Another letter was sent to the Empress, this time anonymously, but it was equally reprehensible, and this letter and the preceding one caused the greatest indignation in the hospitals, as the officers who knew the Empress as she really was were very angry. Life in general was excessively difficult and painful, so much so that, when my husband arrived from Mourmansk, and asked Count Kapnist how things were going, the Count replied: “You’ll soon see for yourself, and you’ll be horrified. We have gone back to the days of Paul I. Ruin lies ahead of us.”
The Empress saw a good many people at this time. Every Thursday there were musical evenings, where I met various friends—officers in the Artillery, the Emperor’s A.D.C., Linavitch, Count Rabindar and his wife (who was a faulty likenessof the Empress), the officers of the “Standart,” Prince Dolgouroki (who was afterwards murdered), Madame Voeikoff, the wife of the Commandant du Palais, Colonel Grotten, and many others.
A Roumanian orchestra, under the direction of the famous Goulesko, played on these Thursdays, and the Empress derived great pleasure in listening to the really exquisite music. A huge fire was always burning in the salon; the Empress sat near it, and a little seat immediately behind her was arranged for my exclusive use. If I happened to arrive after the Empress was seated, she always indicated the vacant place with a gesture and a sweet smile.
One evening, about a fortnight before the Revolution, when I was sitting in my usual place, listening to the Roumanian orchestra, I noticed that the Empress seemed unusually sad. So I ventured to bend forward and whisper, anxiously, “Oh, Madame, why are you so sad to-night?” The Empress turned and looked at me.... “Why am I sad, Lili?... I can’t really say, but the music depresses me.... I think my heart is broken.”
The same evening, Anna childishly observed: “We all seem out of sorts. What fun it would be to have some champagne!” The Empress was angry at the suggestion. “No ...” she said, “the Emperor hates wine, he can’t bear women to drink wine—but what matter his likes or his dislikes, when people will have it that he’s a drunkard himself?” The Empress was in very indifferent health; mental worry had increased her heart trouble, but she endeavoured never tolet her health interfere with her public duties. At an official reception following the departure of the Guards, the Empress told me that she hardly knew how to endure the strain. “Veronal is keeping me up. I’m literally saturated with it,” she said.
When my husband came home on a few days’ leave, the Emperor sent for him, and listened attentively to all that he had to say, questioning him very closely on certain subjects. We had never thought of or mentioned the subject of his preferment; he had now spent two strenuous years in the mine-fields, and the Emperor noticed how ill he looked.
“Dehn must have a rest,” remarked His Majesty. “I shall give him a post near my person.”
But this kindly thought never matured. My husband was sent for by the Minister of the Marine, and left for England at twenty-four hours’ notice, in company with General Meller-Zakomelsky, taking with them decorations destined by the Emperor for certain English officers. The news of the Revolution was not known by them or in England when they arrived, so an elaborate official reception was given them. Almost immediately afterwards the news was public property and it was impossible to use the Emperor’s decorations. I often wonder what became of them.
Before leaving for England, my husband asked me to join him there. I could not promise. I loved him very dearly, but I felt that my duty lay with the Empress.
“No, Charles,” I said, “I cannot promise anything at present, but, if things become better, I’ll come.”
When he had gone, I felt utterly unhappy, but I did not regret any sacrifice I was called upon to make for the Imperial Family. I loved them all far too much.
At this time the Emperor had every intention of remaining with his family, but, one morning, after having received General Gourko in audience, he suddenly announced:
“I’m going to G.H.Q. to-morrow.”
The Empress was surprised.
“Cannot you possibly stay with us?” she enquired.
“No,” said the Emperor, “I must go.”
Almost immediately after the Emperor’s departure, the Tsarevitch fell ill with measles, and I used to spend every evening with the Empress, who was naturally much worried over her son’s illness. In these days, our intimacy had increased so much that my time was mostly devoted to the Empress, and I saw few of my friends and relations. But my aunt, the Countess Kotzebue-Pilar, was a great Society leader, and I heard all that transpired in her salon. One evening before dinner my aunt (who was always furious at the rumours current about the Empress) ’phoned me to come to her house at once. I found her in an excessively agitated condition....
“It’s awful what people are saying, Lili,” she cried.... “And I must tell you—youmustwarn the Empress.”
In somewhat calmer tones my aunt continued: “Yesterday I was at the Kotzebues’.... Many officers were present, and it was openly asserted that His Majesty will never return from G.H.Q. What are you going to do? You are constantlyin the society of the Empress—you cannot allow her to remain in ignorance of these reports.”
“She will not believe them,” I said.
“Nevertheless,” said my aunt, “it is your duty to warn her.”
I returned to the Palace feeling very unhappy. I hardly knew what to do for the best. At last, after a struggle, I decided to tell the Empress. As I had anticipated, she made light of the story.
“It’s all nonsense, Lili, I can’t believe such a thing—it’s nothing but malicious gossip. However, as you seem so apprehensive, send for Grotten (the Commandant du Palais) and tell him.”
“Don’t pay any attention to such a canard,” cried Grotten angrily, when he heard my story. “It’s a lie which stamps itself as the worst kind of lie.”
“Well, General,” I retorted, now thoroughly vexed with myself for having apparently made a mountain out of a molehill, “if God ordains my aunt’s report to be a lie, so much the better.”
“Don’t be cross.... I’ll most certainly get in touch with G.H.Q.,” said Grotten reassuringly.Three days after came the Revolution.
And now the funeral knell of Russia began to sound, at first muffled, but always insistently. Disorders broke out in Petrograd. The strikes began on February 21st (Old Style), and crowds clamoured for bread, of which the supplies had suddenly stopped. No one could understand this, as Protopopoff’s last words to the Emperor were: “There is plenty of flour, I’ll pledge my word that we have enough flour to last us for a month,and after that fresh supplies will be coming in.” The bread shortage was in reality due to the action of the Duma—it was an organised arrangement!!
Each day matters grew worse. Fighting took place in the streets, drunkards indulged in indescribable orgies, the police were murdered much in the same manner as they have been in Ireland. It was bitterly cold—snow lay in deep drifts, and Petrograd was in the iron grip of a black frost.
Protopopoff, the Minister of the Interior, was always ultra-optimistic—I never liked or trusted him; he did not seem the man to handle any great crisis. He was appreciated by the Duma until his deplorable interview in Stockholm, when he discussed the war in a very indiscreet manner; but, when the Emperor appointed Protopopoff Minister of the Interior, he was universally hated, and everyone blamed the Emperor for appointing a man so singularly devoid of merit. Protopopoff promised everything, without considering whether his promises were possible. It was the same with his statements: he disliked telling unpleasant truths, so he took refuge in pleasant evasions. He was the man who continually told the Imperial Family that nothing could possibly happen. “Trust in me,” said Protopopoff, striking an attitude. And, whenever someone meekly remarked that the working classes were undoubtedly restive, Protopopoff struck another attitude which implied, “Did I fancy I heard you say ‘restive’?” and, aloud, in pained but hearty tones: “What? Are you actually troubling yourself about a little unrest? We’ll soon crush them—Labour cannot stand up againstMe.”
It may be asked: Why did the Imperial Family,and especially the Empress, place so much reliance in M. Protopopoff’s statements, as, since the Empress knew all that was written concerning her, she, at least, could have possessed no illusions? The answer is simple: The Empress knew that she was unpopular, but she never would believe that this unpopularity lay with the people—she attributed the scandals and calumnies to class-hatred, and to that craving for sensation without which a certain section of the Press would be unable to exist. When, made bold by my ever growing apprehensions, I ventured to tell the Empress that in these days the “people” were not paragons of fidelity, she bade me remember the afternoon, not long distant, when we drove out to a little “Lett” village near Peterhof. Ididremember. The automobile had stopped near the church, and, the moment the Empress alighted, she was surrounded by a crowd of peasants, who knelt before her, and, with tears in their eyes, prayed aloud for her happiness. After this the Empress was offered bread and salt, and it was with great difficulty that a passage was cleared to her waiting automobile. This incident occurred two years before the Revolution. “And yet you tell me, Lili, that these people wish me ill!”
“Madame, many things have happened during the last two years.”
“Nothinghas happened, Lili, to touch the real heart of Russia.”
I do not profess to have any knowledge of politics, and I never wished to meddle in them, so it is impossible for me to attempt to discuss the so-called political influence of the Empress. We hardly ever spoke of politics, but I can truthfully state that I never once heard her utter one sentiment that might be described as even faintly pro-German. Her letters written after her arrest, which are reproduced for the first time, ought to plead for her more strongly than any words of mine. When the Empress wrote to me, neither she nor I had any idea that part of her correspondence would be read by the English public. The letters might never have reachedme: they were smuggled out of the Palace and sent from Tobolsk in circumstances of much difficulty and danger. But they breathe sincerity of purpose in every line: they were written when the shadow of death was falling on the Imperial Family.... There is no trace of the hysterical, intriguing woman in any of them. The letter which contains the passage relating to the fleet will perhaps serve to vindicate the memory of the Empress more than anything else, at least so far as her alleged pro-Germanism is affected. Even now, Justice, blind, but nevertheless all-seeing, has decreed that Germany should acknowledge having laid the mines which destroyed the “Hampshire”: Germany, brought to book, would not have scrupled to lay the guilt to the charge of the Empress, especially since she cannot defend herself. But Germany has not availed herself of the universal detestation which surrounds the name of Alexandra Feodorovna: so she has, at least, been sparedonedegradation.
OnSaturday, February 25th, 1917, the Empress told me that she wished me to come to Tsarkoe Selo on the following Monday, and I was (let me confess it) still in bed when the telephone rang at 10 a.m. I suppose my delay in answering must have amused the Empress, for her first words were: “I believe you have only just got out of bed, Lili. Listen, I want you to come to Tsarkoe by the 10.45 train. It’s a lovely morning. We’ll go for a run in the car, so I’ll meet you at the station. You can see the girls and Anna, and return to Petrograd at 4 p.m. I’m certain you won’t catch the train, but anyhow I’ll be at the station to meet it.”
I dressed at express speed, and, snatching up my gloves, a few rings, and a bracelet, I ran into the street in search of a fiacre. I had quite forgotten that there was a strike, and no conveyances were available! At this moment I saw M. Sablin’s carriage: I hailed him, and begged for a lift to the station. On the way I questioned him.
“What news, Monsieur ...?”
“There’s nothing fresh,” he replied, “but everything is quite all right, although I must admit it is very strange about the bread shortage.”
The train for Tsarkoe was just moving out of the station when I arrived on the platform, but Iscrambled in, and found myself in the company of Madame Tanieff, Anna’s mother, who was going to see her daughter, now ill, like the Grand Duchesses Olga and Tatiana, with the measles. Madame Tanieff, like M. Sablin, knew nothing fresh; she was chiefly concerned about Anna’s illness; but the first words of the Empress, who, true to her promise, was awaiting me, were:
“Well, how is it in Petrograd? I hear things are very serious.”
We said that there was apparently nothing alarming, and the Empress told Madame Tanieff to get into the car with us, and she would take her to the Palace.
It was a glorious morning: I remembered the splendour of the day long afterwards; the sky was an Italian blue, and snow lay everywhere. We were not able to drive in the Park on account of the drifts! On the way back, we met Captain Hvostchinsky, one of the Garde Equipage. The Empress intimated her wish to speak to him, and the car stopped.
Captain Hvostchinsky smiled at the notion of danger. “There is no danger, Your Majesty” he said; so, reassured, the Empress and I returned to the Palace. I went at once to see the Grand Duchesses. They were certainly very ill, suffering from bad pains in the ears; but they were pleased to see me, and I sat between the two camp beds, talking to them. After lunch I went up again, and presently the Empress joined us.
She beckoned me into the next room: I could see that she was agitated. “Lili,” she said, breathlessly, “it isverybad. I have just seenColonel Grotten, and General Resin, and they report that the Litovsky Regiment has mutinied, murdered the officers, and left barracks: the Volinsky Regiment has followed suit. I can’t understand it. I’ll never believe in the possibility of Revolution—why, only yesterday, everyone said it was impossible! The peasants love us ... they adore Alexis! I’m sure that the trouble is confined to Petrograd alone. But I want you to go and see Anna ... she may also have been told this, and you know how easily she is frightened!”
I found Anna ill, and light-headed, and, as I entered her bedroom, I thought what a contrast it presented to the cool, darkened room which I had just left. Olga and Tatiana were so patient, they lay so still, and were grateful for any attention.Thissick room resembled a “lever du Roi” in the days of Louis XIV. Anna was surrounded by a crowd of “sisters” and three doctors were in attendance. Madame Tanieff was there, looking the picture of misery, and Anna’s sister, who was almost hysterical, kept on exclaiming, “All is lost.” They had expected General Tanieff to lunch, but he had not arrived ... there was no news of him. What were they to do? General Tanieff entered in the midst of this confusion, breathless, and scarlet in the face. “Petrograd is in the hands of the mob,” he exclaimed, “they are stopping all cars ... they commandeered mine, and I’ve had to walk every step of the way.”
At this intelligence, Allie Pistolkors (she had married the Grand Duke Paul’s stepson) burst into tears and begged me to ask the Empresswhat she had better do. I promised to see the Empress at once, and, as the Grand Duchesses Anastasie and Marie had just come to fetch me, I returned to the private apartments with them.
The winter afternoon was fast drawing in, and I found the Empress alone in her boudoir. She could give me no message for Mme Pistolkors. “I don’tknowwhat to advise,” she said, sadly. Then, turning to me, “What areyougoing to do, Lili? Titi is in Petrograd ... had you not better return to him this evening?”
At the sight of the Empress, so tragically alone, so helpless in the midst of the signs and splendour of temporal power, I could hardly restrain my tears. Controlling myself with an effort, I tried to steady my voice:
“Permit me to remain withyou, Madame,” I entreated.
The Empress looked at me without speaking. Then she took me in her arms and held me close, and kissed me many times, saying as she did so:
“Icannotask you to do this, Lili.”
“But I must, Madame,” I answered.... “Please, please let me stay. I can’t go back to Petrograd and leave you here.”
The Empress told me that she had tried to ’phone the Emperor, and that she had been unable to do so. “But I have wired him, asking him to return immediately. He’ll be here on Wednesday morning.”
After this conversation we went to see the Grand Duchesses, and the Empress lay down ona couch in their bedroom. I sat beside her, and we conversed in low tones so as not to awaken the sleeping girls. The Empress was still unable to believe in the reports, and she expressed a wish to see the Grand Duke Paul. “How I wish he would come,” she said. She then asked me to go over to Anna’s apartments, and say that she felt too unwell to come herself.
Anna’s room still looked like a “lever du Roi”; Allie had taken her departure, so Mme Tanieff told me, and had gone to the Palace of the Grand Duke Paul. I lost no time in delivering the Empress’s message, and quickly returned to her. The evening wore on.... News came that Petrograd was in a state of upheaval, and that crowds of mutineers were everywhere. The Empress begged me to ’phone Linavitch, the A.D.C. to the Emperor, and ask him to tell us what was happening. Linavitch was in command of a company of Horse Artillery at Pavlosk, two miles from Tsarkoe Selo, so it was not difficult to “get” him. “Tell Her Majesty,” he said, “that I am here with my company, and that all will be well.”
I spent the evening with the Empress in the mauve boudoir, and she told me how glad she was to have me near her. “I know the Grand Duchesses want you to be somewhere close to their room, so I’ve decided that the red drawing-room will be the best place for you to sleep.[1]Come with me. Anastasie is waiting for us,” she said.
The red drawing-room was a fine room;everything in it was upholstered in scarlet, and scarlet and white chintz covered the easy chairs. A bed had been arranged on one of the couches, and the two Grand Duchesses, with tender solicitude, had seen to the minor details themselves. Anastasie’s nightgown lay outside the coverlet, Marie had put a lamp and an ikon on the table by the bed; and a snapshot of Titi, taken from their collection of photographs, had been hastily framed, and occupied a place next to the holy ikon. How dearly I loved them all ... how glad I was that I was privileged to share their danger!
The Empress left me with Anastasie, as she wished to see Count Benckendorff, so Anastasie and I sat down comfortably on the red carpet, and amused ourselves with jig-saw puzzles until she returned.
The Empress came back from her interview with Count Benckendorff in a state of painful agitation, and, directly Anastasie had gone to bed, she told me that the reports were worse. “I don’t want the girls to know anything until it is impossible to keep the truth from them ...” she said, “but people are drinking to excess, and there is indiscriminate shooting in the streets. Oh, Lili, what a blessing that we have here the most devoted troops ... there is the Garde Equipage ... they are all our personal friends, and I place implicit faith in the tirailleurs of Tsarkoe.”
I think that this thought comforted her: she seemed happier when she bade me good night.
I woke early on Tuesday morning.... Sleep
THE IMPERIAL FAMILYBACK ROWleft to right:Grand Duchesses Marie, Olga, and TatianaCENTREleft to right:H.I.M. The Tsaritsa, Tsar Nicholas II. Grand Duchess AnastasiaFRONTThe Tsarevitch
THE IMPERIAL FAMILYBACK ROWleft to right:Grand Duchesses Marie, Olga, and TatianaCENTREleft to right:H.I.M. The Tsaritsa, Tsar Nicholas II. Grand Duchess AnastasiaFRONTThe Tsarevitch
THE IMPERIAL FAMILYBACK ROWleft to right:Grand Duchesses Marie, Olga, and TatianaCENTREleft to right:H.I.M. The Tsaritsa, Tsar Nicholas II. Grand Duchess AnastasiaFRONTThe Tsarevitch
had been almost impossible, but I had dropped into an uneasy slumber soon after dawn. I dressed at once, hoping to be ready for the Empress, but she was before me, and at half-past eight she entered the red drawing-room. We went at once to the Grand Duchesses, and drank ourcafé au laitin their room. The Empress told me that she had wired repeatedly to the Tsar, but had received no reply. Later in the morning she received Count Benckendorff and Colonel Grotten, who informed her that matters were becoming more alarming and that the Garde Equipage had better remain inside the Palace, as there was a report that the mob, supported by the Duma, was even now marching on Tsarkoe.
The Empress immediately consented; she was really delighted at the thought of having the Garde Equipage at the Palace, and the Grand Duchesses were frankly overjoyed. “It’s just like being on the yacht again,” they said. The Garde Equipage, which was now augmented by the Mixed Guard, and by sentinels taken from the Cossack Convoi, took up its quarters outside the Palace and in the vast souterrains. One part of the Palace was arranged as an ambulance station. We were very busy, but the Grand Duchesses made light of danger and showed none of our agitation. The Empress was always awaiting a reply to her telegrams. None came.
Tuesday was a day of general unrest. It seemed as if the weather were in sympathy with man’s savage mood. The blue sky of Monday had vanished, an icy blizzard swept around the Palace, and a north wind drove the deep snow into still deeper drifts. In the afternoon, on my wayback from seeing Anna, I encountered Baroness Ysa Büxhoevgen on one of the corridors. She was almost running and she seemed very much disturbed. “I must see the Empress,” she said. “I’ve just come from Tsarkoe Selo (the town): everything is awful—they say there is mutiny and dissatisfaction amongst the troops.” Ysa’s terror was general: panic seized the dwellers in the Palace, but none of the servants left us. Mlle Schneider’s maids, it is true, fled, but they came back again the next day.
The Empress was very anxious to see the Grand Duke Paul, but I believe that at first there was some misunderstanding, as the Grand Duke thought that etiquette demanded that the Empress should askhim, and he declared that he would not come unless she did. I had received a hint of this, so, when next I saw the Empress, I suggested that perhaps the Grand Duke was waiting for her invitation.... This had not occurred to the Empress; she told me to ’phone at once and ask the Grand Duke to come and see her after dinner.
I was placed, unwillingly, in a very awkward predicament. I had no official position at Court, but the Empress seemed to think that my duty was to act as her mouthpiece, and to assume an authority which I was far from desiring.
However, I ’phoned to the Palace of the Grand Duke, and, in the name of the Empress, I asked him to come to Tsarkoe Selo. His son answered the ’phone, and rather brusquely demanded to know who on all the earth was speaking.
“Lili Dehn,” I said.
His “Oh!” was more eloquent than words!
During the afternoon the Empress called me into her boudoir. “Lili,” she said, “they say that a hostile crowd of 300,000 persons is marching on the Palace. We shall not be, wemustnot be afraid. Everything is in the hands of God. To-morrow the Emperor is sure to come.... Iknowthat, when he does, all will be well.” She then asked me to ’phone to Petrograd, and get in touch with my aunt, Countess Pilar, and other friends. I ’phoned to several, but the news grew worse and worse. At last I ’phoned to my flat. The Emperor’s A.D.C., Sablin, who lived in the same building, answered my ring. I begged him to take care of Titi, and, if it were possible, to join us at Tsarkoe, as the Imperial Family needed protection; but he replied that a ring of flames practically surrounded the building, which was well watched by hostile sailors. He managed, however, to bring Titi to the ’phone—and my heart ached when I heard my child’s anxious voice:
“Mamma, when are you coming back?”
“Darling, I’ll come very soon.”
“Oh,pleasecome; it’s so dreadful here.”
I felt torn between love and duty, but I had long since decided where my duty lay.
I told the Empress what Sablin had reported; she listened in silence, and then, by some tremendous effort of will, she regained her usual composure. Her strength strengthened me. We had, indeed, every need for courage. The poor “children” were lying desperately ill.... They looked almost like corpses.... Anna was in high fever, the Palace was terror-stricken, and outside brooded the dread spectre of Revolution!
All at once the Empress was seized with an idea to talk to the soldiers. I begged to accompany her, in case of any unforeseen treachery, but she refused. “Why, Lili,” she said, reproachfully, “they’re all friends!” Marie and Anastasie went with her, and I watched them from a window. It was quite dark, and the great courtyard was illuminated with what appeared to be exceptionally powerful electric lights. The distant sound of guns was audible ... the night was bitterly cold. From where I stood, I could see the Empress, wrapped in furs, walking from one man to another, utterly fearless of her safety. She was the calm, dignified Tsaritsa—the typical consort of the Tsar of all the Russias. Here was no hysterical religious maniac, no abandoned heroine of the novel! The Empress moved in this tragicmise en scène, protected by her own goodness; but, when the light fell on her fair, pale face, I trembled. I knew her weak heart, her delicacy of physique—suppose she were to faint?
When the Empress came back, she was apparently possessed by some inward exaltation. She was radiant; her trust in the “people” was complete, she was sustained by that, often, alas, broken reed of friendship. “They are our friends,” she kept on repeating, “they are so devoted to us.” She was, alas, presently to discover that the name of Judas is often synonymous with that of a friend.
One thing troubled her fleeting happiness. “I haven’t seen a company in the basement.... It is such a pity, but I didn’t feel well enough. Perhaps I can manage it to-morrow.”
After her visit to the soldiers, the Empress received Count and Countess Benckendorff, who asked to be permitted to remain at the Palace. Their request was gladly granted, and rooms were arranged for them.
The Grand Duke Paul arrived later in the evening. He was a tall, imposing man, who was considered to be very fascinating, and, what was more to his credit, excessively kind at heart. He had a long conversation with the Empress, and we could hear their agitated voices in the next room. The Empress told me afterwards that almost her first words had been:
“What of the Guards?”
And the Grand Duke had replied in tones of fatality:
“I can do nothing. Nearly all of them are at the Front.”
When we went to bid the Grand Duchesses good night, I was distressed to find that the firing was distinctly to be heard from their room. Olga and Tatiana did not appear to notice it, but, when their mother had gone, Olga asked me what the noise signified. “Darling, I don’t know—it’s nothing. The hard frost makes everything sound much more,” I said lightly.
“But are yousure, Lili?” persisted the Grand Duchess. “Even Mamma seems nervous, we’re so worried about her heart; she’s most certainly overtiring herself—doask her to rest.”
The Empress decided that Marie should sleep with her. “You, Lili, will sleep in the room with Anastasie, and have Marie’s bed. Don’t take off your corsets ... one doesn’t know what may happen. The Emperor arrives between 5 and 7to-morrow morning, and we must be ready to meet him. Come to my room early, and then I’ll tell you the train.”
Neither the Grand Duchess nor I could sleep, and we lay awake in the darkness talking in low tones. Occasionally I was silent, but, when this was so, Anastasie never failed to ask: “Lili, are you asleep?”
During the night we got up and looked out of the windows. A huge gun had been placed in the courtyard. “How astonished Papa will be!” whispered Anastasie. We stood for a few minutes watching the weird scene. It was so bitterly cold that the sentinels were dancing round the gun in order to keep warm. Their figures were sharply defined against the arc-lights—it seemed like some new Carmagnole; in the distance we heard shouts of drunken voices and occasional shots—and so the night passed.
At 5 a.m. on Wednesday morning we went downstairs to the Empress’s bedroom. She was awake, and as she opened the door she whispered: “Hush ... Marie is asleep: the train is late.... Most probably the Emperor won’t come until ten.” The Empress was fully dressed, and she looked so sad that I could not help saying impulsively: “Oh, Madame,whyis the train late?”
She smiled wanly, but did not reply. As we went back to our bedroom, Anastasie said in agitated tones: “Lili, the train isneverlate. Oh, if Papa would only come quickly.... I’m beginning to feel ill. What shall I do if I get ill? I can’t be useful to Mamma.... Oh, Lili, say I’m not going to be ill.”
I tried to calm her, and I persuaded her to lie down on her bed and sleep; but the poor child was actually sickening for the measles. Anastasie was the sweetest-natured girl: she adored her mother, and delighted in running hither and thither on her errands. The Empress always alluded to Anastasie as “my legs!”
When the Empress joined me in Olga’s room a little before nine, she still hoped for the 10 o’clock train. “Perhaps the blizzard detains him,” she said. She lay down on the couch, and I sat on the floor beside her; we spoke in undertones; but her chief anxiety was concerning my want of sleep.
“Sit on a chair, Lili, and put your feet up on the couch,” she said.
“No—no—Madame,” I replied, “it is not to be thought of.” But, at her request, I compromised matters by resting the tips of my shoes on the end of the couch.
Ten o’clock came, but we still heard nothing. It was the first of March, a month fatal to the Romanoffs—well might they “beware the Ides of March!” The Emperor Paul was suffocated on the first of March, and, thirty-six years previously, on this date, the Emperor’s grandfather, Alexander II, was killed by a bomb. The March of 1917 is destined to be associated with the downfall of the dynasty.
We were living in a state of continual and unrelieved anxiety. Dr. Botkin and Dr. Direvenko were in constant attendance on the three Grand Duchesses, but the Tsarevitch was, fortunately, much better. Poor Anastasie could notreconcile herself to the idea of being ill: she cried and cried, and kept on repeating, “Please don’t keep me in bed.”
Service in the Palace was quite normal, but the water supply which worked the private lift used by the Empress had been cut off, and in consequence she was now obliged to walk upstairs. This sounds a trivial incident, but it entailed a great deal of suffering on the Empress, who was already overtired and overstrung. Her heart, always affected, now became much worse, owing to her having to go up and down stairs so often, but she insisted upon seeing her children, and she used to go up the staircase at times almost on the verge of fainting. I supported her—walking behind her and holding her underneath the arms.
We could not understand what had become of the Emperor: the Empress thought that the delay arose owing to the confusion on the railways, which were now in the hands of the Revolutionaries.
The dreary afternoon of March 1st was signalised by an unhappy occurrence. The Empress and I were standing at the window overlooking the courtyard, when we noticed that many of the soldiers had bound white handkerchiefs on their wrists. An enquiry as to the reason elicited the reply that the white handkerchiefs signified that upon the representation of a Member (who had come to Tsarkoe Selo) the troops had consented to act in unison with the Duma.
The Empress turned to me. “Well ... so everything is in the hands of the Duma,” she said, with a certain degree of bitterness. “Let us hopethat it will bestir itself, and do something to remedy the disaffection.”
SHOOTING PARTY IN FINLAND, AUTUMN, 1910 Center—the Emperor: Right—Lieut.-Com. Dehn
SHOOTING PARTY IN FINLAND, AUTUMN, 1910 Center—the Emperor: Right—Lieut.-Com. Dehn
SHOOTING PARTY IN FINLAND, AUTUMN, 1910 Center—the Emperor: Right—Lieut.-Com. Dehn
THE TSAREVITCH AT G.H.Q.
THE TSAREVITCH AT G.H.Q.
THE TSAREVITCH AT G.H.Q.
THE TSAREVITCH AND HIS SPANIEL ‘JOY’
THE TSAREVITCH AND HIS SPANIEL ‘JOY’
THE TSAREVITCH AND HIS SPANIEL ‘JOY’
She moved away from the window. I could see she was hurt and disappointed ... but this was not destined to be the last of her many disillusions!
Count Appraxin, Secretary to the Empress, arrived later in the day: he had experienced the greatest difficulty in reaching Tsarkoe—and his news was not reassuring. We sat up late that evening—dinner had been a mere farce—our minds were too anxious and too preoccupied to think of food. The children were dangerously ill, the whereabouts of the Emperor were unknown, and the Revolution was at our gates. When at last I bade the Empress good night, she told me not to undress. “I’m not going to do so,” she said, and her quiet tones were significant that she anticipated the worst!
Earlyon the morning of March 2nd the Empress came into the Grand Duchesses’ bedroom. She was deathly pale—she seemed hardly alive. As I ran towards her I heard her agitated whisper: “Lili—the troops have deserted!”
I found no words with which to answer. I was stupefied. At last I managed to stammer:
“Why, Madame? In the name of God, why?”
“Their Commander-in-Chief, the Grand Duke Cyril, has sent for them.” Then, unable to contain herself, the Empress said brokenly, “My sailors—myownsailors—I can’t believe it.”
But it was too true. The Garde Equipage had left the Palace at 1 a.m. and 5 a.m.—the “faithful friends,” the “devoted subjects,” were with us no longer. The officers of the Garde were received by the Empress in the mauve boudoir during the morning: I was present, and I heard from one of my husband’s friends that the duty of taking the Garde to Petrograd had been carried out by a “temporary gentleman,” Lieutenant Kouzmine. The officers were furious, especially their commandant, Miasocdoff-Ivanof, a big, burly sailor, whose kind eyes were full of tears.... One and all begged to be allowed to remain with the Empress, who, almost overcome by emotion, thanked them, saying: “Yes—yes—I beg you to remain: this has been a terrible blow, whatwillthe Emperor say when he hears about it!” She then sent for General Resin, the Commander of the Mixed Guard, and instructed him to make room for the loyal officers in his regiment.
General Resin told me long afterwards that he was relieved when he knew that the cowardly Garde had actually left the Palace, as orders had been given for a detachment to go on one of the church towers which commanded a view of the courtyard, and if, by a certain time, the troops had not joined the Duma, to train two enormous field-guns on to the Palace!
There was still no news of the Emperor, although the Empress constantly telegraphed. It was reported that his train was returning to G.H.Q., and at the time many people thought that if it reached there the troops would have followed the Emperor. We ’phoned to the hospitals for news, and the Empress received a good many people. To all these she was her usual calm, dignified self. When I marvelled at her fortitude, she replied: “Lili, I mustnotgive way. I keep on saying, ‘I must not’—it helps me.”
In the late afternoon, Rita Hitrowo (one of the younger ladies-in-waiting, and a friend of the Grand Duchesses) arrived from Petrograd with the worst possible tidings, and, after the Empress had spoken to Rita, she received two officers of the Mixed Guard, who proposed to try and get a letter from her through to the Emperor: it was arranged that they should leave Tsarkoe the next evening. The Empress was always willing to hope. But the night passed, and still never a word came from the Emperor.
On March 3rd I took mycafé au laitwith Marie, and we were joined by the Empress. Itwas a day of agony. The Grand Duchesses grew worse: their ears were badly inflamed, it seemed as if they might not recover. The Empress tried to snatch a little rest by occasionally lying on a couch: her feet had now become very painful, and her heart affection was, at times, alarming. Meals were silent and horrible affairs: I felt as though each morsel would choke me. But, as I had now grown desperate with anxiety, I conceived the notion of communicating with the Emperor by aeroplane. Might not his whereabouts be discovered in this way? The Empress welcomed the idea, and she sent for General Resin, and asked for an aeroplane to be despatched at once. He agreed, but even the weather was against us.... A blizzard set in; the dark sky was blotted out with scudding snow, and the wind howled dismally round the Palace.
The Grand Duke Paul arrived about 7 o’clock in the evening. The Empress was engaged in writing letters for the officers to convey to the Emperor, but she received the Grand Duke without a moment’s delay.
The interview took place in the red drawing-room. Marie and I were in the adjoining study, and from time to time we heard the loud voice of the Grand Duke and the agitated replies of the Empress. Marie began to get apprehensive.
“Why is he shouting at Mamma?” she asked. “Don’t you think I had better see what’s the matter, Lili?”
“No, no,” I said, “we had better remain here quietly.”
“Youcan remain, but I’ll go to my room,” she answered. “I can’t bear to think Mamma is worried.”
Hardly had the Grand Duchess left the study when the door opened and the Empress appeared. Her face was distorted with agony, her eyes were full of tears. She tottered rather than walked, and I rushed forward and supported her until she reached the writing-table between the windows. She leant heavily against it, and, taking my hands in hers, she said brokenly:
“Abdiqué!”
I could not believe my ears. I waited for her next words. They were hardly audible. At last: “Le pauvre ... tout seul là bas ... et passé ... oh, mon Dieu, par quoi il a passé! Et je ne puis pas être près de lui pour le consoler.”
“Madame, très chère Madame, il faut avoir du courage.”
She paid no attention to me, and kept on repeating, “Mon Dieu, que c’est pénible.... Tout seul là bas!” I put my arms around her and we walked slowly up and down the long room. At last, fearing for her reason, I cried: “Mais Madame—au nom de Dieu—il vit!!”
“Yes, Lili,” she replied, as if new hope inspired her. “Yes, he lives.”
“I entreat you, Madame, don’t lose your courage, don’t give way: think of your children and of the Emperor.”
The Empress considered me with almost painful scrutiny.
“And you, Lili, what of you?”
“Madame, I love you more than anything in this world.”
“I know it—I see it, Lili.”
“Well, Madame,writeto him. Think how pleased he will be.” I drew the Empress towards the writing-table, and she sank on a chair.... “Write, dear Madame, write,” I repeated.
She obeyed almost like a child, murmuring, “Yes, Lili ... how glad he’ll be.”
Feeling that I might venture to leave the Empress for a few minutes, I went in search of Dr. Botkin, who gave me a composing draught for her.... But the Empress did not wish to take it, and it was only when I said: “Forhissake, Madame,” that she complied.
The sound of bitter weeping now attracted my attention. In one corner of the room crouched the Grand Duchess Marie. She was as pale as her mother. Sheknewall! At this moment Volkoff, that faithful servant, entered, and in trembling tones announced that dinner was served. The Empress rose and endeavoured to regain her composure.... I followed her into the next room. She looked round. “Where is Marie?” she said.
I went back to the red drawing-room. Marie was still crouching in the corner. She was so young, so helpless, so hurt, that I felt I must comfort her as one comforts a child. I knelt beside her, her head rested on my shoulder. I kissed her tear-stained face.
“Darling,” I said, “don’t cry.... You will make Mamma so unhappy. Think ofher.”
At the words, “Think ofher,” the Grand Duchess remembered the unswerving devotion of the children towards their parents. Every thing was always subservient to Mamma and Papa.
“Ah ... I’d forgotten, Lili. Yes, I must think of Mamma,” she answered. Little by little her sobs ceased, her composure returned, and she went with me to her mother.
That night the Empress and I sat up very late: she had paid her usual visit to the Grand Duchesses, when she had tried outwardly to appear calm. But alone with me it was a different matter. The Empress told me that the Emperor had abdicated in favour of the Tsarevitch. “Nowhe’llbe taken from me,” she cried. “The people are to assume the Regency. What shall I do?” She started at every footfall; she trembled at the mere sound of a voice.... One idea obsessed her—someone might come at any moment to take away her son!
“But, Madame, nothing can be done until the Emperor returns.”
“No, surely they will not dare; and he’ll be with us very soon,” she said. Then, with her usual unselfishness, the Empress insisted upon seeing Count Benckendorff. “I must console him and strengthen him. I can imagine his state of mind.”
It was an affecting interview.... I do not know what actually transpired, but, when the Empress returned, she was crying. “Le pauvre vieux,” she murmured, as if to herself.
I did not allow the Empress to see how apprehensive I was, how utterly despairing. I did not share her optimism.... The position was most precarious, and the desperate condition of the Grand Duchesses augmented the general unhappiness. Our only hope lay in the Emperor’s return—at any rate, his presence would afford us some moral protection! That night Marie and Islept in the red drawing-room. We lay awake for hours talking about the new developments. But one thought consoled us. The Emperor was still alive!
When the Empress paid her usual visit to the Grand Duchesses, she told us that her first idea was to see all those in the Palace, and console them as much as possible. Countess Gendrinkoff, her devoted lady-in-waiting, who was away visiting a sick relative, returned to Tsarkoe directly she heard of the Emperor’s abdication, and her meeting with the Empress was most touching. At first neither of them spoke; and then the Countess, usually a most self-contained individual, broke into bitter weeping.
It was a tragic morning. Towards noon the Empress sent for me. “Lili,” she said, “the Duma is losing no time. M. Rodziansko[2]has intimated that we must make our preparations for departure. He says we are to meet the Emperor somewhereen route. But we can’t possibly go; how can we move the children? I’ve spoken to the doctors, and they say it would be fatal! I’ve told Rodziansko this, and he is returning later to acquaint me with the decision of the Duma.”
Rodziansko and his colleagues returned at the time appointed. They were at once taken to the Empress.
“The decision of the Duma is unalterable,” said Rodziansko curtly.
“But my children—my daughters ...” pleaded the Empress.
“When a house is on fire, it is best to leave it,” answered Rodziansko, with a sardonic smile.
There was apparently nothing to be done. We were at the mercy of Tiberius, and we commenced our preparations for departure. The Empress asked me if I would like to accompany them. I begged to be permitted to do so. “Icannotleave you, Madame,” I said.
We endeavoured to ’phone to certain friends, but it was impossible. At last the operator, in frightened tones, whispered, “I can’t give you the number; the telephone is not in our hands. I beg you, don’t talk—I’ll ring you up directly it is safe.”
In the course of the afternoon a servant informed us that an officer of one of the Tartar regiments begged the Empress to receive him. The Empress asked me to interview him, as she felt too ill to do so, and accordingly I went over to the fourth wing of the Palace, where the officer was waiting. As I traversed the long corridors, I heard the sound of rough voices. I stopped, terrified, at the entrance of one of the salons—the Mixed Guards were just about to change the guard; but “changing the guard” was no longer the decorous proceeding of yester-year! When the fresh detachment entered the salon, they threw themselves literally into the arms of the other soldiers, shouting, “New-born citizens of freedom, we congratulate you.”
I passed the “new-born citizens of freedom,” and I found Lieutenant Markoff, to whom I explained the reason of my “deputising.” The poor boy had been wounded, he could scarcely stand; but his spirit was unconquerable.“Madame,” he said, “I’ve fought my way through the mob in order to see the Empress, and assure her of my devotion. The assassins wanted to tear off my epaulettes withHERcypher. I told them that the Empress had given them to me, and that it was her right alone to deprive me of them. I’ve arrived here at last.... I entreat you to ask the Empress to allow me to remain somewhere near her.... I don’t care if I wash up the dirty plates. I’ll do anything—only let me stay!”
I promised Markoff to deliver his message, and on my way back I heard the soldiers laughing and singing. Sick at heart, and utterly disgusted at their behaviour, I reported it to the Empress. “Les malheureux,” she said, “ce n’est pas leur faute, c’est la faute à ceux qui les trompent.” She granted poor young Markoff’s request, and told me to see General Resin, and arrange for Markoff to be included in his detachment.
I suppose the first idea of most people in the position of the Empress, faced with hurried flight, would have been to save their jewels. But jewels were a secondary consideration with the Empress; her chief treasures were those of sentiment, and, as I watched her collecting her favourite books and photographs, I thought that in this instance, as in all others, she was more of the woman than the Empress. And the idea of leaving the scene of many of her happiest associations must have been heart-rending to her. She had transformed the Palace into a home; here she had watched the beautiful growth of her four fair daughters and her adoredson. And here she was destined to drink the uttermost dregs of the Cup of Sorrow.
Whilst she was gathering together her personal treasures, the Empress, recalled in imagination to Petrograd, by the sight of a photograph, asked me to telephone to Prince Ratief, the Commandant of the Winter Palace, and tell him that her thoughts were with them all. Fortunately I was enabled to do so; the Prince himself answered my call. “I thank Her Majesty from my heart. We are still alive, but crowds surround the Palace,” he said.
After dinner, we went to see the Grand Duchesses, and then to the mauve boudoir—there was no news from the Emperor; all sorts of rumours were current, the most insistent being that he had returned to G.H.Q.
Sunday, the 5th of March, was for us another hopeless dawn. The Empress gave orders for a Te Deum to be sung, and the miraculous ikon from Znaminie[3]brought to the Palace and taken to the sick-rooms. The procession bearing the ikon passed through the Palace; the Empress walked in it, and, as I looked at the lovely representation of the Virgin and Child, the expression of the eyes seemed the same which I had often seen in those of the Empress—a combination of Faith, Hope and Tragedy!
It was a strange sight to witness the solemn little procession as it traversed the almost deserted splendours of the Palace. Incense wafted wreaths of perfume towards Heaven, the solemn chant rose and fell, the gold and blues of the Virgin’s draperies glowed when the ikon passed one ofthe windows, the sacred symbol of the Cross raised its head above the tumult of Revolution. It seemed to me as if this were some last appeal to God, Who, we are told, is a God of Love and Pity.
The Empress was anxious that the ikon should be taken to Anna’s room, so the procession wended its way thither. There, as usual, were the fuss and overcrowding which seemed inseparable from Anna’s attack of measles; doctors, nurses and sisters took up all the available space, so, whilst the Empress was praying by the bedside, I stood by the door. One of the doctors from Anna’s hospital was near, and, recognising me, he whispered: “I say, Madame Dehn, I think I shall say good-bye to the Palace. Things are getting too hot formycomfort.” But, if he expected an answer, he receivednone. I simply stared at him.
The Empress was still kneeling by Anna’s bed, and Anna, now thoroughly hysterical andexaltéeby reason of much incense and many prayers, was crying and kissing the Empress’s folded hands. It is quite impossible for English readers to imagine such a scene, but these religious processions in the case of illness were of common occurrence with us.
I went back to see Anna later in the evening, and, when I entered the bedroom, I was surprised to see the matron of Anna’s hospital, who was praying—a taper in her hand. Directly she saw me, her prayers took unto themselves wings; we had always disliked each other, so our conversation was short and to the point.
“What, areyoustill here?” she exclaimed, meaningly.
“Yes ... I’mhere,” I replied, with equal emphasis.
Anna said nothing; she looked more childish than ever, and very ill at ease. The impression which I received was a bad one, and, when I related to the Empress what I had seen, she wrote to the doctor at the hospital, and asked him to send for the matron, as her presence was not required. Soon after this she resigned, and, like many others of her kind, she left Tsarkoe for an unknown destination.
On Monday, March 6th, all was in readiness for our departure. But one thing yet remained for us to do, and this was, in my eyes, of the utmost importance. During one of my restless nights, I suddenly remembered that the Empress had always kept a diary and that she possessed the diaries of her friend, Princess Orbelliany, which had been bequeathed to her by the Princess.
These contained most intimate accounts of various people, and events connected with the Court. I likewise remembered the Empress’s sentimental habit of preserving correspondence with associations, and I dreaded the possibility of either letters or diaries falling into the hands of the Revolutionaries. I knew that the worst construction would be placed by the “Sons of Freedom” on anything unusual which these papers might contain. Even the Empress’s habit of calling people by pet names might be construed as sensualism or treason!
I hardly dared suggest the wisdom of destroying this personal property, but my devotion triumphed over my nervousness. To my intense surprise, the Empress at once agreed to do as I proposed.
It may be argued that I was guilty of the worst Vandalism in persuading the Empress to destroy her diaries and correspondence. I may have been, in an historical and artistic sense—but I was right on the score of friendship. We had already experienced the misconstruction which had been put ononesentence in a letter: What might not be the fate of the contents of the Imperial diaries if they fell into the hands of censorious and “pure-minded” Revolutionaries?
Princess Orbelliany’s diaries were burned first. They consisted of nine leather-bound volumes, and we experienced much difficulty in destroying them. Thisauto-da-féof sentiment took place in the red drawing-room, but we did not attempt to finish burning the diaries and correspondence in one day. It was at best a melancholy task, and we decided to spread it over a week—especially as the Grand Duchesses were very ill, and we had to be with them constantly. Olga was now suffering with inflammation in the head, and Anastasie made little or no progress.
After lunch, when the Empress and I were sitting in the mauve boudoir, we were startled by the sudden entrance of Volkoff. He was very agitated, his face was pale, he trembled in every limb. Without waiting to be addressed by the Empress, and utterly oblivious of etiquette, he cried: “The Emperor is on the ’phone!”
The Empress looked at Volkoff as if he had taken leave of his senses; then, as she realised the full import of his words, she jumped up with the alacrity of a girl of sixteen, and rushed out of the room.
I waited anxiously. I kept on praying that alittle happiness might yet be hers ... perhaps, for all we knew, the danger had passed.
When the Empress returned, her face was like an April day—all smiles and tears!
“Lili,” she exclaimed, “imagine what were his first words ... he said: ‘I thought that I might have come back to you, but they keep me here. However, I’ll be with you all very soon.’”The Emperor added that the Dowager Empress was coming from Kieff to be with him, and that he had only received the Empress’s wiresafterthe abdication. “The poor one!” said the Empress. “How much he has suffered! how pleased he’ll be to see his mother!”
Thus the day which had begun so sadly ended happily ... we went at once to tell the glad news to the Grand Duchesses and the Tsarevitch, who was much better, and greatly excited at the prospect of his father’s return. M. Gilliard, a charming Swiss, who taught the children French, was with him, but Mr. Gibbs, his English tutor, was in Petrograd. I always remember Mr. Gibbs and his kindness to me. On one occasion upon going to Petrograd he put himself to great inconvenience to get news of Titi, and procure clothes for myself. Notwithstanding innumerable difficulties, he returned with reassuring tidings of Titi, and a clean nurse’s uniform and lingerie for myself.[4]x
Afterour usual visit to the children (March 7th) the Empress and I went into the red drawing-room, where a fierce fire was burning in the huge grate, and we recommenced our work of destruction.
A large oaken coffer had been placed on the table; this coffer contained all the letters written to the Empress by the Emperor during her engagement and married life. I dared not look at her as she sat gazing at the letters which meant so much. I think she re-read some of them, for at intervals I heard stifled sobs, and those sighs which have their origin in the heart’s bitterness. Many of the letters had been written before she was a wife and a mother. They were the love-letters of a man who had loved her wholly and devotedly, who still loved her with the affection of that bygone Springtime. Little dreamt either the lover or the beloved that these letters were afterwards destined to be wet with tears.
The Empress rose from her chair, and, still weeping, laid her love-letters one by one on the heart of the fire. The writing glowed for an instant, as if desirous of burning itself into her very soul, then it faded, and the paper became a little heap of white ash.... Alas for Youth! Alas for Love!
When the Empress had destroyed her correspondence, she handed me her diaries to burn. Some of the earlier volumes were gay little books bound in white satin; others were bound in leather. She smiled bravely as I took them, and an immense disgust seized me when I thought that the country of my birth was responsible for her misery and the injustice meted out to her. “I can’t bear Russia,” I cried. “I hate it.”
“Don’t dare say such things, Lili,” said the Empress. “You hurt me.... If you love me, don’t ever say you hate Russia. The people are not to blame; they don’t understand what they are doing.”
A coloured post-card of South Russia fell out of one of the diaries. I picked it up. It was a pretty picture of young girls standing in a flower-starred meadow ... and it brought Revovka back to me. “That’shome,” I murmured. But the Empress heard my words.
“What did you say? Repeat it, Lili. You said, ‘That’shome.’ Now you must never say you hate Russia.”
At this time, I am proud to say, the Empress relied on me as woman to woman. To her, I was always “Lili,” or “My brave girl.” I was her friend in trouble. The fact that I possessed no official position mattered nothing to her; every moment I was writing letters, taking messages, and seeing people on her behalf. I obeyed her absolutely, and her gentle influence gave me fresh strength to hope and to endure.
The burning of the diaries extended over Wednesday and Thursday ... but on Thursday one of the Empress’s dressers came to the red drawing-room and begged us to discontinue. “Your Majesty,” said she, “the sweepers are searching for the half-charred pieces of paper, some of which have been carried up the chimney. I beg of you to cease.... These men are talking among themselves.... They are utterly disloyal.” But our task was completed—at any rate we had checkmated the curiosity of the Revolutionaries!
At 7 o’clock the Empress asked me to telephone again to the Winter Palace. As on the previous occasion, Prince Retief answered me.
“How are things with you?” I enquired.
“The mob is even now at the gates of the Palace,” he replied with absolute unconcern. “I beg you, Madame, to present my assurances of fidelity and devotion to the Empress.... I may not be able to do so again.... Ah!... I thought as much. Madame, it distresses me to appear discourteous, but I fear I am about to be killed.... The doors of this room are being forced!” His voice ceased—there was a terrible crash.... I could bear no more, and the receiver slipped from my nerveless hands.
We remained in the mauve boudoir until quite late, but, just as we were about to go to bed, Volkoff entered in a state of painful agitation. He managed to tell us that M. Goutchkoff had arrived, and insisted upon seeing the Empress. It was then 11 o’clock.
“But, at this hour—it’s impossible,” said the Empress.
“Your Majesty, heinsists,” stammered Volkoff. The Empress turned to me—terror andpathos in her eyes. “He has come to arrest me, Lili,” she exclaimed. “Telephone to the Grand Duke Paul, and ask him to come at once.” Regaining her composure, the Empress rearranged the Red Cross head-dress which she had taken off, and stood waiting in silence for the Grand Duke. Neither Marie nor myself dared speak. At length, after what seemed an interminable agony of suspense, the Grand Duke entered, and the Empress told him in a few words about her ominous summons. The next moment, loud voices in the corridor, and the banging of a door, announced Goutchkoff’s arrival in the adjoining room.
Goutchkoff, the Minister of War during the Revolution, was an openly avowed personal enemy of the Emperor, whom he had never forgiven for not having accepted him at his own valuation as the uncrowned king of Moscow. He had compelled the Emperor to abdicate through revenge; spiteful curiosity now urged him to gloat over the sufferings of a defenceless woman! He was a hideous creature, who wore big spectacles with yellow glasses, which partially disguised the fact that he was unable to look anyone straight in the face.
Marie and I clung desperately to the Empress; we were certain that all was now finished. She kissed us both tenderly, and passed out with the Grand Duke Paul, an infinitely tragic figure, recalling to my mind a vision of Marie Antoinette, whose troubles possessed so many similarities with those of the Empress. Volkoff, that loyal servant, true to the traditions of Imperial regime, informed us that Goutchkoff had brought two A.D.C.’s withhim, and that one of these men had accosted him with the words: “Ha, ha! Here we are. You didn’t expect us to-night, eh? Butweare masters of the Palacenow!”
Marie and I sat side by side on the sofa, the young girl shook with fear, but her terror was not for herself—Marie, like all the children, thought only of her beloved mother.
In this crisis of their fortunes, the Imperial Family manifested no sorrow at the loss of their rank and prestige. The only anxiety shown by them was the fear of parting one from the other. Theirs might have been the words inscribed upon the wall of a certain old prison in Italy: “Better death than life without you.” And, if the report of their death be true, they most mercifully never knew the pain of separation.
At last footsteps sounded in the corridor—the door of the boudoir opened—and, to our unspeakable relief, we saw the Empress!
Marie ran towards her mother, half crying, and half laughing, and the Empress quickly reassured us.
“I am not to be arrested this time,” she said. “But, oh! the humiliation of the interview! Goutchkoff was impossible—I couldnotgive him my hand. He told me that he merely wanted to see how I was supporting my trials, and whether or no I was frightened.” Her pale cheeks were rose-flushed, her eyes sparkled—at this moment the Empress was terrible in her anger. But she soon regained her calm dignity, and we bade her good night, thankful that she was spared to us.
Wednesday, March 8th, is a day momentousin the annals of new-born Russia, inasmuch as it witnessed the arrest of a woman and five sick children, and of those adherents who knew the meaning of the words Friendship and Duty.
In the morning Count Benckendorff came to inform us that the Emperor would arrive at Tsarkoe on the 9th, and that the Revolutionary authorities had decided to arrest everyone in the Palace by noon. The Count asked the Empress to give him a list of those of her suite who would be willing to remain, and the Empress at once addressed me: “Lili ... do you understand what this order means? After it is enforced, nobody will be allowed to leave the Palace, all news from outside will be stopped. What do you wish to do? Think of Titi ... Can you bear to be without tidings of him?”
I did not hesitate. “My greatest wish is to remain with you, Madame,” I replied.
“I knew it!” exclaimed the Empress. “But ... it will, I fear, be a terrible experience for you.”
“Don’t worry on my account, Madame,” I answered. “We will share the danger together.”
At noon, General Korniloff made his appearance at the Palace with the order for the arrest of the Imperial Family. The Empress received him wearing her Red Cross uniform, and she was genuinely pleased to see him, since she laboured under the mistaken idea that he was well disposed towards herself and the family. She was entirely mistaken, as Korniloff, thinking that theEmpress disliked him, never lost an opportunity of spreading the most malicious reports concerning her.
Korniloff told the Empress that the Palace troops were to be replaced with those of the Revolution; there was no use for the Mixed Guard and the Cossack Convoi; the Palace was now thronged with Revolutionaries, who were walking about everywhere. When the officers of the Mixed Guard bade farewell to the Empress, many of them broke down and sobbed. She afterwards told me that it was also for her a most painful moment. The officers asked the Empress for a handkerchief, as a souvenir of her and the Grand Duchesses.... This handkerchief they proposed to tear in pieces, and divide between them; and later, to their great joy, we sent them some “initial” handkerchiefs.
It was a day of good-byes; many officers came in from Petrograd to bid farewell to the Imperial Family; the Tanieffs left, as the Empress had insisted upon them returning to the Palace of the Grand Duke Michael, where they might reasonably hope to be in safety.
At last the Empress decided to tell the Grand Duchesses about the abdication ... she could not bear this painful task to devolve upon her husband. She therefore made her way to their apartments, and was with them alone for a long time. Anantasie seemed to sense what had happened ... and after her mother had left them she looked at me, and said, very quietly, “Mamma has told us everything, Lili; but, as Papa is coming,nothing else matters. However, you have known what was going on ... how could you keep it from us? Why, you’re usually so nervous ... how is it you are so calm?”