Chapter Thirty Six.

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

Three months later.

It was hot August in Russia—the month of drought and dust.

Luba de Rosen had returned to her mother’s house in Petersburg, where her property and her dead mother’s handsome income, which had been confiscated by the State, had been returned to her. Several times both Her Highness and myself had visited her, while one afternoon she had been received in private audience at Gatchina by the Emperor, who had sympathised with her and promised to make amends in every way for the injustice she had suffered.

The camarilla who had so long ruled Russia, placing the onus of their oppression upon the Emperor, had, thanks to Natalia, been broken up, and a new and honest Cabinet established in its place.

Danilo Danilovitch, on the day following Markoff’s assassination, had telegraphed openly from Germany to His Majesty, announcing that he had rid Russia of her worst enemy. And probably that message did not cause the Emperor much displeasure. It was the carrying out of the old Biblical law of an eye for an eye. And as the catspaw was beyond the frontier, and the crime a political one, its perpetrator was immune from arrest.

Five weeks later, however, the Supreme Council of the People’s Will, held in an upstairs room in Greek Street, Soho, and presided over by Danilovitch in person, heard from him a long and complete statement, in which he described his audience at Tzarskoie-Selo, and delivered the message sent by the Emperor to the Revolutionists.

Unanimously it was then decided to put an end to all militant measures, now that the Emperor knew the truth, and to trust the assurances given from the throne. A loyal reply was drafted to His Majesty’s message, and this was duly despatched by a confidential messenger to Russia and placed in the Emperor’s own hands—a declaration of loyalty which gave him the greatest gratification.

Diplomatic Europe, in ignorance of what was actually in progress, was surprised at the sudden turn of events in Russia, and on account of the unexpected dismissal of Ministers and the establishment of the Duma, felt that open revolution was imminent. From the official busybodies at the various Embassies the truth was carefully concealed. It was, of course, known that General Markoff had all along been the worst enemy of Russia, and in consequence the Revolutionary Party made open rejoicing at the news of his death. Yet the actual facts were ingeniously suppressed, both from the diplomatic corps and from the correspondents of the foreign newspapers.

The entire change in the Emperor’s policy and the granting of many much-needed reforms were regarded abroad as the natural reaction after the drastic autocracy. But nobody dreamed of the truth, how the Emperor, after all a humane man and a benign ruler, had at last learned the bitter truth, and had instantly acted for the welfare and safety of his beloved people.

Many of the London journals published leading articles upon what they termed “the new era in Russia,” attributing it to all causes except the right one, the popular opinion being that His Majesty had at last been terrorised into granting justice and a proper representation to the people. Exile of political prisoners to Siberia had been suddenly abolished by Imperial ukase, together with the major powers vested in the Secret Police. The safety and sanctity of the home was guaranteed, and no person could in future be consigned to a dungeon or exiled without fair and open trial.

All this, it was said, was a triumph of the Revolution. Journalists believed that the Emperor had been forced to accord the people their demand. Little, indeed, did the world dream the actual truth, the secret of which was so well kept that only the British Foreign Minister at Downing Street was aware of it, for by the Emperor’s express permission I was able to sit one day in that sombre private room in the Foreign Office and there in confidence relate the strange events, the shadows of a throne, which I have endeavoured to set down in the foregoing pages.

Since the day of the dismissal of Serge Markoff with five members of the Cabinet, and the breaking up of that disgraceful camarilla which had surrounded the Sovereign, suppressing the truth, preventing reforms, and ruling Holy Russia with a hand of iron, the nation had indeed entered upon an era of financial and social progress. Russia has become a nation of enlightenment, prosperity and industry, even, perhaps, against the will of her upper classes.

I was present on that August day in the handsome private church attached to the great Palace of Peterhof, and there witnessed the marriage of Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia to Richard Drury, Count of Ozerna, who had become a naturalised Russian subject and been ennobled by the Emperor.

It was a brilliant function, for all the Ministers, foreign Ambassadors and the whole Imperial Court, including the Emperor and Empress, were present. The Court now being out of mourning for the Grand Duke Nicholas, the display of smart gowns, uniforms and decorations was more striking than even at a State ball at the Winter Palace.

Standing beside Captain Stoyanovitch, I was near Natalia, the incorrigible little madcap of the Romanoffs, when with her husband she knelt before the altar while the priest, in his gorgeous robes, bestowed upon them his blessing. And when they rose and passed out, their handsome faces reflected the supreme joy of the triumph of their mutual love.

Some years have now passed.

His Imperial Majesty, alas! lies in his great sarcophagus in Moscow, and the Tzarevitch reigns in his stead. But in Russia the Revolutionary movement is no longer a militant one, for the people know well that their ruler’s aims and aspirations are those of his father, and patiently await the reforms which, though perhaps slow in progress, nevertheless do from time to time become law and bestow the greatest benefits upon the many millions of souls from the German frontier to the Sea of Japan.

Ivan Hartwig, the Anglo-Russian, still lives on the outskirts of Petersburg as Otto Schenk, and is still head of the Russian Sûreté, and from him I only recently heard that Danilo Danilovitch had been discovered in Chicago, leading the life of a highly-respected citizen. He had changed his name into Daniels, and was the proprietor of one of the largest boot factories in that progressive city. Miss West has been pensioned and remains in Brighton, but Davey, the English maid, is still in the Grand Duchess’s service.

As for myself—well, I am still a diplomat, and still a bachelor.

After service as Councillor of Embassy in Berlin, Washington and Paris, I was appointed by the late King Edward hisEnvoy extraordinaire et Ministre plénipotentiaireto a certain brilliant Court in the South of Europe, where I still reside in the great white Embassy as chief of a large and brilliant staff.

Sometimes when I go on leave, I manage to snatch a week or two with Count Drury and his pretty wife, at the Grand Ducal Palace in Petersburg, where they live together in perfect idyllic happiness, and where splendid receptions are given during the winter season. More than once, too, I have been guest at their great Castle of Ozerna, a gloomy mediaeval fortress, near Orel in Central Russia, to enjoy the excellent boar-hunting in the huge forests surrounding.

And often as I have sat at their table, waited on by the gorgeous flunkeys in the blue-and-gold Grand Ducal livery, headed by old Igor, I have looked into Natalia’s pretty face and reflected how Little the Russian people ever dream that for the liberty which has recently come to them they are indebted solely to a woman—to the girl who was once declared to be an incorrigible flirt, and who had scandalised the Imperial family—the little Grand Duchess, who, at the sacrifice of her own great love, boldly exposed and denounced that unscrupulous and powerful official, Markoff, the one-time Chief of Secret Police, the man who had sacrificed so many innocent lives as the Price of Power.

The End.

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