HOW THE CZARINA WAS ARRESTED
A few dreadful days followed upon the one which had brought us the
news of the abdication of the Czar. The Empress tried to get into
communication with him, but though she contrived to speak with him over
the wire, it was from the first evident that every word was listened
to, and she gave up any attempt at confidential conversation. What
worried her was that instead of returning to Czarskoi Selo, Nicholas
II. had elected to go to Mohilew. My mistress, who had had absolute
confidence in General Roussky, did not trust General Alexieieff, whom
she considered as quite capable of betraying the Czar out of ambition.
Events proved that she had not been wrong in her appreciation as to the
General, and what she did not know, but was to learn much later, was
that he had practically made it impossible for the Emperor to return
to Czarskoi Selo, and almost compelled him to go to Headquarters,
where he intended to keep him until the Provisional Government at
Petrograd had made up its mind whether it ought or ought not to arrest
the former Sovereign. We all of us remained in utter ignorance of what
was happening at the Front, or in Petrograd itself. The Czarina on
the evening of the day following the abdication, when it had become
already known that the Grand Duke Michael had refused to accept the
throne relinquished to him by his brother, and when no one knew what
was going to happen further, the Czarina called me to her room, and
asked me to try to go to Petrograd and find out what people there were
thinking about the whole situation. She gave orders for a carriage to
be put at my disposal, as the railway trains did not run regularly,
but I declined it, thinking that it would only attract attention and
invite the rebels to stop me if any among them met me. I repaired
alone and on foot to the railway station, where I boarded the first
train that was leaving for the capital. No one noticed me, and I made
my way undisturbed to the house of a friend, who, I knew, was likely
to be well informed as to what was going on. Great was my surprise to
find that she did not care at all to receive me, and almost ordered
me out of her apartment, saying that it was as much as her life was
worth to talk with a personal attendant of the Empress. She absolutely
refused to answer any of my questions, and I had perforce to beat a
hasty retreat. Other people whom I sought did exactly the same thing,
and I found all my acquaintances echoing the general opinion which,
I discovered, was prevalent in the capital, that it was the Czarina
who, by her betrayal of Russia to the Germans, had been the cause of a
Revolution which all the sane and reasonable members of society were
deploring. The one subject of lamentation was the want of character,
as they called it, of the Grand Duke Michael, who, according to the
general opinion, ought not to have played into the hands of the
Revolutionaries and refused his brother’s succession. At that time the
idea of a Republic, which now has become a familiar one, had not yet
taken hold of the public mind, and people were only desirous of seeing
established a constitutional monarchy. What made me quite aghast was
to find that the rumour had been spread that this refusal of the Grand
Duke was due to an intrigue of the Empress, who had, so it was related
to me, caused to be conveyed to him a message to the effect that
should he dare to accept the throne she would put herself at the head
of a movement against him. The very thought that my poor mistress could
have done such a thing was ridiculous, but in times of crisis like the
one we were going through, the wildest tales are believed, and in the
case of Alexandra Feodorovna it was but too easy to make Petrograd
accept the idea that she was planning to bring forward the rights of
her son, even against the desire of her husband. As I proceeded along
the Nevsky Prospect I met sandwich men carrying large placards with
seditious inscriptions concerning the Czarina, and on one of them her
immediate imprisonment, trial for high treason and execution were put
forward and claimed. Cries of “Down with Alexandra Feodorovna!” were
heard everywhere, and my heart sank within me at the thought that
perhaps my beloved mistress would fall a victim to the fury of the mob.
The remembrance of the French Revolution and of Marie Antoinette, to
whom the Empress was so fond of comparing herself, came back to me,
and without waiting for further news (which I did not know where to
obtain, because no one in Petrograd seemed to know anything) I made
my way back to Czarskoi Selo, and before presenting myself to the
Czarina, I sought Count Benckendorff, to whom I related my experiences
in the capital. The Count listened to me, and looked very grave when
I mentioned to him the exasperation, for it could hardly be called
otherwise, of the rough elements of the population of Petrograd against
Alexandra Feodorovna. We discussed for a few minutes the possibility of
removing her from the Palace to some other place where she would be in
comparative safety, but gave up the idea as impracticable, because, for
one thing, the Empress would never have consented to abandon her sick
children, and then, there was already such a close watch established
around the Palace of Czarskoi Selo and its inmates, that it would
have been next to impossible for any one to get out without the fact
being at once reported to the Revolutionary Government. Besides, it
was necessary to learn what the Emperor himself meant to do, and what
were his plans for the future. The situation was therefore extremely
serious, but all that one could do in the present circumstances was
to wait. The Count enquired of me the names of the servants among the
personal attendants of the Czarina whom I thought quite trustworthy,
and I mentioned a few. He considered it necessary to establish a kind
of secret guard around her for fear that an assassin might find his way
to her apartments, and indeed for three days and nights he remained
himself outside her door, not caring to trust her safety to any one
else. If ever there was one faithful man in the world it was Count
Benckendorff.
When, after my conversation with him, I entered the presence of my
mistress I found her in a violent state of agitation. The news had
reached her that the Empress Dowager had gone to Mohilev to see her
son, and Alexandra Feodorovna felt persuaded that the journey had been
undertaken for the purpose of persuading Nicholas II. to separate
himself from his wife. It was quite useless to point out to the
distressed Princess that such a thing would not have had any motive at
the present time, when the Czar had resigned the throne. She would not
listen to me, but cried and sobbed, declaring that nothing in the world
would ever part her from her children and that she would rather kill
herself than give them up. She could not understand how it was that
her husband, of whose affection she had felt so sure, had not already
returned to her, especially in view of the fact that all her children
were so dangerously ill. The idea that Nicholas was no longer a free
agent, or able to do what he liked, had not occurred to her, and when
I pointed out to her that such might be the case, she would not listen
to me, exclaiming, “Who could dare to stop him? After all, he is always
the Czar.” The magnitude of the catastrophe which had just taken place
she had not yet appreciated.
But the same night rumours that the Revolutionary Government had
decided to arrest the former Sovereign reached Czarskoi Selo. None
among us would credit them in the beginning, so utterly impossible
did the whole thing seem. But Count Benckendorff, who perhaps had at
his disposal sources of information others did not possess, told us
that unfortunately the news was but too true and that delegates had
been sent to Mohilev with instructions to take captive Nicholas II.
What they meant to do with him he could not tell, and for the matter
of that no one knew. The question arose as to how the Empress was to
be made acquainted with this new misfortune, and it had not yet been
decided by the Count, who wished to wait for an official confirmation
of the rumour, when he was called to the telephone and told that the
new commander of the military district of Petrograd, General Korniloff,
wanted to speak with him.
The General told Count Benckendorff that he had been commissioned by
the new government to deliver a certain message to the Empress, whom he
affected to call Alexandra Feodorovna, and that he wished to see her
immediately about it. To the reply that Her Majesty was sitting beside
the bed of her sick children and could not be disturbed, Korniloff
declared that it was imperative he should execute his commission, and
that unless the Empress complied with his request he should use force
to obtain admittance.
There remained nothing to do but to ask him to wait for a few minutes
until the Czarina had been communicated with. Count Benckendorff
repaired to her apartments, and communicated to her the curt request of
the Commander in Chief. She said at once that she would be ready for
him in half an hour, and declared that she was sure he had some bad
news for her concerning the Emperor.
“Perhaps they have killed him!” she exclaimed, “and then they will
kill me, and what will become of these poor children?”
Korniloff arrived at the Palace accompanied by all of the officers
of his staff. He was escorted also by an infantry battalion, which
he caused to be stationed in the big square in front of the Palace.
Received by Count Benckendorff, he was conducted to the large
drawing-room in which the Empress used to give her audiences in the
days gone by, and in a few minutes the Sovereign entered the apartment,
dressed all in black, with no other ornaments but one row of pearls
round her neck. She bowed stiffly and, having sat down, motioned to
the General to do the same, asking him at the same time to what she
was indebted for the honour of his visit. There was a ring of irony in
her voice which, as I was told afterwards, struck all the listeners
painfully and must have offended the General. He rose and in rude
accents said: “I must request you, Madam, to stand up, and to listen
with attention to the commands I am about to impose upon you.”
Alexandra Feodorovna raised her eyes in mute surprise, but without
protesting rose up from her seat, a thing which, by the way, I never
understood how she could have done. Korniloff then proceeded to read
to her an order signed by all the ministers, which declared that she
was to consider herself under arrest, that she was forbidden to receive
or to send any letters without the permission of the officer in charge
of the Palace of Czarskoi Selo, that she was not to walk out alone in
the park or grounds, and that she was to consider herself obliged to
execute any further orders that might be given to her. He announced
to her at the same time that he was about to change the guard at the
Palace and that she would be strictly watched.
A dead silence reigned in the room after these words of the old
soldier. Count Benckendorff, who was present, felt as if the earth
had opened under his feet, but he deemed it inadvisable to say
anything. The Empress simply bowed her head, then asked Korniloff not
to remove her children’s attendants until they were recovered from
their illness, and especially to allow the sailor who for years had
taken care of little Alexis to remain with him. The General said that
he had no objection to this; then she simply turned her back upon him
and without saying anything further left the room. Korniloff then gave
his instructions to Count Benckendorff, who, when he was left alone
with him, entreated not to be dismissed, declaring that he meant to
share the fate of his masters in any case. The Commander made him
then responsible for all the interior arrangements of the Palace, and
advised him that for the future he should have to apply to the State
Treasury and not to the administration of the former Sovereign’s
private fortune for the money necessary for current expenses, and he
requested him to be as economical as possible in the matter of these
expenses.
The Empress, as if dazed, went to her bedroom. There I was waiting
for her. One look at her face was sufficient to make me realise that
something absolutely dreadful had taken place. Alexandra Feodorovna
threw herself face downwards on a sofa placed at the foot of her bed,
and exclaimed between the most heartrending sobs: “We are lost, we are
lost! What will become now of these unfortunate children; what will
become of them?” And for a long time she sobbed on, and would not be
comforted by anything that I could say.
News of the arrest of the unfortunate Sovereign spread like lightning
through the whole Palace, and, as if she had been stricken with the
plague, nearly all her attendants left her in the space of a few
hours. Out of her six maids, only one remained “true to her salt,” as
they say in the East, and even the women who had waited on the Grand
Duchesses hastened to pack their things and to run away, in spite of
the fact that the young Princesses were known to be desperately ill.
The Princess Dondoukoff was removed by order of Korniloff, and for two
days the sick children were attended only by their mother and myself.
The Empress was experiencing in the most cruel way imaginable the
ingratitude of mankind. If Count Benckendorff had not had his own cook
prepare her meals, she would have been exposed to death from hunger
amidst all the splendours of her magnificent Palace. At last the Count
had to apply to the Revolutionary Government, and servants were sent to
replace those who had abandoned us, and to ensure the regular service
of the prisoners. All through these dreadful days none of us knew what
had happened to the Czar, and this incertitude was, as can easily be
imagined, adding to the misery and anguish of his wife. At last Count
Benckendorff received a wire from Prince Dolgoroukoff (not Dolgorouky,
as the foreign papers have printed; they are two distinct families),
one of the attendants of Nicholas II., that the deposed Sovereign was
being brought back to Czarskoi Selo, where the Revolutionary Government
had decided he was for the present to be interned.
The news was immediately communicated to the Empress and proved a
consolation to her in her sorrows. We all of us, the few who were
left of the splendid retinue of servants of former days, wondered how
our master would look, and braced ourselves for the painful task of
receiving him, a prisoner of state, in the Palace where he had ruled
as an all-powerful autocrat. It was on a dark and dreary March morning
that he returned to us. Strict orders had been given to the soldiers
composing the guard in charge of the Palace gates not to treat him
otherwise than they would a colonel, (he had persisted all through his
reign in wearing a Colonel’s epaulettes), because he was henceforward
to be known as plain Nicholas Alexandrovitsch Romanoff, and though we
had been apprised of the fact, yet we were not prepared for what was
to follow, and we were horrified to see, from the window at which we
watched, the officer on duty give orders to salute Prince Dolgoroukoff,
who sat beside the Emperor in the automobile that brought them home,
with the honours due to his rank as general, whilst the deposed
Sovereign was treated as his inferior. The meaning of the Revolution
had never been made so plain to us as by this significant incident.
At the top of the staircase of the Palace, Count Benckendorff, dressed
in full uniform, was awaiting Nicholas II., whom he received with the
same ceremonial as in the time when he was still on the throne. The
noble-hearted gentleman showed in those days of adversity of what stuff
he was made, and did all that lay within the limits of his power to
atone for the neglect and ingratitude of others.
The Emperor hardly greeted him. He rushed up the stairs, taking two
steps at a time, towards the apartments of the Empress. Alexandra
Feodorovna was standing on the threshold, pale and lovely, with a
hectic bloom on her cheeks which reminded one of the glory of her past
beauty and youth. Neither husband nor wife could speak as they fell
into each other’s arms.