I kissed her, and said that I owed all my fortitude to her mother. She had set such an example of courage that it was impossible for me not to follow it.
When the Empress broke the news to the Tsarevitch, the following conversation took place:
“Shall I never go to G.H.Q. again with Papa?” asked the child.
“No, my darling—never again,” replied his mother.
“Shan’t I see my regiments and my soldiers?” he said anxiously.
“No ... I fear not.”
“Oh dear! And the yacht, and all my friends on board—shall we never go yachting any more?” He was almost on the verge of tears.
“No ... we shall never see the ‘Standart.’ ... It doesn’t belong to us now.”
The Empress and I took tea together, and she told me how glad she felt that the Garde Equipage had left their colours in the Palace. “I should be so sorry to think that the colours were in the possession of the Duma,” she remarked. At that moment we heard the sound of voices, and a noise of singing and shouting. The Empress sprang off the couch on which she was lying, and rushed across to the window. “Oh, Madame, don’t look, I implore you,” I said, fearing the worst. But she did not hear me. Then I saw her grow pale, and she fell back half fainting on the couch. The sailors were leaving the Palace with the colours!
The Grand Duchess Marie was seized with measles late that evening. Like her sister, Anastasie, she dreaded being ill. “Oh, I did so want to be up when Papa comes,” she kept on repeating, until high fever set in, and she lost consciousness ... her last comprehensible words being, “Lili, can’t you sleep with Mamma to-night?”
“Yes, darling,” I told her. “I won’t leave Mamma alone—I’ll be somewhere near her, even if I have to sleep in the bath.”
I went to the Empress. “Madame,” I said, “will you permit me to remain near you to-night?”
“No, Lili, certainly not. If anything should happen, why should you be obliged to witness a tragedy?” she replied.
I returned to Olga and Tatiana, who, like Marie, were very anxious about their mother. “Lili, youmustnot leave Mamma alone. One of us has always slept with her[5]—she’s not strong. Promise, promise us that you won’t leave her alone;” and, when the Empress came to pay her last visit to the sick-room, the Grand Duchesses reiterated their request.
The Empress at first demurred ... but, when she realised how much the Grand Duchesses dreaded her being left alone, she consented. “Well, Lili,” she said reluctantly, “you see that the children must have their own way. But I will not allow anyone to think I am frightened. Undress upstairs, and, when my maids have left me, slip down the private staircase, bring your
HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY AND THE TSAREVITCH, 1913
HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY AND THE TSAREVITCH, 1913
HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY AND THE TSAREVITCH, 1913
THE EMPRESS(End of 1915)
THE EMPRESS(End of 1915)
THE EMPRESS
(End of 1915)
sheets and blankets, and you can make up a bed on the couch in my boudoir.”
It was a bright moonlight night. Outside, the snow lay like a pall on the frost-bound Park. The cold was intense. The silence of the great Palace was occasionally broken by snatches of drunken songs and the coarse laughter of the soldiers. The intermittent firing of guns was audible. It was a night of beauty, defiled by the base passions of men.
I went quietly downstairs to the mauve boudoir. The Empress was waiting for me, and as she stood there I thought how girlish she looked. Her long hair fell in a heavy plait down her back, and she wore a loose silk dressing-gown over her night clothes. She was very pale, very ethereal, but unutterably pathetic.
As I stumbled into the boudoir with my draperies of sheets and blankets she smiled—a little affectionate, mocking smile, which deepened as she watched me trying to arrange my bed on the couch. She came forward, still smiling. “Oh, Lili ... you Russian ladies don’t know how to be useful. When I was a girl, my grandmother, Queen Victoria, showed me how to make a bed. I’ll teachyou.” And she deftly arranged the bedding, saying, as she did so: “Take care not to lie on this broken spring. I always had an ideasomethingwas amiss with this couch.”
The bed-making “à la mode de Windsor” was soon finished, and the Empress kissed me affectionately and bade me good night. “I’ll leave my bedroom door open,” she said; “then you won’t feel lonely.”
Sleep for me was impossible. I lay on themauve couch—hercouch—unable to realise that this strange happening was a part of ordinary life. Surely I must be dreaming; surely I should suddenly awake in my own bed at Petrograd, and find that the Revolution and its attendant horrors were only a nightmare! But the sound of coughing in the Empress’s bedroom told me that, alas! it was no dream.... She was moving about, unable, like myself, to sleep. The light above the sacred ikon made a luminous pathway between the bedroom and the boudoir, and presently the Empress came back to me, carrying an eiderdown. “It’s bitterly cold,” she said. “I want you to be comfortable, Lili, so I’ve brought you another quilt.” She tucked the quilt well round my shoulders, regardless of my protestations, and again bade me good night.
The mauve boudoir was flooded with moonlight, which fell directly on the portrait of the Empress’s mother, and on the picture of the Annunciation. Both seemed alive.... The sad eyes of the dead woman watched the gradually unfolding tragedy of her daughter’s life, whilst the radiant Virgin, overcome with divine condescension, welcomed the angel who hailed her as blessed among women.
Masses of lilac were arranged in front of the tall windows. It was customary for a fresh supply of lilac for the mauve boudoir to be sent daily to Tsarkoe Selo from the south of France; but, owing to the troublous times, no flowers had reached the Palace for a couple of days. Just before dawn, the dying lilac seemed to expire in a last breath ofperfume ... the boudoir was suddenly redolent of the perfume of Spring ... tears filled my eyes. The poignant sweetness hurt me—winter was around us, and within our hearts. Should we ever know the joys of blue skies, and the glory of a world new-born?
All was silent, save for the footsteps of the “Red” sentry as he passed and repassed up and down the corridor. At first the Revolutionaries had celebrated their sojourn in a Palace by singing seditious and obscene songs, but little by little these had ceased ... the soldiers slept. My mind reverted constantly to the sick girls and to their brother, who, happily, unlike them, did not share their apprehensions. What a contrast this night presented to the quiet, happy nights of long ago! I confess it was difficult to see the hand of God in this—to me—unnecessary suffering, and to accept all in the spirit of humility which the Empress manifested.
At seven o’clock the Empress told me I had better return to the red drawing-room, so I gathered my bedclothes together and slipped unperceived and unheard up the staircase.[6]
Onthe morning of Thursday, March 9th, the Empress came into the Grand Duchesses’ bedroom; she was agitated and anxious, as she had been informed that the Emperor would arrive at the Palace between eleven and twelve. I went with her to see the Tsarevitch, and we sat by his bed talking to him. The little boy was very excited, and he kept on looking at his watch, and counting the seconds which must pass before his father’s arrival.
Presently we heard the sound of an automobile, and Volkoff entered. The faithful servant had refused to accept the fact of the Emperor’s abdication, and, in a manner worthy of Imperial traditions, he announced:
“His Majesty The Emperor!”
The Empress sprang from her chair, and ran out of the room. I, too, rose. The meeting between the reunited family must not, surely, be witnessed by any outsider! But the Tsarevitch seized my hand. “No, no, Lili, you’re not to leave me,” he insisted, so I sat down by him for five minutes, and eventually I managed to slip away and take refuge in Anna’s room—where I remained until after lunch, when I was summoned to the Imperial presence.
Following my instructions, I went into the Grand Duchesses’ room; the Empress was notthere. Suddenly I heard the sound of footsteps. I knew to whom they belonged—but they were no longer the footsteps of a confident and happy man. They sounded as if the person who was advancing was very, very tired.
I trembled from head to foot—I dared not at first raise my eyes. When I did so, I encountered the tragic, weary eyes of the Emperor.
He advanced to where I was standing, and took my hands in his, saying, very simply:
“Thank you, Lili, for all you have done for us ... and I?... what have I done for you? Absolutely nothing! Why, I have not even kept Dehn near you.”
“Your Majesty,” I answered, now unable to speak without crying ... “it is for me to thank you for the privilege of being allowed to remain with you.”
As we went into the red salon, and the light fell on the Emperor’s face, I started. In the darkened bedroom I could not see clearly, but I now realised how greatly he had altered. The Emperor was deathly pale, his face was covered with innumerable wrinkles, his hair was quite grey at the temples, and blue shadows encircled his eyes. He looked like an old man; the Emperor smiled sadly when he saw my horrified expression, and he was about to speak, when the Empress joined us; he then tried to appear the light-hearted husband and father of the happy years; he sat with us and chatted on trivial matters, but I could see that he was inwardly ill at ease, and at last the effort was too much for him. “I think I’ll go for a walk—walking always does me good,” he said.
We passed through the corridors to Anna’s apartments, where the Emperor left us, and went downstairs. The Empress and I entered the bedroom, and stood by one of the windows which looked out over the Park. Anna was very excited; she kept talking and crying, but we had eyes only for the Emperor, who by this time was outside the Palace. He walked briskly towards the Grande Allée, but suddenly a sentinel appeared from nowhere, so to speak, and intimated to the Emperor that he was not allowed to go in that direction. The Emperor made a nervous movement with his hand, but he obeyed, and retraced his steps; but the same thing occurred—another sentinel barred his passage, and an officer told the Emperor that, as he was now to all intents and purposes a prisoner, his exercise must be of the prison-yard description!... We watched the beloved figure turn the corner ... his steps flagged, his head was bent, his whole aspect was significant of utter dejection; his spirit seemed completely broken. I do not think that until this moment we had realised the crushing grip of the Revolution, nor what it signified. But it was brought home to us most forcibly when we saw the passage of the Lord of All the Russias, the Emperor whose domains extended over millions of miles, now restricted to a few yards in his own Park.
The Empress said nothing, but I felt her hand grasp mine; it was, for her, an agonizing experience. After an interval, she spoke.... “We’ll go back to the children, Lili; at any rate we can be together there.”
The Grand Duchesses were delighted to knowthat their father had returned, and I think the knowledge of his safety acted on them like a tonic. Poor Marie, who had so longed to be the first to welcome the Emperor, was now delirious, with intervals of consciousness. When I entered her room, she recognised me. “Well, Lili, where have you been?” she exclaimed. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for you. Papa is reallyhere, isn’t he?” The next moment she was back in the fantastic and terrible kingdom of fever. “Crowds of people ... dreadful people ... they’re coming to kill Mamma!! Why are they doing these things?” Alas, poor child, others have since asked the same question.
That day the Emperor and the Empress dined and spent the evening together. The Empress told me afterwards that the Emperor lost his self-control when he was alone with her in the mauve boudoir; he wept bitterly. It was excessively difficult for her to console him, and to assure him that the husband and father was of more value in her eyes than the Emperor whose throne she had shared.
. . . . .
I cannot say that the Revolutionaries treated us with excessive discourtesy, but some of their methods were reprehensible. For instance, when certain complications ensued with Marie, it became necessary to have another medical opinion. This request was at first refused, but afterwards the authorities agreed, on condition that an officer and two soldiers were present at the medical examination! Colonel Kotzebue, the first Revolutionary commandant, had formerly been an officer in the Lancers, and, as he was a distant cousin of mine, I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him in this official capacity, and I asked him to come and talk to me in Anna’s room, as I considered he owed our family some explanation of his conduct.
“I can’t imagine why I was nominated for the post,” said Kotzebue. “All I can tell you, Lili, is that I was awakened in the middle of the night, and told to report myself at Tsarkoe Selo. Will you assure Their Majesties that there is nothing I will not try and do for them. This is really the happiest moment of my life, since it enables me to be of service to them.”
When the Empress sent for me on the morning of March 10th, I found her lying on the couch in her boudoir. The Emperor was with her; she motioned me to come and sit beside her, and the Emperor talked to us.[7]He first described an incident which had impressed him most strongly that very morning.
“When I got up,” he said, “I put on my dressing-gown and looked through the window which gives on the courtyard.[8]I noticed that the sentinel who was usually stationed there was now sitting on the steps—his rifle had slipped out of his hand—he was dozing! I called my valet, and showed him the unusual sight, and I couldn’t help laughing—it was really absurd. At the sound of my laughterthe soldier awoke, but he did not attempt to move—he scowled at us, and we withdrew. But what a conclusive proof of the general demoralisation! All must indeed be at an end for Russia, as without law, obedience and respect no empire can exist.”
The Empress then questioned the Emperor about certain doings at G.H.Q.
“Some occurrences were exceptionally painful,” replied the Emperor. “My mother drove with me through the town, which was profusely decorated with red flags and a profusion of bunting. My poor mother couldn’t bear to look at the flags ... but the sight of them did not affect me; it seemed such a stupid and useless display! The behaviour of the crowd was in curious contrast to this exhibition of Revolutionary power, as they all knelt, as of yore, when our automobile passed.”
“I could not bear to say good-bye to Voeikoff, Niloff and Fredericks. They didn’t want to leave me. I had to insist at last. The Revolutionaries promised most faithfully not to harm them.”[9]
“One thing especially touched me,” continued the Emperor. “When I got into the train, I noticed five or six schoolgirls who were standing on the platform trying to attract my attention. I went to the window, and, when they saw me, they began to cry, and made signs for me to write something for them. So I signed my name on a piece of paper, and sent it to the children. But they still lingered on the platform, and, as it wasbitterly cold, I tried to make them understand that they had better go home. However, when my train left, two hours later, they were still there. They blessed me, poor children,” said the Emperor, greatly moved by the recollection. “I hope their pure blessing will bring us happiness.”
The Emperor told us that he had received countless telegrams after the news of his abdication was generally known. Many were abusive, but others breathed the concentrated spirit of loyalty. Count Keller sent a telegram informing the Emperor that he declined to recognise the existence of the Revolution.[10]The Count afterwards refused to sign the documents of allegiance, and he broke his sword and threw the pieces down.
“General Rousky was the first to broach the subject of my abdication,” said the Emperor. “He boarded the trainen route, and came into my saloon unannounced.
“‘Goutchkoff and Shoulgine are also coming to talk to you,’ he informed me. These gentlemen made their appearance at the next station, and they were excessively impertinent. Rousky told them that he had already discussed matters with me. But I refused to be ignored. I struck the table with my fist. ‘I’m going to speak, Iwillspeak,’ I cried.
“‘You must abdicate in favour of the Tsarevitch, and the people will nominate a Regent,’ said Goutchkoff and Shoulgine.
“‘But,’ I replied, ‘are you sure—can you promise that my abdication will benefit Russia?’
“‘Your Majesty, it is the only thing to save Russia at the present crisis,’ they replied.
“‘But I must think it over.... I’ll give you my answer in a couple of hours.’”
“The delegates consented. I knew,” continued the Emperor, looking with affection at his wife, “that their first idea was to separate Alexis from the Empress, so I spoke to Dr. Fedoroff, who was in the train, and I asked him whether he considered it advisable to allow the Tsarevitch to be taken from her.
“‘It will shorten the Tsarevitch’s life,’ said Fedoroff bluntly.
“When Goutchkoff and Shoulgine returned, I intimated plainly that I would not part with my son. ‘I am ready to abdicate,’ I said, ‘but not in favour of my son, only of my brother.’
“My decision appeared to trouble them: they asked me to think better of it, but I was firm. Afterwards I signed the Act of Abdication. The train was then sent back to G.H.Q.”
Such is the bare narrative of the abdication, related as nearly as possible in the Emperor’s own words. Baron Stackelberg, a cousin of my husband’s, who was travelling with the Emperor, afterwards told me that he and M. Voeikoff, the Commandant du Palais, met Rousky on the platform of the station where he joined the train. The two gentlemen were about to send some telegrams from the Emperor to Rodziansko, in which the Emperor replied to the former’s request to give Russia a constitutional government. In the opinion of the Emperor, the moment had not arrived.
“Whose telegrams are these?” said Rousky.
“His Majesty’s,” answered Baron Stackelberg coldly.
Rousky snatched the telegrams from Baron Stackelberg, and put them in his pocket, remarking as he did so, “Useless!” So Rodziansko never received the Emperor’s telegrams, and Baron Stackelberg, who is now in Finland, can confirm the truth of the story. M. Voeikoff and the Baron looked at each other, neither spoke, but each read in the other’s eyes the unspoken thought—to kill Rousky then and there, and so avenge the insult to the Emperor. But Rousky had disappeared—the moment for righteous murder had passed!
. . . . .
Life at first went on much as usual after the Emperor’s return: he always insisted upon reading the daily papers, but the filth of the gutter press sickened and pained him. One evening I happened to come into the library where the Emperor was reading a newspaper: his expression showed that something had seriously displeased him. “Just look here, Lili,” he said, showing me the portraits of the new Cabinet. “Look at these men.... Their faces are the real criminal type. And yet I was asked to approve of this Cabinet, and to agree to the Constitution,” he added with a touch of bitterness.
My time was now fully occupied. The Grand Duchess Marie was seriously ill, and I relieved the Empress in nursing her.... I had taken upon myself the task, formerly performed by the Empress, of sponging poor Marie’s body, and, when the child was conscious, she liked me to brush and comb her lovely hair, which became sadly tangledas she tossed to and fro in her delirium. Marie was the first unmarried Grand Duchess to sleep on a “real” bed of her own, but, as she was so ill, we moved her from the narrow camp-bed to a more comfortable resting-place.
The Empress was a skilful nurse; she was especially expert in changing sheets and night-clothes in a few minutes without disturbing the patients. When I showed my surprise, she said quite simply: “I learnt to do useful things in England.... I’ve never forgotten what I owe to my English upbringing.”
One day my cousin, Kotzebue, told me that an English gentleman, Mr. A. Stopford,[11]a friend of the Grand Duchess Marie Paul, was desirous of being of use to the Empress. He had, it appeared, a cult for the Imperial Family, and, as he was about to return to England, he asked Kotzebue whether the Empress would not like to send some letters by him to her relations. I told the Empress at once. It seemed such a wonderful chance.... Her first cousin, King George V, and his devoted consort, would surely welcome news from the Imperial Family!
The Empress was deeply touched by Mr. Stopford’s offer. “I’ll think about it, Lili,” she said. But the next day she told me that she had decided not to communicate with King George and the Queen. “Ican’twrite. What can I say? I’m too hurt and wounded by my country’s behaviour.... But even with this I can’t speak against Russia.... Besides, the Emperor is more worried than ever; he is so fearful thathis abdication, and the unrest, may spoil the Great Offensive.... No ... we can’t communicate with our cousins.”
Both the Emperor and the Empress constantly referred to England. The first idea of the Duma had been to induce the Imperial Family to go to England, but certain powers there were antagonistic to the proposition, as it was considered likely to be unfavourably received by the Labour Party. But those who were fearful of sheltering a defenceless family, whose only crime consisted in being defenceless, need have had no apprehensions.
The Emperor and the Empress did not wish to leave Russia. “I’d rather go to the uttermost ends of Siberia,” said the Emperor. Neither he nor the Empress could face the prospect of wandering about the Continent, and living at Swiss hotels as ex-Royalties, snapshotted and paragraphed by representatives of the picture papers, and interviewed by amazing American journalists. Their retiring spirits shrank from cheap publicity; they considered that it was the duty of every Russian to stand by Russia, and face the common danger together.
Apart from their personal disinclination to go to England, the Soviets were opposed to the suggestion, and it was stated that, if any train left Tsarkoe with the Imperial fugitives, it would be stopped, and everyone murdered, as the Emperor knew too much to be allowed to leave Russia.
The Emperor brought me the newspaper which contained this statement. He was in a terrible rage.... He could scarcely contain himself, and he almost threw the paper at me.
“Read this, Lili,” he exclaimed, his face whitewith passion. “Beasts!How dare they say such things.... They judge others by themselves.”
“Oh, Your Majesty,” I answered, greatly troubled, “please don’t read these horrible papers.”
“I must, I must, Lili. I feel that I must know all,” said the Emperor.
Occasionally he was in better spirits, and more like his old cheerful self. The Emperor was generally able to see the humour of any situation, and he would sometimes laugh at the idea of being, what he called, “an Ex.” Everything was then “Ex.” “Don’t call me an Empress any more—I’m only an Ex,” laughed the Empress; and one day, when some especially unpalatable ham was served at lunch, the Emperor remarked, “Well, this may have once been ham, but now it’s nothing but an ‘ex-ham.’”He was always amused by the likeness between him and his cousin, King George. One day he showed me a photograph of the latter, saying, “Have you seen my last photograph, Lili? Doesn’t it flatter me?”
He had a great admiration for his cousin, and the Empress often spoke of Queen Alexandra, ... her beauty, her sympathetic nature, and her boundless charity. “I would so much like to see my married sister in England,” she invariably added, whenever she discussed her family. “Darmstadt is only a little spot in the garden of my memories,” she would say, “but my mother died there, so I can’t really be blamed for liking Darmstadt.... Isn’t ‘Home sweet Home’ typically English?
“None of my daughters shall marry GermanPrinces,” she said on one 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 aménagewere akin to those of theHausfrau, 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 Empressto 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 ishere... 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,veryill, 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.”
TheTsarevitch 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 thatwe 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 askorohod[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]
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!
THE EMPRESS AT TOBOLSK
THE EMPRESS AT TOBOLSK
THE EMPRESS AT TOBOLSK
THE EMPRESS WITH GRAND DUCHESS TATIANA[During the Captivity at Tsarskoe Selo
THE EMPRESS WITH GRAND DUCHESS TATIANA[During the Captivity at Tsarskoe Selo
THE EMPRESS WITH GRAND DUCHESS TATIANA
[During the Captivity at Tsarskoe Selo
THE GRAND DUCHESSES (left) MARIE: ANASTASIE (right)
THE GRAND DUCHESSES (left) MARIE: ANASTASIE (right)
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 beingmal 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 invaliddéshabillée.
“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.
“Imusttry 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: thesentinels 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 darkthere,” 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 ofher?”
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 Kerenskyisgoing 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 tremendouseffort 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 wouldnotlet our enemies think that I knew the meaning of the wordFear. 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, andthatwill 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 anotherman 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 betterafterthe 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? Whatshallwe do?”
“You must give me every paper in your possession.”
She demurred. “Butwhy, 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 ... youdolook 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 thatwewanted 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 forMadame 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 passionateintrigante, a subtle schemer, the masterful confidante of a weak Empress!
What did he actually see?
Rasputin’s reputedsorcière-en-chefstood 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.
Thelong 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 overla 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 ofRasputin 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. Imustsee 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 agitationaroused the pity of one of the soldiers, who remarked kindly:
“Poor young lady! Youdoseem 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?”