed now (since Revolution)!! The people were
promised that they would have more food and fuel, but all has
become worse and more expensive. They have deceived everybody--I am
so sorry for them. How many we have helped, but now it is all
finished....
It is terrible to think about it! How many people depended on us.
But now? But one does not speak about such things, but I am writing
about it because I feel so sadly about those who will have it more
difficult now to live. But it is God’s will! My dear own, I must
finish now. Am kissing you and Titi most tenderly. Christ be with
you.
“Most hearty greetings”--(from the Czar).
Yours loving,
AUNT BABY.
_30th July, 1917._
TSARKOE SELO.
MY DEAREST,
Heartiest thanks for letter of the 21st. Cannot write--he has no
time to read (“he”--Colonel Kobilinsky, Revolutionary Commandant of
the Palace), the poor man is so busy all the time that he is often
without lunch and dinner. Am pleased have made his acquaintance. E.
S. has seen you (“E. S.”--Doctor Botkin). I am so pleased that you
know all about us.
Will remember your last year’s trip. Do you remember? Have not been
quite well lately--often had head and heartache. My heart was
enlarged. Am sleeping very badly. But never mind--God gives me His
strength. Have brought the ikon of Snameni (of God Mother). How
thankful I am that this was possible, at this day dear to me
(birthday of Tsarevitch). I prayed hard for you and remembered how
we used to pray together before it. How Tina (Anna Virouboff) will
now suffer--without anybody in the town and her sister in Finland
and her friends going so far away (meaning herself)--how much
people have to suffer--the path of life is so hard. Please write to
A. W. (Colonel Siroboyarski--one of the wounded officers) and send
him heartfelt greetings and
[Illustration: I.--PART OF THE LETTER DATED JUNE 5/18, 1917
(Time of Kerensky’s first unsuccessful offensive)]
[Illustration: II.--PART OF THE LETTER DATED JUNE 5/18, 1917]
blessings ✠--kiss you most tenderly and the darling Titi (my son).
God preserve you and the Holy Mother.
Always yours,
AUNT BABY.
Kindest regards (meaning the Czar).
I remember--Faith, Hope, Love--that is all, all in life. You
understand my feelings. Be brave. Thank you most heartily. All
touched by your little ikons--will just put it on. Ask Rita (Miss
Hitrovo) to write to the mother of your countryman (Colonel
Siroboyarski).
[Illustration: PART OF LETTER OF 30TH JULY, 1917.
(_Day of removal from Tsarkoe Selo to Tobolsk. The upper portion is
written by the Grand Duchess Olga, the postscript is in the
handwriting of Her Imperial Majesty._)]
Added by Tsarevitch:
Kiss you most tenderly. Thanks for congratulations.
ALEXEI.
Added by Grand Duchess Olga:
I also kiss you most tenderly and thank you Lili my heart, for post
card, and little ikon. God preserve you.
OLGA.
Added by the Empress:
Thank you for your dear letters--we understand each other. It is
hard to be separated. Greetings to R. Gor. ✠ I have learnt only now
how you spent the first days (in prison). It is terrible, but God
will reward. Am pleased that your husband has written.
_29th November, 1917._
TOBOLSK.
MY DEAREST,
I am for such a very, very long time without news of you, and I
feel sad. Have you received my post card of the 28th October?
[Illustration: CHRISTMAS CARD DRAWN SPECIALLY FOR ME BY HER IMPERIAL
MAJESTY WHILE AT TOBOLSK.]
Everybody is well--my heart is not up to much, fit at times, but on
the whole it is better.
I live very quietly and seldom go out as it is too difficult to
breathe in frozen air.
Lessons as usual. (News from Petrograd) “T” is as always. Zina has
been to see her and O. V., who is very sad, she is always praying.
Father Makari passed on on the 19th July.
Rumours have it that Gariainoff has married, but we do not know
whether it is true. (Speaking of herself the Empress writes) Aunt
Baby drew this herself. How is Titi?--Granny--I want to know such,
such a lot. How is Count Keller? Have you seen him in Kharkoff? The
present events are so awful for words, shameful and almost funny,
but God is merciful, darling. Soon we shall be thinking of those
days you passed with us. My God, what remembrances!
Matresha has married, they are now all in P., but the brother is at
the front.
I read a lot, embroider and draw (I have to do it all with my
spectacles, am so old). I think of you often and always pray
fervently for you and love you tenderly.
I kiss you very, very much.
May Christ protect you.
Your countryman is at Vladivostok and Nicholas Jakovlevitch (one of
the wounded) is, I think, also in Siberia. I am so lonely without
you all. Where is your husband and his friends? We are still
expecting Ysa and the others.
I kiss Titi tenderly. Write, I am waiting so. Verveine (toilet
water) always reminds me of you.
_2/15 March, 1918._
TOBOLSK.
MY OWN DEAR DARLING,
Best and tender thanks for your dear letter. At last we have
received good news from you; it was an anxious time not to hear for
so long, knowing that things are bad where you are living. I can
imagine though what terrible mental agony you must be going
through, and you are alone. My little godchild (Titi) is with you
always--what he must see and hear! It is a hard school. My God, how
sorry I am for you my little giant one; you have always been so
brave. I think of those days of a year ago. I shall never forget
that you were everything to me and believe that God will not leave
you or forsake you. You left your son for “Mother” (meaning
herself) and her family, and great will your reward be for this.
Thank God that your husband is not with you, for it would have been
terrible, but not to know anything about him is more than awful.
When I did not know for four days where mine was “then” (during the
days of the Revolution), but what was that in comparison with you.
But for us, in general, it is better and easier than for others--it
hurts not to be with all our dear ones and not to be able to share
their troubles. Yes, separation is a dreadful thing, but God gives
strength to bear even this, and I feel the Father’s presence near
me and a wonderful sense of peaceful joy thrills and fills my soul
(Tina feels the same), and one cannot understand the reason for it,
as everything is so unutterably sad, but this comes from Above and
is beside ourselves, and one knows that He will not forsake His
own, will strengthen and protect.
Have news at last, two received new from K.; poor thing, she has a
new sorrow, has buried her beloved father--her mother is with her.
It is not easy for her to stay in town, though she has good friends
and is not so cut off as you are, dearest. Be careful of certain of
your friends--they are dangerous.
If you see dear Count Keller again, tell him that his ex-Chief
(meaning herself) sends him her heartiest greeting (to her as
well), and tell him that she prays constantly for him. I am anxious
to know whether he has any news of his eldest son. Radionoff and
his brother are in Kieff I hear that Gariainoff and his wife have
been in Gagra and are now--so they say--at Rostoff. Am anxious
about them, all last week have been _worrying_ over it, and do not
know why.
To-day we have 20 degrees of frost, but the sun is warm and we have
already had real spring days. Godmother (meaning herself) does all
the housekeeping now, looks through books and accounts--a lot to
do, quite a real housewife. Everybody is well--only a few colds,
and feet ached, not very badly, but enough to keep from walking.
They have all grown, Marie is now much thinner, the fourth is stout
and small. Tatiana helps everyone and everywhere, as usual; Olga is
lazy, but they are all one in spirit. They kiss you
tenderly--(stands for the Emperor) sends his hearty greetings. They
are already sunburnt, they work hard, sew and cut wood, or we
should have none. The court is full of timber, so we shall have
enough to last.
[Illustration: PART OF LETTER DATED MARCH 2/15, 1918, WHICH REACHED ME
THREE YEARS LATER IN ENGLAND]
We still are not allowed to go to church. A. V.’s mother (one of
the Empress’s wounded) is very sorry that you have not been to see
her. She is living with some relatives of your mother’s. Their
estate has been taken away from them. The son has returned, he now
looks, as they all do, pale and miserable.
They, poor things, can no longer keep M. S., and will probably be
obliged soon to leave the house. She hardly ever gets a letter from
her son; he too is complaining, so I copy what they write to me and
send it on to them.
He is very upset not to hear from you, though he himself has
written to you. He is going to Japan to learn English, he learnt
more than 900 words in ten days and of course overtired himself and
has been feeling ill. He was operated upon in December, in
Vladivostok. Rita writes that Nicholas Jakovlevitch (one of the
wounded) is at Simferopol with his friend, the brother of little M.
Their splendid (good) friend (Alexandre Dumbadze) has been killed
there, we loved him very much, he was one of our wounded.
I only write what I dare, for in the present days one never knows
in whose hands the letter might fall. We hope to do our devotions
next week if we are allowed to do so. I am already looking forward
to those beautiful services--such a longing to pray in church. I
dream of our church (at Tsarkoe Selo) and of my little cell-like
corner near the altar. Nature is beautiful, everything is shining
and brilliantly lighted up. The children are singing next door.
There are no lessons to-day as it is Friday of Carnival week.
I relive in mind, day by day, through the year that has passed and
think of those I saw for the last time. Have been well all along,
but for the past week my heart has been bad and I do not feel well,
but this is nothing. We cannot complain, we have got everything, we
live well, thanks to the touching kindness of the people, who in
secret send us bread, fish, pies, etc.
Do not worry about us, darling, dearly beloved one. For you all it
is hard and especially for our Country!!! This hurts more than
anything else--and the heart is racked with pain--what has been
done in one year! God has allowed it to happen--therefore it must
be necessary so that they might understand, that eyes might be
opened to lies and deceits.
I cannot read the newspapers quietly, those senseless
telegrams--and with the German at the door!!!
K. and everyone else looks at “brother” as a saviour--Great God, to
what have they come to, to wait for the enemy to come and rid them
from the infernal foe. And who is sent as the leader? Aunt Baby’s
brother (meaning herself). Do you understand. They wished to act
nicely, probably thinking that it would be less painful and
humiliating to her--but for her (meaning herself) it is far
worse--such an unbearable pain--but everything generally hurts
now--all one’s feelings have been trampled underfoot--but so it has
to be, the soul must grow and rise above all else; that which is
most dear and tender in us has been wounded--is it not true? So we
too have to understand through it all that God is greater than
everything and that He wants to draw us, through our sufferings,
closer to Him. Love Him more and better than one and all. But my
country--my God--how I love it, with all the power of my being, and
her sufferings give me actual physical pain.
And who makes her (Russia) suffer, who causes blood to flow?... her
own sons. My God, what a ghastly horror it all is. And who is the
enemy? This cruel German, and the worst thing for Aunt Baby is that
he (the enemy) is taking away everything as in the time of Tsar
Alexsei Michailovich (meaning that frontiers of Russia would become
again as during the reign of A. M.). But I am convinced that it
will not remain so, help will come from Above, people can no longer
do anything, but with God all things are possible, and He will show
His strength, wisdom and all forgiveness and love--only believe,
wait and pray.
This letter will, in all probability, reach you on the day of our
parting (one year ago), it seems so near and yet again as if
centuries had passed since then.
It is seven months that we have been here. We see Ysa[17] only
through the windows, and Madeleine (the Empress’s lady’s-maid,
Madeleine Zanotti) too. They have been here for three or four
months to-day, I am told. I must give that letter at once.
I kiss you and Titi tenderly, Christ be with you, my dearest ones.
Greeting to Mother and Grandmother. The children kiss and love you,
and he (the Emperor) sends his very best wishes.
YOUR OLD GODMOTHER.
* * * * *
L’ENVOI
The first idea of writing this book occurred to me some time after my
arrival in England. I had always known that the Empress had been grossly
misrepresented in Russia, but I had not attached much importance to the
fact, as I had seen the Revolutionary propaganda, and I fully realized
the methods of the Revolutionaries in relation to the Imperial Family.
I was, however, astonished and horrified to discover that the same ideas
were current in the broad-minded and enlightened country which has
afforded me and so many other fugitives such kindly sanctuary.
If possible, I think the Empress has been more universally condemned in
England than in Russia. I have scarcely heard her name mentioned without
its being coupled with the degrading attributes of treachery,
sensualism, hysteria, and religious mania. To one who knew her
intimately and who loved her devotedly, such a state of things is
unspeakably painful. I accidentally saw a film which was the grossest
libel on her character and her personality, the mind of the producer
having been apparently bent upon presenting the Empress as a combination
of the chief forms of lurid wickedness which appeal to patrons of the
cinema. I have also read novels about her which, whilst enraging me as
mendacious chronicles, have considerably enlightened me as to the
capacity for invention of which the human imagination is capable. More
serious works have condemned the Empress in a courteous manner, but they
have been none the less scathing in their judgment. Some writers, after
the story of Ekaterinburg was authentically given to the world, have
been more tolerant and more pitying in their censure, but it has been
always censure.
Therefore, in the face of such hatred and contempt for one at whose
hands I have received nothing but kindness and love, I determined to
write my impressions of the Empress as I knew her, both in the happy
days and afterwards in those of war and unrest during the first dark
weeks of the Revolution.
I reasoned, I trust with justice, that although the majority of people
are always ready to believe the worst of anyone, there must be others
who, in the spirit of fair play, would be willing to look on the reverse
side of the picture. There must surely be friends and relations in
England who would welcome facts which proved that the Empress had been
true to her English upbringing and to the traditional right living of
the descendants of Queen Victoria. English people seem to have
forgotten, when the Empress was vilified on the screen and in cold type,
that she was the daughter of Princess Alice, a name which is associated
with all that is noblest and best in woman, a name which alone, one
might have thought, would have pleaded for that of her daughter. But
nothing protected her, not even the facts that her first cousin was King
of England and that one of her sisters was married and living in this
country.
I knew the almost impossible task of rehabilitation which lay before me,
but, as the task daily assumed greater proportions, love and pity for my
beloved friend urged me to attempt it.
I knew that I might be accused of being a Rasputinière, since my
photograph taken with him had appeared in one of the English illustrated
papers; but my best reply to such a possible charge is that I am living
in England with my husband and child, and that my husband has sanctioned
my description of Rasputin as I and others knew him. If the Empress’s
association with Rasputin had been a guilty one, or if I had not been in
a position to describe events exactly as they happened, this book would
never have been written.
It is both unjust and untrue to ascribe the Revolution as directly
consequent upon the Emperor’s weakness, or the pro-Germanism and
hysteric sensuality of the Empress. I have endeavoured to show that
Rasputin was probably one of the unconscious tools of the Revolution
against Imperialism: there is no doubt that German intrigues brought
Lenin back from Switzerland to overthrow the milder rule of Kerensky,
who was not ready to offer the country an efficient substitute for
Tsardom, but the Empress was entirely innocent of pro-Germanism. Russia
was ripe for Revolution; she had essayed Revolution years before the
Empress or Rasputin saw the light. Her political history alone proves my
statement, but War hurried the feet of Revolution toward her
bloodstained goal. Other European kingdoms have tottered or fallen, but
Russia is a land of extremes: hence the extreme methods of her ideas of
equality, which are, in many respects, similar to those of the French
Revolution.
I am well aware that certain “official” documents relative to the
Empress were sent to England, and I know the shameful assertions which
they contained. These documents emanated from the Duma, and were
“arranged” by the Duma, in order to justify many things which would
otherwise have been unjustifiable.
I have not attempted to give to the world any elaborate descriptions of
Court festivities, and those happenings which are the common property of
all European journalists. Mine is a very simple résumé of the daily life
and personality of the Empress as I knew her. I have endeavoured to
avoid anything in the nature of exaggeration, in the hope that the
public, who have innocently lent a ready ear to those things which are
untrue, and which have been exploited by people who never saw or spoke
to the Empress, will give equal consideration to the testimony of one
who both knew and loved The Real Tsaritsa.
INDEX
PAGE
Alexander II, 21
Alexandra, Queen, 199
Alexandra, Tsaritsa, _passim_
Anastasie, Grand Duchess, 78, 159, _passim_
Appraxin, Count, 161
Bariatinsky, Princess, 61
Beletsky, General, 106-7
Benckendorff, Count, 152-3, 157, 167, 181, 201, 212
Botkin, Dr., 72, 159, 240
Büxhoevgen, Baroness, 154
Clementine of Coburg, 129
Cyril, Grand Duke, 162
Dehn, Charles, 37, 41, 53, 138
Dehn, Madame, _passim_
Direvenko, Dr., 159
Dolgorouky, Princess, 21
Dolgouroki, Prince, 137
Duma, 36, 250
Elidor, 95
Fedoroff, Dr., 195
Ferdinand of Bulgaria, 129
French Revolution, 249
Gendrinkoff, Countess, 168
George V, 199
Germogen, 95
Gibbs, Mr., 83, 175
Gilliard, M., 83, 175
Golitzin, Princess, 38-9
Golovina, Mary, 117
Gourko, General, 139
Goutchkoff, M., 178-80, 194-5
Grand Duchesses, 75-84, 134, _et passim_
Greek Church, 128
Grotten, Colonel, 137, 140, 149, 153
“Hampshire”, 57, 143
Hitrowo, Rita, 163
Horvat, 15, 32
Hvostchinsky, Captain, 148
Kapnist, Count, 136
Keller, Count, 194
Kerensky, 51, 208-13, 216-9, 224-9, 249
Kitchener, Lord, 57
Kobilinsky, Commandant, 233-8, 240
Korniloff, General, 181-2
Korovichenko, Colonel, 211
Kotzebue, Colonel, 191, 201-2, 205
Kotzebue-Pilar, Countess, 139
Koutousoff, Prince, 16
Kouzmine, Lieutenant, 162
Labour Party, 198
Laptinsky, Akilina, 113-6, 121-2
Lenin, 18, 249
Linavitch, 136, 151
Litovsky Regiment, 149
Lvoff, Prince, 227
Marie, Grand Duchess, 77, 166, _passim_
Markoff, Lieutenant, 169-70
Mary, Queen, 68
Miasocdoff-Ivanof, 162
Nicholas, Grand Duke, 22, 132-3
Nicholas, Tsar, 51, 85-91, 188-91, _passim_;
abdication, 165, 194
Olga, Grand Duchess, 75, _passim_
Orbelliany, Princess, 173-4
Orchard, Miss, 212
Orianda, 34-5
Orloff, General, 47-8
Orloff, Prince and Princess, 107
Paul, Grand Duke, 151, 154, 157, 164, 179
Pistolkors, Allie, 149-50
Poole, General, 237
Protopopoff, 116, 120-1, 135, 140-2
Rabindar, 136
Rasputin, 77, 93-143
Raswosoff, Admiral, 239
Ratief, Prince, 171
Resin, General, 149, 163, 164
Retief, Prince, 178
Revolutionary Agents, 34
Ripe, Miss, 32
Rodziansko, 168-9, 195-6
Rousky, General, 194-6
Russian peasant, 23-31
Russian Revolution, 147-250
Sablin, M., 147, 155
Shoulgine, 194-5
Shrinsky-Shihmatoff, Prince, 237
Soukhomlinoff, General, 132-3
Stackelberg, Baron, 195-6
Stopford, A., 197
Swastika, 63
Tanieff, Madame, 148-9
Tatiana, Grand Duchess, 76, _passim_
Tsarevitch, 81-4, 99, 183, _passim_
Tutcheff, Mlle, 77
Varnava, 110
Vasiltchikoff, Princess, 135-6
Victoria, Queen, 59-60
Virouboff, Anna, 38, 47, 97-8, 112, 114-21, 126, 129,
137, 149, 172-3, 209-19, 221-2
Volinsky Regiment, 149
Volkoff, 166, 174, 178-9, 188
William, Kaiser, 90
Yousopoff, Prince, 117, 125
PRINTED BY BURLEIGH LTD., AT THE BURLEIGH PRESS BRISTOL ENGLAND
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The apartments at Tsarkoe Selo reserved for guests and the suite
were situated over the third and fourth entrances to the Palace. The
red drawing-room was in the private apartments.--L. D.
[2] M. Rodziansko, the President of the Duma, was an aristocrat who had
turned Revolutionary: he was always antagonistic to the Imperial Family.
[3] Znaminie is a little church adjacent to the Palace.
[4] During this time the Empress and I wore nurses’ uniforms. It has
been erroneously stated that the Empress wore ordinary dress. This is
not the case.
[5] From the time that the Emperor left for the Front, one of the Grand
Duchesses always slept with the Empress.
[6] The remaining members of the suite occupied apartments in the
fourth wing of the Palace. The Empress, who was afraid of infection for
others, only saw them occasionally. I was quite alone with her and the
children.
[7] In all my descriptions of the conversations between the Emperor,
the Empress and myself, I have endeavoured to describe what took place,
almost word for word. I have not attempted to elaborate any of the
statements, and my record may therefore be considered accurate.--L. D.
[8] The sleeping apartments of the Emperor and the Empress were
situated on the ground floor of the Palace.--L. D.
[9] These faithful adherents were arrested at the next station and sent
to Petrograd, where they were incarcerated in the Fortress of Peter and
Paul.--L. D.
[10] Count Keller was killed at Kieff later.
[11] If Mr. A. Stopford (1a St. James’s Square) ever reads these
lines, he may be glad to know that the Empress greatly appreciated his
kindness.--L. D.
[12] The _skorohod_ were the confidential messengers of the Imperial
Family. They wore a distinctive livery, and wonderful hats adorned with
black and yellow ostrich feathers.
[13] The actual note to reproduced in these pages. Translation:
“Kerensky is passing through all our rooms--Do not be afraid--God is
present. I kiss you both.”
[14] Orchie was a pet name for Miss Orchard, the Empress’s old
governess, who had died at the Palace. Her room had been left
undisturbed since her death.
[15] General Knox was discussing certain matters with Kerensky at the
moment when this shooting occurred, and he asked Kerensky what the
shots signified. “Oh, it’s only two friends of the Imperial Family who
have just been brought here,” answered Kerensky. I met General Knox
after my escape to England, and when he related the incident I informed
him that I was one of the “two friends.”--L. D.
[16] I heard later that it was reported that my husband had been killed
and his body thrown overboard.
[17] Baroness Büxhoevgen Lady-in-waiting to the Empress.