DISASTERS AND THE SECOND REVOLUTION
The last days of the year 1916 were sad ones for my poor Empress. First
came the assassination of Rasputin, which was a terrible source of
grief for her, because she firmly believed that so long as he was at
her side no harm could befall her, and certainly as events turned out
she had not been so far wrong in her superstitious fears. During the
first days which followed upon the murder of her favourite she would
sit motionless for hours in her boudoir, doing nothing, absorbed in
thoughts which must have been most painful. Christmas—the last to be
passed by the Imperial family in their beloved Czarskoi Selo—was a sad
one, and the Czarina did not even attempt to shake off the melancholy
forebodings with which she was troubled. She was preoccupied with the
idea of avenging the destruction of the man whose existence she had
considered in the light of a fetich. It is a well-known fact that
she caused the young Grand Duke Dmitry to be exiled in Persia, as a
punishment for his share in the conspiracy that had deprived her of her
favourite. She who had always been so kind turned cruel and merciless,
and I once heard her exclaim that henceforward she would no longer
listen to her heart, but follow only the dictates of her reason.
There was one man who had obtained her favour on account of the ardour
with which he had espoused all her views; this was the Minister of
the Interior, Mr. Protopopoff. He had been one of the most intimate
friends of Rasputin, and he was continually urging upon the Czarina the
necessity of being firm, and of refusing mercy to those who had shown
themselves so entirely merciless in regard to a man who had been a holy
creature. Alexandra Feodorovna found some consolation in her grief by
talking it over with Protopopoff, who finally won her adhesion to the
plans which he had formed to establish once more in Russia an absolute
government.
Christmas had come and gone and a New Year had begun. The difficulties
of the military and economical condition of the country had increased
to an alarming degree. We did not perceive it at Czarskoi Selo, but in
Petrograd, as St. Petersburg now was called, everybody was complaining
of the high cost of living and the impossibility of procuring for
oneself the indispensable necessities of existence. The population was
getting impatient, and dissatisfaction was spreading. Those who could
see the signs of the approaching storm tried to persuade the Czar that
he had better remain in the vicinity of the capital, and not go to the
Front where, after all, his presence was not absolutely needed. But
Nicholas II. would not listen, perhaps because both his wife and Mr.
Protopopoff persuaded him that there existed no reason for alarm. The
Empress had implicit confidence in the Minister and was convinced that
a small display of energy on the part of the government would very
quickly do away with the impatience of the population. She wished to
get her husband out of the way, not at all, as has been said, because
she wanted to make a coup d’état, but because she did not wish the Czar
to be worried by his family, who were making frantic efforts to get
the Grand Duke Dmitry recalled from exile. At first her intention had
been to accompany Nicholas II. to head-quarters, but then her children
had fallen ill with what had been considered at first an attack of
influenza, but subsequently turned out to be measles, and she would not
leave them. The Emperor departed, promising to return immediately if
any serious trouble occurred, and keeping meanwhile in close touch with
his wife and the commander of the garrison of Czarskoi Selo. During his
absence the Revolution took place, brought about by a revolt of the
troops entrusted with the defence of Petrograd. They went over to the
Duma as soon as they heard that it had taken upon itself to institute a
new government.
The Czar had been surrounded by traitors, therefore he had not even
been apprised of all that was taking place in Petrograd. Two urgent
telegrams which were despatched to him by the President of the Duma,
Mr. Rodzianko, never reached him, as we heard later on. Had he received
them it is likely he would have hastened back, and perhaps his presence
in the capital might have averted the catastrophe. But his attendants
were mostly won over to the cause of the Revolution and purposely
left him in ignorance of the gravity of the events which were taking
place, until it was too late. The Empress also was not informed of the
extent of the revolt, and it was through an indiscretion of one of her
servants that she got at last an inkling of the truth. She sent for
Count Benckendorff, the head of the household, and asked him to get her
all the information possible concerning the extent of the rebellion.
The Count, who throughout this sad story behaved with the greatest
loyalty to the cause of the sovereigns whose confidence he had won by
his long and faithful services, tried to go to Petrograd, where he
hoped to learn some details as to what had taken place during the two
preceding days, but found it impossible because the railway line was
already in the hands of the revolutionaries, and no train from Czarskoi
Selo was allowed to proceed. He had perforce to content himself with
the news which he could obtain by telephone, and soon this means of
communicating with the people likely to keep him informed as to what
was going on was stopped.
The Empress, almost mad with anxiety, walked to and fro in her
apartments, wringing her hands, and saying the whole time that she
knew the Czar had been killed and the news was being kept from her.
It was with the greatest difficulty that she could be prevailed upon
to send a telegram to General Roussky, who was then supposed to be
loyal, enquiring after the Emperor. In about two hours she received a
reply saying that Nicholas II. was on his way to Pskoff and expected to
arrive there that same night.
This somewhat allayed the anxieties of the Empress, and just about then
the condition of the Grand Duchess Olga, who had taken the measles
in a more serious form than her sisters, became suddenly worse, and
she was thought to be in danger, as pneumonia had declared itself
and complicated her condition. And then Alexis, who had been removed
to another wing of the palace in the hopes that he might escape the
contagion, sickened in his turn, so that the unfortunate Czarina had
another anxiety to fight, which after all was perhaps the best thing
that could have happened to her, because the necessity of attending to
her children prevented her from brooding on what was happening to her
husband, which otherwise she would have done the whole of the time.
The next thing we heard was that the Duma had sent two delegates to
confer with the Czar; we hoped that from this conference something
good might result, and that Nicholas II. would be induced to call
together a responsible ministry. The Empress herself was persuaded he
would do so, and remarked that if Prince Lvoff accepted the position of
Premier, things would not be so bad, because at heart he was a loyal
monarchist and would not lend himself to any aggression against the
person of his Sovereign. She seemed more cheerful than she had been
for the last two or three days, and showed herself pleased that it
was Mr. Gutchkoff, whom she knew personally and had always liked, who
had been despatched to Pskoff. “Perhaps, after all, we shall weather
this storm,” she remarked, and she further observed that in the grave
circumstances which resulted from the unfavourable course the war had
taken, it was perhaps just as well if the sole responsibility for what
was to follow did not rest upon the Sovereign alone. Neither she nor
any of us had the faintest idea of what was actually taking place at
Pskoff. About midnight I left the Empress. She had been persuaded to
retire to bed, the Princess Dondoukoff having promised to watch by the
children and to call her at once should any change take place in their
condition. She was thoroughly exhausted and we were all glad to see
her at last take some rest, I had lain down also in a room adjoining
the bedchamber of my mistress when at about three o’clock in the
morning I was awakened by a soft knock at my door. Thinking that one of
the children was worse, I got up instantly and went to hear what had
happened before disturbing the Empress. Standing on the threshold I
found the Czarina’s old groom of the chamber with a pale and frightened
countenance. He pulled me aside and in a terrified voice exclaimed:
“Something dreadful has happened: the Emperor has abdicated!”
“What?” I exclaimed, not believing my ears, and inclined to think that
the man had gone mad.
“The Emperor has abdicated,” he repeated, and forthwith began to sob.
I dropped down in a chair, and thought that the end of the world had
come, and so indeed it had—of a certain world at least.
“Who told you?” I enquired. “How did you come to hear it?”
The man replied that the new ministry had advised the commander of
the town of Czarskoi Selo by telephone that the Czar had abdicated in
favour of his brother, and that the troops had to be advised of the
fact immediately.
“How shall we tell the Empress?” was my first thought.
Of course neither my informer nor myself could undertake the painful
task of apprising her of the new misfortune which had overtaken her.
We decided that the only thing to do was to inform Count Benckendorff
and to ask him to perform the sad mission. But as we were proceeding to
his apartments we met him coming to those of the Empress. He had also
been informed of what had taken place at Pskoff a few hours before, and
he was about to communicate them to my unfortunate mistress. I went
back and aroused her. She was not sleeping, and got up immediately.
She had been bracing herself all the time for some new calamity, and
when told that Count Benckendorff wished to speak with her had felt
convinced that he wanted to apprise her that her husband had been
murdered. In comparison with such a catastrophe, the loss of her throne
seemed a small thing, and perhaps her first feeling was one of relief
at finding that her apprehensions had been groundless. But what she
could not bring herself to understand was the fact that it had not
been in favour of his son that the Czar had abdicated. “There must be a
mistake. It is impossible that Niky has sacrificed our boy’s claims!”
she kept repeating. But when at last compelled to believe that such had
been the case, she gave vent to an expression of rage which showed how
thoroughly she despised the weak-minded man to whom she was bound, and
exclaimed: “He might at least in his fright have remembered his son!”
I think that these words are the most cruel condemnation that the
cowardice of Nicholas II. ever obtained, and deserved.
[Illustration: _International Film Service_
GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA]
As may be imagined, there was no sleep for any of us after this. When
dawn appeared at last it found the Empress entirely dressed, already
calm and resigned, kneeling before the sacred icons in her oratory, and
invoking the protection of God for her children. Then she went up to
her daughters’ room and acquainted the two younger ones, who had not
yet been attacked by measles, of the change which had taken place in
their destinies. The girls were stunned, as may easily be imagined, and
Anastasia, the youngest, began to cry. The Empress watched her tears
and then in a hard voice remarked, “It is too early to cry yet; keep
your sorrow for another occasion,” and she went out of the room without
adding another word.
But though she was told that her son’s condition was serious, she did
not approach his sick-bed that whole day. It seemed as if she could not
bring herself to look upon the child whose advent into the world had
been such a source of joy to her, and who had been despoiled of the
great heritage to which he had been born. It was evident to all those
who knew her well that some time would have to elapse before she could
bring herself to forgive her husband for the injury he had done their
only son, and perhaps she would never have forgiven it had it not been
for all the other misfortunes which were to follow upon this hasty
abdication.