CHAPTER XXVIII

PRISONERS AT TSARSKOE SELO, MARCH-AUGUST 1917

Left: The Grand Duchesses in the Alexander Park during their imprisonment. There heads have been shaved due to illness.

On a grey, cold morning the Emperor, accompanied by Prince Vassili Alexandrovich Dolgorukov, drove from the station to the Alexander Palace at Tsarskoe. His car was stopped at the gates. "Who goes there? " was the challenge-answered by one of the soldiers, "It is Nicholas Romanov." A long parley followed before the gates were opened and the car was allowed to drive up to the private entrance. The soldiers wanted to show by this reception the way in which they intended to treat their former sovereign. The Emperor got out and crossed the hall, where he was met by Count Benckendorff and Count Apraxin. He saluted, mechanically, the score of curious men and officers who were collected there. Very few of them deigned to acknowledge the salute. The men were already beginning to lose their military bearing, and seemed to think that they could best show their Liberal feelings by neglecting their outward appearance. The Emperor went at once to the children's rooms, where the Empress was waiting for him. No one was present at their meeting. As the Empress afterwards said to me, the joy of finding each other alive was the only consolation they had. We, in the meantime, were hearing the story of the abdication from Prince Dolgorukov. When the news from Petrograd became alarming, a return to the capital was decided on. The Emperor had heard from Rodzianko, the President of the Duma, that the last moment had been reached at which concessions by the Government could be of any use. With the usual slowness of Court mechanism the Emperor's departure was delayed by long preparations till the night of 13th/14th March, and much valuable time was lost. The Emperor did not want his movements to interfere with the planned movements of munition trains bound for the front, so that instead of following General Ivanov's military trains, the Imperial train had taken the BologoeVischera route, and was not even preceded by the usual pilot engine. At Vischera crowds of railway workmen with dark and hostile faces hung about the station, and the engineers announced that the line farther on was in revolutionary hands. The Imperial train had then to turn back and try to reach Tsarskoe via Pskov - Gatchina. At Pskov the Emperor was held up by General Russki, who told him of the coming arrival of delegates from the Duma. When the Emperor gave him a telegram to send to Rodzianko, granting wide concessions, he held it back, and when the members of the Duma, Gutchov and Shulgin, assured the Emperor that the only salvation for the country lay in his abdication in favour of the heir, Russki vehemently supported them. The Emperor, who was not allowed to communicate with his Cabinet, asked all the chiefs of the Army Corps for their opinion. All, even the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholaevich, telegraphed advising his abdication. At first the Emperor wished, as they had suggested, to abdicate in favour of the Tsarevich Alexei, but after a conversation with Doctor Fedorov about the Tsarevich's health, he changed this abdication in favour of his brother. The Doctor swept away the Emperor's illusions about his son's health. He told him that his illness was incurable, and that, though he might live many years, he would always be subject to attacks, and would have to take the greatest precautions. It was clear to the Emperor that his son would not be the strong, vigorous sovereign who could lead Russia out of her troubles. Fedoroff also said that it was most improbable that the new regime would allow the Tsarevich to remain in his parents' care. Who would be the Regent and how would he train the boy ? To save Russia, to his mind the only thing that mattered, the Emperor decided to pass on his rights to the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich, a man in the prime of life, whose whole early training had been planned with a view to his possible succession. The Act of Abdication was changed in this sense by the Emperor himself, and he sent a telegram to "the Emperor Michael Alexandrovich," assuring him of his brotherly love and loyalty. This telegram and the beautiful Ordre du Jour in which he took leave of his army - it concluded with the words, written in his own hand: "God help Russia" - were suppressed. They might have aroused some inconvenient feelings of loyalty. As it was, everyone was stunned by the Emperor's decision, and the members of the Duma did not know how to adjust themselves to the prospect of a new Emperor in the person of the Grand Duke Michael. The Grand Duke, however, hesitated to be proclaimed Emperor without an expression of the people's will. This was the first step towards the republic, a step which many of those who had deposed the Emperor probably had not foreseen.

After his abdication the Emperor returned from Pskov to Mohileff, where he handed over the military command to General Alekseyev. Prince Dolgorukov gave a terrible account of the days there. The Emperor had a lingering hope of being able to serve his country as a soldier, but this was, of course, quite out of the question. His position was an impossible one. Many showed their personal loyalty, but many more avoided him and shunned the faithful ones as if they had the plague. The Dowager-Empress arrived from Kiev, and stayed with the Emperor. At Count Freedericsz's suggestion, the members of the suite still dined with the Foreign Missions, the heads of which showed the greatest courtesy to the Emperor. Led by General Sir John Hanbury-Williams the chiefs of the Allied Missions proposed to escort the Emperor to Tsarskoe Selo, and thence via Finland to the frontier. The Emperor would not agree to this. His children were too ill to be moved, and he would not leave without his family. He hoped that when things had become quieter they would all be allowed to live in Russia. The idea of leaving his country distressed him as much as it did the Empress. She would not entertain the idea for a moment, and entirely refused to consider departure for England when it was suggested to her as a possibility by General Kornilov on March 21st. The Empress would not even listen to a suggestion made a few days later by Mme. Narishkin that, if their Majesties were again given the opportunity of going, they should accept, leaving the children with her and Count Benckendorff, and that after their recovery Count Benckendorff and I should take the children to join their parents.

The offer to leave Russia was never made. The unwillingness of the Emperor and Empress to agree to this suited the Provisional Government. To let them go, they would have had to fight against the "Soviet of Workmen's Deputies," who had their own council in the very building of the Duma, and over which the Government very soon began to lose control. The various conversations between Sir George Buchanan and Miliukov, the Russian Minister for Foreign Affairs, on the subject of their departure were never heard of by the Imperial Family, nor did a telegram from King George to the Emperor ever reach him. Sir George Buchanan had given it to Miliukov, who bad not forwarded it. He told Sir George that it might be misconstrued - the Russian version, which was circulated at the time, was that it was "wrongly addressed"; the King of England had addressed the telegram to the Emperor of Russia. The only communication that the Emperor and Empress ever had from any of their relations abroad was a message which Kerensky gave the Empress from Queen Mary, inquiring after her health. During the first weeks after the Revolution they were cut off completely from the world. Scraps of news were gathered from time to time by the doctors or tutors, who were looked upon benevolently by the guards, and who used sometimes to exchange a few words with the less hostile officers. Later, when the newspapers appeared again, it was difficult to grasp what was really going on, owing to the distorted angle at which everything was seen by the Russian Press. The Emperor and Empress never knew if they still had any supporters in the country or abroad. The Empress still believed that the nation as a whole was faithful to the monarchy. She could not believe that the upheaval was general, and always trusted to a sudden miraculous change and to the people clamouring for an Emperor. It was only step by step, as their position became more difficult, as humiliations increased through the long months of imprisonment, that she realised the ever-growing danger and the hopelessness of evading it.

The first days after the Emperor's return to Tsarskoe were, to the Empress, a calm after the storm. "He" was back at last, and she felt that things must improve. Count Benckendorff was afraid of domiciliary visits and legal proceedings against the Emperor. He saw the increasing hostility and lawlessness of the soldiers and, as a soldier himself, understood that the officers were fast losing control over their men. At his advice the Empress destroyed those parts of her private correspondence which she felt were too sacred, for sentimental reasons, to be seen by prying eyes. These were her father's letters, Queen Victoria's letters, and the Emperor's letters written at the time of their engagement. She told me that she left the rest of her correspondence unburnt for the Emperor's sake. Although she dreaded the idea of others' eyes seeing the intimate letters they had written as husband and wife, she felt it her duty not to destroy them, for, should the Emperor be tried as Louis XVI had been, the letters would be a proof that his thoughts had always been for the welfare of his country. The Emperor burnt nothing at all. He was the tidiest, most systematic of men, and all his papers were in perfect order, classified, and with annotations. His daughters told me that whenever he went to his writing table he could find what he wanted at once. Count Benckendorff spoke several times of the desirability of accepting the offer of going abroad, should it be made again. He foresaw clearly that the present moment was only a lull in the storm, and knew that there was no example in history of a deposed sovereign being able to remain in his country. The Empress once or twice, very unwillingly, spoke to me of Count Benckendorff's views. She said it was such a nightmare to her that she prayed daily against it. Still she questioned me tentatively about Norway, saying that if they should be "dragged" away, she would prefer to go there. The climate would suit the Tsarevich, and they would be able to live there quite quietly and unseen.

Prince Dolgorukov, who returned with the Emperor, had now been added to our permanent company. Colonel Narishkin, A.D.C. to the Emperor, who was expected to come on March 22nd, never appeared. Mme. Vyrubova's parents, who had been with her during her illness, were made to leave in March.

During the first weeks the Emperor was allowed to go out for a short daily walk with Prince Dolgorukov in the Palace grounds. A detachment of soldiers with fixed bayonets accompanied them on these thirty-minute outings. The Emperor generally got exercise by shovelling away the snow, as he did not care to walk round and round the limited space that was allotted to him. The Empress never went out at all. She had not walked for years, and to do so now under escort of an armed guard would have been very trying for her. The Imperial Fan-lily spent the rest of each day in their rooms. The ladies and gentlemen of the Household squeezed into the rooms of the maids-of-honour, where they arranged a common sitting-room and dining room. The Imperial Family had their meals with the invalids, who were now recovering, and Mme. Dehn, the Benckendorffs, Prince Dolgorukov, and we two ladies-in-waiting had outs together, the doctors and M. Gilliard being by themselves. In the evening the Emperor and Empress used to go and see Mme. Vyrubova in her sickroom, and then came to spend an hour with us. Those evenings were unspeakably sad. The Empress was growing thinner and thinner, and was terribly aged in appearance. She sat almost in silence. No one dared to touch on the events of the day. It would have been impossible to discuss with the Emperor the anxiety that everyone felt for him, knowing the butchery of officers that was going on at Kronstadt and Vyborg, and hearing, occasionally, the talk of the soldiers in the guard-room who were clamouring that he should be tried or sent to Kronstadt. Armoured lorry-loads of soldiers still kept coming from Petrograd. These were generally successfully turned off by the guard, who considered the prisoners were safe enough in their hands. But one particular batch included members of the soldiers' "Soviet," and refused to go without having assured themselves, by the evidence of their own eyes, that the Emperor was sufficiently guarded, and need not be taken by them to a safer place. Their attitude became threatening, and they were ready to use their machine-guns. In order to avoid violence, the Emperor was asked to pass through the corridor where they were massed so that they should see him. They were pacified by this and finally went away. On April 3rd the Palace had its first visit from the rulers now in power. Kerensky, the Minister of justice, came to see the State prisoners. He wanted to satisfy himself that the orders of the Government were being rigorously carried out. The arrival of the representative of the new Government created great excitement among the guard and the servants, many of whom fawned obsequiously on him. Kerensky went through the whole of the Palace, accompanied by a heterogeneous suite, which followed him step by step, perhaps to control his actions. They were a mixed and ill-favoured crowd, some dressed like well-to-do workmen in black shirts, with sheepskin caps pulled well back on their heads, and some soldiers and sailors, the latter with hand-grenades, daggers and revolvers disposed all over their persons. They strutted about the Imperial apartments, investigating everything and talking loudly. Kerensky himself was a medium-sized, thin, fair man, with a pasty, greenish complexion, greenish eyes with a shifty expression in them, and a loose-lipped mouth. He also wore the black blouse of a workman, but had removed his cap. He spoke in short, abrupt sentences, and stood in a Napoleonic pose with his hand thrust into the breast-pocket of his coat. His manner was commanding with everyone, but when he came into the Emperor's room he was evidently ill at ease, though his speech became louder. He had brought a new commander of the Palace, in the person of Colonel Korovichenko, appointed to replace Kotzebue, of whom the soldiers had become suspicious, as he had been several times to call on Mme. Vyrubova. Korovichenko immediately proceeded to the guard-room, where he drew up a series of rules and regulations for the prisoners' regime. Meanwhile Kerensky cross-questioned the Emperor about different matters in connection with orders given from Headquarters to the Ministers of the late Government. The Emperor replied to all the questions, evidently to Kerensky's satisfaction. At the close of the conversation, he inquired after the children's health, and did not insist on seeing the Grand Duchesses when he heard they were still in bed. The Emperor told me later that Kerensky was obviously nervous at the beginning of the interview, speaking fast in jerky sentences, and shaking and flourishing a paper-cutter which he had picked up from the table, but that at the end he quieted down and was coldly civil. He went through all the Imperial rooms, except the bedrooms, and then to the part of the house where the suite lived. Here he was joined again by his staff, who had spent the time while he was with the Emperor in reviling the servants for waiting on the "Tyrants." After seeing the rooms of the Household, Kerensky, accompanied by Colonel Korovichenko and Count Benckendorff, went to Mme. Vyrubova. She had only just recovered from her bad attack of measles and was still very weak. Her presence in the Palace had been a source of continual - anxiety to the Household, on the Empress's account, for the soldiers not only openly attacked her but coupled the Empress's name with hers, and were continually threatening to murder first Mme. Vyrubova and then the Empress. They had occasionally become so violent, excitedly accusing Mme. Vyrubova of high treason and of connivance with Rasputin, and saying that her presence in the Palace meant that "plots " were still going on, that Count Benckendorff had tried to persuade the Empress to have her friend quietly removed to a hospital outside the Palace, where her parents could look after her. The Empress would not hear of her being taken away. She believed that she would be safer in the Palace, and that to abandon her would be to give her up to the wolves, and she scorned the idea that her friend's presence could be dangerous. Notwithstanding Mme. Vyrubova's state of health, Kerensky had her arrested, and ordered her immediate transfer to the fortress of SS. Peter and Paul at Petrograd. With difficulty permission was obtained for her to say goodbye to the Empress. They met for a few moments in Mlle. Schneider's room, in the presence of Colonel Korovichenko and Colonel Kobylinsky. It was a tragic parting, and the loss of her friend seemed to the Empress one more of the crosses that she had to pray for strength to bear. Doctor Botkin had been asked, at the Empress's request, if he thought she could be moved, and had said he believed her health would stand it. Mme. Lili Dehn helped the trembling and crippled woman to pack her few belongings and went with her. She also was arrested on her arrival in the capital, and, though she was very soon set free, she found that she was not allowed to return to the Palace. Ania Vyrubova was treated with the utmost severity during the long months of her imprisonment. No proof could be found that she had played any part in politics, and she was finally released.

Kerensky's visit and the cross-examination to which he had subjected the Emperor seemed to Count Benckendorff the preliminaries of a trial. He drew the Emperor's attention to this possibility, and asked him to think about the person to whom he would, in such a case, wish to entrust his defence. The Emperor chose Senator Koni, a well-known lawyer, whose name first came into prominence when, as a young man, he had defended Vera Zassulich, a revolutionary who was tried for political murder, and in whose defence he gained a great reputation. The Emperor was never tried, but had he been, the beginning and end of Koni's career would have been in curious contrast.

On April 8th, five days after his first visit, Kerensky came again. He sent for Mme. Narishkin, and, after a few questions, told her that it would be necessary to part the Emperor and Empress, as the extreme elements were loud against the Empress's "counter-revolutionary " influence, and with the trials of the late Ministers in progress he did not wish their Majesties to be in communication with each other. His first idea was to leave the Emperor with the children, and to take away the Empress; but Mme. Narishkin succeeded in dissuading him from this, pointing out that it would be cruelty to part the sick children from their mother (Olga, Marie and Anastasia Nicholaevna were still in bed). He finally agreed to let the Empress stay with the children upstairs, while the Emperor was moved to another floor. Their Majesties were to meet twice a day only at meals (the presence of an officer of the guard was stipulated at first, but this was soon dropped), and they had to give their word of honour not to touch on any political subject during that time. Their Majesties had to submit to this separation, which lasted till the inquiry into the Empress's conduct was dropped by the Government, nothing having been proved against her.

Kerensky's third visit took place on April 25th, when he came to examine the Emperor's papers. The Emperor silently handed over to him the key of his writing-table, and Kerensky, seeing that the amount of material to go through would involve several hours' work "entrusted the task to Colonel Korovichenko (who was a lawyer) and to Colonel Kobylinsky. The Emperor did not ask that either he or his gentlemen should be present at these proceedings, so the two colonels did their work alone. Meanwhile, Kerensky asked for an interview with the Empress, and cross examined her about the political role that she was accused of having played. He examined her minutely, and the precision and straightforwardness of her answers seemed to satisfy him. The Emperor spent the time of this examination pacing up and down an adjoining room. Tatiana Nicholaevna told me that he seemed ready to rush in to his wife's assistance, should any sounds of a heated discussion come from the room next door. The time seemed endless to father and daughter, who both had at the back of their minds the fear that if some chance word should not please her accuser, the Empress might be arrested and taken away. However, when Kerensky came out, he greeted the Emperor with the words "Your wife does not lie." The Emperor quietly replied that he had always known it.

The painful situation created by their separation lasted for about a month. During that time the Emperor and Empress scrupulously respected their promise and never had any word in private. This was the first time that orders were actually enforced, and it was particularly trying on account of the children's illness; but it was pointed out to them, that, were Kerensky unable to give the assurance that he had effectively separated the Imperial couple, it might have been insisted that one or other of them should be taken to a fortress, the nightmare that oppressed them during the whole of their captivity.

During the time of her separation from the Emperor the Empress lay nearly all day in her daughters' rooms: the inevitable physical collapse had come. The Emperor spent his time reading, except for his short daily outings and meals. The Grand Duchess Tatiana sat with him in the evenings, and he read aloud to her while she worked, or they sorted his books and photographs. "To learn blind submission" was the hard task of the Russian Autocrat and his family during, nearly sixteen months' imprisonment. Even at Tsarskoe it was submission to orders given with scarcely a semblance of legality, as the soldiers' conduct was not in accordance with instructions from the Government, but was their own conception of the right treatment of State prisoners. But the lesson was learnt with wonderful courage and dignity - the children following the example of their parents. The Provisional Government, by the mouth of Kerensky, had laid down the rules to be followed in the Palace, but they had no time to see how their orders were carried out.

The abolition of the death penalty-one of the first of the new Government's decrees-certainly saved the Emperor's life. At the first moment, the extremists, drunk with power, would have gone to any lengths in their desire for judicial vengeance against the head of the Tsarist regime. The Ministers spent their days making endless speeches, which were listened to by admiring crowds, shouting themselves hoarse with cries of "Long live liberty!"

The guard of the Palace now consisted of the first second and fourth Regiments of Rifles, to which later a detachment of the third Regiment of Rifles was added. These had previously done service at the fortress, and wanted to enforce full prison regulations in the Palace. It was they who first introduced a ten-minutes' walk and who saw that all the things brought for the family's use were minutely examined. All their officers, most of them very young, had been elected by the men and were, in consequence, treated as completely negligible. The second and third Rifles were particularly hostile, and every time these two regiments were on duty some incident occurred, some new rule was enforced or some fresh thing was forbidden. The soldiers who, barely a month before, had been spick and span, perfectly disciplined troops, had degenerated into an untidy, undisciplined horde. They were slovenly in their dress, their crushed caps were set awry on huge mops of unkempt hair, their coats were half-buttoned, and their nonchalant manner of performing their military duties was a continual irritation to the Emperor. They lolled out of the guardroom, and sat about smoking and reading papers. One day the Grand Duchess Tatiana and 1 saw from the window that one of the guards on duty in front of the Palace, struck evidently with the injustice of having to stand at his post, had brought a gilt armchair from the halls and had comfortably ensconced himself therein, leaning back, enjoying the view, with his rifle across his knee. I remarked that the man only wanted cushions to complete the picture. There was evidently telepathy in my eye, for when we looked out again, he had actually got some sofa cushions out of one of the rooms, and, with a footstool under his feet, was reading the papers, his discarded rifle lying on the ground! Others, to while away the time, shot at everything they fancied, and the tame deer and swans of the park came to an untimely end. Every man considered himself his own master and free to roam about the Palace, the officers' requests that they should remain in the guard-room being generally made in vain. Protests from our side would have been still more unavailing. The soldiers entered any room they fancied on the plea of "going their rounds."Once a whole band, swearing and talking loudly, went in the early morning into the Tsarevich's room, and were with difficulty prevented, by Prince Dolgorukov, from entering the Empress's room while she was dressing. As a vexatious measure, a sentry had been placed just outside the window of her dressing-room, so that the Empress had to use the greatest ingenuity to find a corner where she was away from his watchful eye. All this minor unpleasantness had to be borne in silence, in order not to provoke discussion that always gave rise to stricter measures. As an example of our utter helplessness in the soldiers' hands, I can mention an incident that happened to me. One night 1 was awakened by a stertorous breathing in my bedroom. By ill luck the light near my bed was out of order. (After the first days of the Revolution the electric current had been restored.) I asked who was there, heard stealthy steps, and the door of my dressing-room closing. I jumped out of bed, ran to the dressing-room,and switched on the light. The room was empty, but when I opened the door I saw the figure of a soldier disappearing round the corner of the corridor. Next morning I discovered that every small gold and silver thing in my sitting-room had been stolen. The man had evidently meant to take also my watch and rings, which lay on my dressing-table, and must have made some noise which woke me. The gentlemen's boots, standing outside their doors, were also stolen, but we could not complain, as we should undoubtedly have been taken to prison for casting aspersions on the honesty of the revolutionary army. I was an ex-Baroness and ex-lady-in-waiting to the ex-Empress (as a letter addressed to me said), and my word would never be taken against that of a free citizen.

The Household, though they had shared the arrest of the Imperial Family at their own wish, were subject to the same rules, and were allowed to see no one, though later, for special reasons, one or two exceptions were made. Prince Dolgorukov and Countess Hendrikov were allowed to see their brothers before they went to Siberia, and I was allowed to see my mother, and later my father after my mother's death. These meetings took place in the guardroom. Both parties were brought in by soldiers with fixed bayonets, and they, with a member of the Soviet, were present at the short interview. Special permission could be given to the suite to telephone from the guardroom, a soldier standing by to listen to the conversation. The servants, who were considered free, were not allowed to go out, though they might see their families on certain fixed days standing at some distance from them outside the Palace gates. Petty humiliations and incidents were often harder to bear than more serious hardships. Every parcel that came was opened and closely examined by the soldiers, the officer on guard and the commandant, and, after this, was delivered or not according to the mood of the moment. The guards were in deadly fear of conspiracy, but these minute examinations were sometimes ridiculous. For instance, a tube of tooth paste would be ripped open, though it came direct from the shop. Our yogurt generally had the trace of a finger that had stirred it up, and chocolates were bitten open. The delivery of the laundry was a function at which all the guard assisted in a body.

The Imperial Family were allowed to keep their own cook, who daily received the necessary ingredients for the simple meals which were brought in to them by the soldiers. They were at first even forbidden fruit, which was a luxury that prisoners could not be allowed. All the plants in the rooms had been taken away for the same reason, and it was pathetic to see the joy of the poor Empress in summer, when one of the maids would come back from a walk in the grounds, bringing her some daisies or perhaps, as a great treat, a branch of lilac. The ladies' maids had the privilege, as free citizens, of being taken for walks by the soldiers beyond the enclosure where the Imperial Family and the Household were penned in. The rules varied. On one day one thing was forbidden, another day something else. Once, one evening in the heat of summer, when the Grand Duchess Tatiana and I sat on the window-sill of my room on the second floor, reading aloud and trying to get a little air (it was after five, and we were never allowed out a second time), a sudden voice outside bellowed "Take away your mugs (roja), or I shall fire." We looked out in surprise, and saw the sentry pointing his rifle at us, shouting furiously Don't you know that you must shut the window ?"

"But it is always allowed," I said, "it is so stifling."

"Obey orders!" he shouted, "or I shall fire."

We closed the window, for we knew that he was quite capable of firing to frighten us and might well have killed us in his unskilled handling of his gun.

Church services had been allowed on Saturday evenings and Sunday, but were always made the occasion of long discussions, terminating in violent abuse, the echoes of which were heard, as the guard-room was under the Empress's bedroom. After some time, the guard insisted that "their prisoners" should be handed over daily by the leaving detachment to the replacing one. They were very insistent on this, but Count Benckendorff managed to compromise. Every day, when the guard was changed, the old and the new officers came to their Majesties' rooms to be "presented" to the Emperor and Empress and all the children. A distressing incident occurred on one of these occasions, when one of the officers refused to take the hand that the Emperor stretched out in greeting, saying that he was of the people and would not lower himself to take the hand of a tyrant. These wilful humiliations and insults were intensely painful to those officers who were not extremists, and they did everything in their power not to be sent on guard at the Palace, doing their best to get transferred to the front as soon as they could. This meant, unfortunately, that gradually only the most hostile elements were represented in the guards, and the treatment of the Imperial Family became steadily worse.

Next chapter: Five Weary Months

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