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Title: Thirteen years at the Russian court

Author: Pierre Gilliard

Translator: F. A. Holt

Release date: October 21, 2019 [eBook #60546]
Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIRTEEN
YEARS AT THE RUSSIAN COURT ***

Contents.
List of Illustrations
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THIRTEEN YEARS AT THE RUSSIAN COURT

IN CAPTIVITY AT TSARSKOÏE-SELO
March to August, 1917

THE CZAR CLEARING A PATH THROUGH THE SNOW IN THE PARK OF TSARSKOÏE-SELO
AT THE END OF MARCH, 1917.
[Frontispiece.

THIRTEEN YEARS AT
THE RUSSIAN COURT
(A Personal Record of the Last Years and
Death of the Czar Nicholas II. and his Family)

BY
PIERRE GILLIARD
(Formerly Tutor to the Czarevitch)

TRANSLATED BY
F. APPLEBY HOLT, O.B.E.

With 59 Illustrations

THIRD EDITION

LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW

INTRODUCTION

I N September, 1920, after staying three years in Siberia, I was able to
return to Europe. My mind was still full of the poignant drama with
which I had been closely associated, but I was also still deeply impressed
by the wonderful serenity and flaming faith of those who had been its
victims.
Cut off from communication with the rest of the world for many months,
I was unfamiliar with recent publications on the subject of the Czar
Nicholas II. and his family. I was not slow to discover that though some of
these works revealed a painful anxiety for accuracy and their authors
endeavoured to rely on serious records (although the information they gave
was often erroneous or incomplete so far as the Imperial family was
concerned), the majority of them were simply a tissue of absurdities and
falsehoods—in other words, vulgar outpourings exploiting the most
unworthy calumnies.[1]
I was simply appalled to read some of them. But my indignation was far
greater when I realised to my amazement that they had been accepted by the
general public.
To rehabilitate the moral character of the Russian sovereigns was a duty
—a duty called for by honesty and justice. I decided at once to attempt the
task.
What I am endeavouring to describe is the drama of a lifetime, a drama I
(at first) suspected under the brilliant exterior of a magnificent Court, and
then realised personally during our captivity when circumstances brought
me into intimate contact with the sovereigns. The Ekaterinburg drama was,
in fact, nothing but the fulfilment of a remorseless destiny, the climax of
one of the most moving tragedies humanity has known. In the following
pages I shall try to show its nature and to trace its melancholy stages.
There were few who suspected this secret sorrow, yet it was of vital
importance from a historical point of view. The illness of the Czarevitch
cast its shadow over the whole of the concluding period of the Czar
Nicholas II.’s reign and alone can explain it. Without appearing to be, it was
one of the main causes of his fall, for it made possible the phenomenon of
Rasputin and resulted in the fatal isolation of the sovereigns who lived in a

world apart, wholly absorbed in a tragic anxiety which had to be concealed
from all eyes.
In this book I have endeavoured to bring Nicholas II. and his family
back to life. My aim is to be absolutely impartial and to preserve complete
independence of mind in describing the events of which I have been an
eyewitness. It may be that in my search for truth I have presented their
political enemies with new weapons against them, but I greatly hope that
this book will reveal them as they really were, for it was not the glamour of
their Imperial dignity which drew me to them, but their nobility of mind
and the wonderful moral grandeur they displayed through all their
sufferings.
PIERRE GILLIARD.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION vii
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xi
I. MY FIRST LESSONS AT THE COURT (AUTUMN, 1905) 17
II. ALEXIS NICOLAÏEVITCH—VISITS TO THE CRIMEA (AUTUMN, 1911,
AND SPRING, 1912)—SPALA (AUTUMN, 1912) 25
III. I BEGIN MY DUTIES AS TUTOR—THE CZAREVITCH’S ILLNESS
(AUTUMN, 1913) 37
IV. THE CZARINA, ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA 47
V. RASPUTIN 59
VI. ILIFE AT TSARSKOÏE-SELO—MY PUPILS (THE WINTER OF 1913-14) 69
VII. THE INFLUENCE OF RASPUTIN—MADAME WYROUBOVA—MY
TUTORIAL TROUBLES (WINTER OF 1913) 81
VIII. JOURNEYS TO THE CRIMEA AND RUMANIA—PRESIDENT
POINCARÉ’S VISIT—DECLARATION OF WAR BY GERMANY (APRIL-
JULY, 1914) 91
IX. THE IMPERIAL FAMILY IN THE FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR—OUR
JOURNEY TO MOSCOW (AUGUST, 1914) 105
X. THE FIRST SIX MONTHS OF THE WAR 121
XI. THE RETREAT OF THE RUSSIAN ARMY—THE CZAR PLACES HIMSELF
AT THE HEAD OF HIS ARMY—THE GROWING INFLUENCE OF THE
CZARINA (FEBRUARY-SEPTEMBER, 1915) 133
XII. NICHOLAS II. AS COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF—THE ARRIVAL OF THE
CZAREVITCH AT G.H.Q.—VISITS TO THE FRONT(SEPTEMBER-
DECEMBER, 1915) 147
XIII. THE CZAR AT THE DUMA—THE CAMPAIGN IN GALICIA—OUR LIFE
AT G.H.Q.—GROWING DISAFFECTION IN THE REAR (1916) 161
XIV. POLITICAL TENSION—THE DEATH OF RASPUTIN (DECEMBER, 1916) 177
XV. THE REVOLUTION—THE ABDICATION OF NICHOLAS II. (MARCH,
1917) 187
XVI. THE CZAR NICHOLAS II. 203
XVII. THE REVOLUTION SEEN FROM THE ALEXANDER PALACE—THE
CZAR’S RETURN TO TSARSKOÏE-SELO 209
XVIII. FIVE MONTHS’ CAPTIVITY AT TSARSKOÏE-SELO (MARCH-AUGUST,
1917) 221
XIX. OUR CAPTIVITY AT TOBOLSK (AUGUST-DECEMBER, 1917) 239
XX. END OF OUR CAPTIVITY AT TOBOLSK (JANUARY-MAY, 1918) 251
XXI. EKATERINBURG—THE MURDER OF THE IMPERIAL FAMILY DURING
THE NIGHT OF JULY 16-17TH, 1918 269
XXII. THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE CRIME ESTABLISHED BY THE
ENQUIRY 281

EPILOGUE 299

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

The Czar clearing snow at Tsarskoïe-Selo Frontispiece
Facing page
The Czarevitch in the park of Tsarskoïe-Selo 20
The four Grand-Duchesses in 1909 20
The Czarina before her marriage 26
The Czarevitch at the age of fifteen months 26
The Grand-Duchesses Marie and Anastasie in theatrical
costume 30
The Czarina at the Czarevitch’s bedside 30
The four Grand-Duchesses gathering mushrooms 40
The Czarevitch cutting corn he had sown at Peterhof 40
Letter to the author from the Grand-Duchess Olga
Nicolaïevna, 1914 60
The Czarevitch with his dog “Joy” 70
The Czarina and the Czarevitch in the court of the palace at
Livadia 74
The Czarina sewing in the Grand-Duchesses’ room 74
Excursion to the “Red Rock” on May 8th, 1914 92
The four Grand-Duchesses, 1914 92
The Czar and Czarevitch examining a captured German
machine-gun, 1914 110
The Czar and Czarevitch before the barbed wire, 1915 110
The Czar 134
The Czarevitch 134
The Czarina 140
The four Grand-Duchesses 140
The Czar and Czarevitch on the banks of the Dnieper, 1916 148
The Czar and Czarevitch near Mohileff, 1916 148
The Czar and Czarevitch at a religious service at G.H.Q.,
Mohileff 154

The Grand-Duchesses visiting the family of a railway
employee 166
The Czarina and Grand-Duchess Tatiana talking to refugees 166
The Grand-Duchess Marie as a convalescent 212
The four Grand-Duchesses in the park at Tsarskoïe-Selo 212
The Czarina’s room in the Alexander Palace 216
The Portrait Gallery 216
The Czar, his children and their companions in captivity
working in the park 222
The Czar working in the kitchen-garden 226
The Czarina, in an invalid chair, working at some
embroidery 226
The Grand-Duchess Tatiana carrying turf 230
The Czar and his servant Juravsky sawing the trunk of a
tree 230
The Grand-Duchesses Tatiana and Anastasie taking a water-
butt to the kitchen-garden 234
The Imperial family’s suite at Tsarskoïe-Selo, 1917 234
The Grand-Duchess Tatiana a prisoner in the park of
Tsarskoïe-Selo 240
Alexis Nicolaïevitch joins the Grand-Duchess 240
The Czar and his children in captivity enjoying the
sunshine at Tobolsk 246
The Governor’s house at Tobolsk, where the Imperial
family were interned 252
The Czar sawing wood with the author 256
Alexis Nicolaïevitch on the steps of the Governor’s house 256
The Imperial family at the main door of the Governor’s
house 260
The Czarina’s room 260
The priest celebrating Mass in the Governor’s house after
the departure of Their Majesties 264
The river steamer Rouss on which the Czar and his family
travelled 264

Ipatief’s house at Ekaterinburg, in which the Imperial
family were interned and subsequently massacred 270
Yourovsky, from a photograph produced at the enquiry 272
The Grand-Duchesses’ room in Ipatief’s house 272
Ipatief’s house from the Vosnessensky street 276
The Czarina’s favourite lucky charm, the “Swastika” 276
The room in Ipatief’s house in which the Imperial family
and their companions were put to death 282
Mine-shaft where the ashes were thrown 286
The search in the mine-shaft 286
M. Sokoloff examining the ashes nearest to the mine-shaft 290
M. Sokoloff examining traces of fire at foot of an old pine 290
Dr. Botkin, who was killed with the Imperial family 294
A group taken at Tobolsk 294

Thirteen Years at the Russian
Court

CHAPTER I

MY FIRST LESSONS AT THE COURT
(AUTUMN, 1905)

I N the autumn of 1904 I accepted a proposal which had been made to me
to go to Duke Sergius of Leuchtenberg as French professor.
My pupil’s father, Duke George of Leuchtenberg, was the grandson of
Eugène de Beauharnais; through his mother, the Grand-Duchess Marie
Nicolaïevna, daughter of Nicholas I., he was a cousin of the Czar Nicholas
II.
At the time the family were at the small estate they possessed on the
shores of the Black Sea. They spent the whole winter there. It was there that
we were surprised by the tragic events of the spring of 1905 and passed
through many a poignant hour owing to the revolt of the Black Sea Fleet,
the bombardment of the coast, the series of pogroms, and the violent acts of
repression which followed. From the very start Russia showed herself to me
under a terrible and menacing aspect, a presage of the horrors and
sufferings she had in store for me.
At the beginning of June the family took up their residence in the
attractive Villa Sergievskaïa Datcha, which the Duke possessed at Peterhof.
The contrast was most striking as we left the barren coast of the southern
Crimea, with its little Tatar villages snuggling in the mountains and its
dusty cypresses, for the splendid forests and delicious fresh breezes of the
shores of the Gulf of Finland.
Peterhof had been the favourite residence of its founder, Peter the Great.
It was there that he rested from the exhausting work of building St.
Petersburg, the city which at his command rose from the marshes at the
mouth of the Neva as if by enchantment—a city destined to rival the great
European capitals.
Everything about Peterhof recalls its creator. First of all there is Marly in
which he resided for some time—a “maisonnette” out in the water on an
isthmus of land separating two great lakes. Then comes the Hermitage, by
the shores of the gulf where he liked to treat his helpers to banquets where
the wine flowed freely. There is Monplaisir, a building in the Dutch style

with a terrace sheer above the sea. It was his favourite residence. How
curious that this “landsman” loved the sea so much! Last comes the Great
Palace, which, with its lakes and the superb views in its park, he meant to
rival the splendours of Versailles.
All these buildings, with the exception of the Great Palace, produce the
impression of those abandoned, empty edifices which memories of the past
alone can bring to life.
The Czar Nicholas II. had inherited his ancestors’ preference for this
delicious spot, and every summer he brought his family to the little
Alexandria Cottage in the centre of a wooded park which sheltered it from
prying eyes.
The Duke of Leuchtenberg’s family spent the entire summer of 1905 at
Peterhof. Intercourse between Alexandria and Sergievskaïa Datcha was
lively, for the Czarina and the Duchess of Leuchtenberg were on terms of
the closest friendship. I was thus able to get occasional glimpses of the
members of the royal family.
When my time ran out it was suggested that I should stay on as tutor to
my pupil and at the same time teach French to the Grand-Duchesses Olga
Nicolaïevna and Tatiana Nicolaïevna, the two elder daughters of the Czar
Nicholas II. I agreed, and after a short visit to Switzerland I returned to
Peterhof in the early days of September. A few weeks later I took up my
new duties at the Imperial Court.
On the day appointed for my first lesson a royal carriage came to take
me to Alexandria Cottage, where the Czar and his family were residing. Yet
in spite of the liveried coachman, the Imperial arms on the panels, and the
orders with regard to my arrival which had no doubt been given, I learned
to my cost that it was no easy task to enter the residence of Their Majesties.
I was stopped at the park gates, and there were several minutes of
discussion before I was allowed to go in. On turning a corner I soon
observed two small brick buildings connected by a covered bridge. If the
carriage had not stopped I should not have known I had arrived at my
destination.
I was taken up to a small room, soberly furnished in the English style, on
the second storey. The door opened and the Czarina came in, holding her
daughters Olga and Tatiana by the hand. After a few pleasant remarks she

sat down at the table and invited me to take a place opposite her. The
children sat at each end.
The Czarina was still a beautiful woman at that time. She was tall and
slender and carried herself superbly. But all this ceased to count the moment
one looked into her eyes—those speaking, grey-blue eyes which mirrored
the emotions of a sensitive soul.
Olga, the eldest of the Grand-Duchesses, was a girl of ten, very fair, and
with sparkling, mischievous eyes and a slightly retroussé nose. She
examined me with a look which seemed from the first moment to be
searching for the weak point in my armour, but there was something so pure
and frank about the child that one liked her straight off.
The second girl, Tatiana, was eight and a half. She had auburn hair and
was prettier than her sister, but gave one the impression of being less
transparent, frank, and spontaneous.
The lesson began. I was amazed, even embarrassed, by the very
simplicity of a scene I had anticipated would be quite different. The Czarina
followed everything I said very closely. I distinctly felt that I was not so
much giving a lesson as undergoing an examination. The contrast between
anticipation and reality quite disconcerted me. To crown my discomfort, I
had had an idea that my pupils were much more advanced than they
actually were. I had selected certain exercises, but they proved far too
difficult. The lesson I had prepared was useless, and I had to improvise and
resort to expedients. At length, to my great relief, the clock struck the hour
and put an end to my ordeal.
In the weeks following the Czarina was always present at the children’s
lessons, in which she took visible interest. Quite frequently, when her
daughters had left us, she would discuss with me the best means and
methods of teaching modern languages, and I was always struck by the
shrewd good sense of her views.
Of those early days I have preserved the memory of a lesson I gave a day
or two previous to the issue of the Manifesto of

THE CZAREVITCH IN THE PARK OF TSARSKOÏE-SELO.
WINTER OF 1908.

THE FOUR GRAND-DUCHESSES. (CRIMEA, 1909.)
(From left to right: Anastasie, Tatiana, Marie, Olga).
[Facing page 2.

October, 1905, which summoned the Duma. The Czarina was sitting in a
low chair near the window. She struck me instantly as absent-minded and
preoccupied. In spite of all she could do, her face betrayed her inward
agitation. She made obvious efforts to concentrate her thoughts upon us, but
soon relapsed into a melancholy reverie in which she was utterly lost. Her
work slipped from her fingers to her lap. She had clasped her hands, and her
gaze, following her thoughts, seemed lost and indifferent to the things about
her.
I had made a practice, when the lesson was over, of shutting my book
and waiting until the Czarina rose as a signal for me to retire. This time,
notwithstanding the silence which followed the end of the lesson, she was
so lost in thought that she did not move. The minutes passed and the
children fidgeted. I opened my book again and went on reading. Not for a
quarter of an hour, when one of the Grand-Duchesses went up to her
mother, did she realise the time.
After a few months the Czarina appointed one of her ladies-in-waiting,
Princess Obolensky, to take her place during my lessons. She thus marked
the end of the kind of trial to which I had been subjected. I must admit the
change was a relief. I was far more at my ease in Princess Obolensky’s
presence, and besides, she gave me devoted help. Yet of those first months I
have preserved a vivid recollection of the great interest which the Czarina, a
mother with a high sense of duty, took in the education and training of her
children. Instead of the cold and haughty Empress of which I had heard so
much, I had been amazed to find myself in the presence of a woman wholly
devoted to her maternal obligations.
It was then, too, that I learned to realise by certain signs that the reserve
which so many people had taken as an affront and had made her so many
enemies was rather the effect of a natural timidity, as it were—a mask
covering her sensitiveness.
I will give one detail which illustrates the Czarina’s anxious interest in
the upbringing of her children and the importance she attached to their
showing respect for their teachers by observing that sense of decorum
which is the first element of politeness. While she was present at my
lessons, when I entered the room I always found the books and notebooks
piled neatly in my pupils’ places at the table, and I was never kept waiting a
moment. It was the same afterwards. In due course my first pupils, Olga

and Tatiana, were joined by Marie, in 1907, and Anastasie, in 1909, as soon
as these two younger daughters had reached their ninth year.[2]
The Czarina’s health, already tried by her anxiety about the menace
hanging over the Czarevitch’s head, by degrees prevented her from
following her daughters’ education. At the time I did not realise what was
the cause of her apparent indifference, and was inclined to censure her for
it, but it was not long before events showed me my mistake.

CHAPTER II

ALEXIS NICOLAÏEVITCH—VISITS TO THE CRIMEA
(AUTUMN, 1911, AND SPRING, 1912)
SPALA (AUTUMN, 1912)

T HE Imperial family used regularly to spend the winter at Tsarskoïe-
Selo, a pretty little country town some thirteen miles south of Petrograd.
It stands on a hill at the top of which is the Great Palace, a favourite
residence of Catherine II. Not far away is a much more modest building, the
Alexander Palace, half hidden in trees of a park studded with little artificial
lakes. The Czar Nicholas II. had made it one of his regular residences ever
since the tragic events of January, 1905.
The Czar and Czarina occupied the ground floor of one wing and their
children the floor above. The central block comprised state apartments and
the other wing was occupied by certain members of the suite.
It was there that I saw the Czarevitch, Alexis Nicolaïevitch, then a baby
of eighteen months old, for the first time, and under the following
circumstances. As usual, I had gone that day to the Alexander Palace, where
my duties called me several times a week. I was just finishing my lesson
with Olga Nicolaïevna when the Czarina entered the room, carrying the son
and heir. She came towards us, and evidently wished to show the one
member of the family I did not yet know. I could see she was transfused by
the delirious joy of a mother who at last has seen her dearest wish fulfilled.
She was proud and happy in the beauty of her child. The Czarevitch was
certainly one of the handsomest babies one could imagine, with his lovely
fair curls and his great blue-grey eyes under their fringe of long curling
lashes. He had the fresh pink colour of a healthy child, and when he smiled
there were two little dimples in his chubby cheeks. When I went near him a
solemn, frightened look came into his eyes, and it took a good deal to
induce him to hold out a tiny hand.

At that first meeting I saw the Czarina press the little boy to her with the
convulsive movement of a mother who always seems in fear of her child’s
life. Yet with her the caress and the look which accompanied it revealed a
secret apprehension so marked and poignant that I was struck at once. I had
not very long to wait to know its meaning.
During the years following I had increasing opportunities of seeing
Alexis Nicolaïevitch, who made a practice of escaping from his sailor nurse
and running into his sisters’ schoolroom, from which he was soon fetched.
And yet at times his visits would suddenly cease, and for quite a
considerable period he was seen no more. Every time he disappeared
everyone in the palace was smitten with the greatest depression. My pupils
betrayed it in a mood of melancholy they tried in vain to conceal. When I
asked them the cause, they answered evasively that Alexis Nicolaïevitch
was not well. I knew from other sources that he was a prey to a disease
which was only mentioned inferentially and the nature of which no one ever
told me.
As I have already said, when I was released from my duties

THE CZARINA, A FEW MONTHS THE CZAREVITCH AT THE AGE OF
BEFORE HER MARRIAGE. FIFTEEN MONTHS. (1905.)
SUMMER OF 1894.

[Facing page 26.]

as tutor to Duke Sergius of Leuchtenberg in 1909 I could give more time to
the Grand-Duchesses. I lived in St. Petersburg and visited Tsarskoïe-Selo
five times a week. Although the number of lessons I gave had considerably

increased, my pupils made but slow progress, largely because the Imperial
family spent months at a time in the Crimea. I regretted more and more that
they had not been given a French governess, and each time they returned I
always found they had forgotten a good deal. Mademoiselle Tioutcheva,
their Russian governess, could not do everything, for all her intense
devotion and perfect knowledge of languages. It was with a view to
overcoming this difficulty that the Czarina asked me to accompany the
family when they left Tsarskoïe-Selo for a considerable time.
My first visit under the new dispensation was to the Crimea in the
autumn of 1911. I lived in the little town of Yalta, with my colleague, M.
Petrof, professor of Russian, who had also been asked to continue his
course of teaching. We went to Livadia every day to give our lessons.
The kind of life we led was extremely agreeable, for out of working
hours we were absolutely free, and could enjoy the beautiful climate of the
“Russian Riviera” without having to observe the formalities of Court life.
In the spring of the following year the family again spent several months
in the Crimea. M. Petrof and I were lodged in a little house in the park of
Livadia. We took our meals with some of the officers and officials of the
Court, only the suite and a few casual visitors being admitted to the
Imperial luncheon-table. In the evening the family dined quite alone.
A few days after our arrival, however, as the Czarina wished (as I
subsequently ascertained) to give a delicate proof of her esteem for those to
whom she was entrusting the education of her children, she instructed the
Court Chamberlain to invite us to the Imperial table.
I was highly gratified by the feelings which had prompted this kindness,
but these meals meant a somewhat onerous obligation, at any rate at the
start, although Court etiquette was not very exacting in ordinary times.
My pupils, too, seemed to get tired of these long luncheons, and we were
all glad enough to get back to the schoolroom to our afternoon lessons and
simple, friendly relations. I seldom saw Alexis Nicolaïevitch. He almost
always took his meals with the Czarina, who usually stayed in her own
apartments.
On June 10th we returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo, and shortly afterwards the
Imperial family went to Peterhof, from which they proceeded to their
annual cruise in the fjords of Finland on the Standard.

At the beginning of September, 1912, the family left for the Forest of
Bielovesa,[3] where they spent a fortnight, and then proceeded to Spala[4]
for a longer visit. M. Petrof and I joined them there at the end of September.
Shortly after my arrival the Czarina told me she wanted me to take Alexis
Nicolaïevitch also. I gave him the first lesson on October 2nd in the
presence of his mother. The child was then eight and a half. He did not
know a word of French, and at first I had a good deal of difficulty. My
lessons were soon interrupted, as the boy, who had looked to me ill from the
outset, soon had to take to his bed. Both my colleague and myself had been
struck by his lack of colour and the fact that he was carried as if he could
not walk.[5] The disease from which he was suffering had evidently taken a
turn for the worse.
A few days later it was whispered that his condition was giving rise to
extreme anxiety, and that Professors Rauchfuss and Fiodrof had been
summoned from St. Petersburg. Yet life continued as before; one shooting-
party succeeded another, and the guests were more numerous than ever.
One evening after dinner the Grand-Duchesses Marie and Anastasie
Nicolaïevna gave two short scenes from the Bourgeois Gentilhomme in the
dining-room before Their Majesties, the suite, and several guests. I was the
prompter, concealed behind a screen which did duty for the wings. By
craning my neck a little I could see the Czarina in the front row of the
audience smiling and talking gaily to her neighbours.
When the play was over I went out by the service door and found myself
in the corridor opposite Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s room, from which a moaning
sound came distinctly to my ears. I suddenly noticed the Czarina running
up, holding her long and awkward train in her two hands. I shrank back
against the wall, and she passed me without observing my presence. There
was a distracted and terror-stricken look in her face. I returned to the
dining-room. The scene was of the most animated description. Footmen in
livery were handing round refreshments on salvers. Everyone was laughing
and exchanging jokes. The evening was at its height.
A few minutes later the Czarina came back. She had resumed the mask
and forced herself to smile pleasantly at the guests who crowded round her.
But I had noticed that the Czar, even while engaged in conversation, had
taken up a position from which he could watch the door, and I caught the
despairing glance which the Czarina threw him as she came in. An hour

later I returned to my room, still thoroughly upset at the scene which had
suddenly brought home to me the tragedy of this double life.
Yet, although the invalid’s condition was still worse, life had apparently
undergone no change. All that happened was that we saw less and less of
the Czarina. The Czar controlled his anxiety and continued his shooting-
parties, while the usual crowd of guests appeared at dinner every evening.
On October 17th Professor Fiodrof arrived from St. Petersburg at last, I
caught sight of him for a moment in the evening. He looked very worried.
The next day was Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s birthday. Apart from a religious
service, there was nothing to mark the occasion. Everyone followed Their
Majesties’ example and endeavoured to conceal his or her apprehensions.
On October 19th the fever was worse, reaching 102·5° in the morning
and 103·3° in the evening. During dinner the Czarina had Professor Fiodrof
fetched. On Sunday, October 20th, the patient’s condition was still worse.
There were, however, a few guests at luncheon. The next day, as the
Czarevitch’s temperature went up to 105° and the heart was very feeble,
Count Fredericks asked the Czar’s permission to publish bulletins. The first
was sent to St. Petersburg the same evening.
Thus the intervention of the highest official at Court had been necessary
before the decision to admit the gravity of the Czarevitch’s condition was
taken.
Why did the Czar and Czarina subject themselves to this

THE GRAND-DUCHESSES MARIE AND ANASTASIE DRESSED UP FOR A SCENE FROM
THE “BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME.” SPALA, AUTUMN OF 1912.

THE CZARINA AT THE CZAREVITCH’S BEDSIDE DURING HIS SEVERE ATTACK OF
HÆMOPHILIA AT SPALA IN THE AUTUMN OF 1912.
[Facing page 30.

dreadful ordeal? Why, when their one desire in life was to be with their
suffering son, did they force themselves to appear among their guests with a
smile on their lips? The reason was that they did not wish the world to
know the nature of the Heir’s illness, and, as I knew myself, regarded it in
the light of a state secret.
On the morning of October 22nd the child’s temperature was 103·5°.
About midday, however, the pains gradually subsided, and the doctors could
proceed to a more thorough examination of the invalid, who had hitherto
refused to allow it on account of his terrible sufferings.
At three o’clock in the afternoon there was a religious service in the
forest. It was attended by a large number of peasants from the surrounding
districts.
Beginning on the previous day, prayers for the recovery of the Heir were
said twice a day. As there was no church at Spala, a tent with a small
portable altar had been erected in the park as soon as we arrived. The priest
officiated there morning and night.
After a few days, during which we were all a prey to the most terrible
apprehensions, the crisis was reached and passed, and the period of
convalescence began. It was a long and slow business, however, and we
could feel that, notwithstanding the change for the better, there was still
cause for anxiety. As the patient’s condition required constant and most
careful watching, Professor Fiodrof had sent for Dr. Vladimir Derevenko,[6]
one of his young assistants, from St. Petersburg. This gentleman henceforth
remained in constant attendance on the Czarevitch.
The newspapers about this time had a good deal to say of the young
Heir’s illness—and the most fantastic stories were going round. I only had
the truth some time later, and then from Dr. Derevenko himself. The crisis
had been brought on by a fall of Alexis Nicolaïevitch at Bielovesa. In trying
to get out of a boat he had hit his left thigh on the side, and the blow had
caused rather profuse internal hæmorrhage. He was just getting better when
some imprudence at Spala suddenly aggravated his condition. A
sanguineous tumour formed in the groin and nearly produced a serious
infection.
On November 16th it was possible to think of removing the child,
without too great danger of relapse but with extreme care, from Spala to
Tsarskoïe-Selo, where the Imperial family passed the entire winter.

Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s condition required assiduous and special medical
attention. His illness at Spala had left behind it a temporary atrophy of the
nerves of the left leg, which remained drawn up and could not be
straightened out by the boy himself. Massage and orthopedic appliances
were necessary, but in time these measures brought the limb back to its
normal position.
It is hardly necessary to say that under these circumstances I could not
even think of resuming my work with the Czarevitch. This state of things
lasted until the summer holidays of 1913.
I was in the habit of visiting Switzerland every summer. That year the
Czarina informed me a few days before I left that on my return she
proposed to appoint me tutor to Alexis Nicolaïevitch. The news filled me
with a mingled sense of pleasure and apprehension. I was delighted at the
confidence shown in me, but nervous of the responsibility it involved. Yet I
felt I had no right to try and escape the heavy task assigned to me, as
circumstances might enable me to exercise some influence, however slight,
on the intellectual development of the boy who would one day be the ruler
of one of the mightiest states of Europe.

CHAPTER III

I BEGIN MY DUTIES AS TUTOR—THE CZAREVITCH’S ILLNESS
(AUTUMN, 1913)

I RETURNED to St. Petersburg at the end of August. The Imperial family
was in the Crimea. I called on the Controller of Her Majesty’s Household
for my instructions and left for Livadia, which I reached on September
3rd. I found Alexis Nicolaïevitch pale and thin. He still suffered very much,
and was undergoing a course of high-temperature mud-baths, which the
doctors had ordered as a cure for the last traces of his accident but which he
found extremely trying.
Naturally I waited to be summoned by the Czarina to receive exact
instructions and suggestions from her personally. But she did not appear at
meals and was not to be seen. She merely informed me through Tatiana
Nicolaïevna that while the treatment was in progress regular lessons with
Alexis Nicolaïevitch were out of the question. As she wished the boy to get
used to me, she asked me to go with him on his walks and spend as much
time with him as I could.
I then had a long talk with Dr. Derevenko. He told me that the Heir was
a prey to hæmophilia, a hereditary disease which in certain families is
transmitted from generation to generation by the women to their male
children. Only males are affected. He told me that the slightest wound
might cause the boy’s death, for the blood of a bleeder had not the power of
coagulating like that of a normal individual. Further, the tissue of the
arteries and veins is so frail that any blow or shock may rupture the blood-
vessel and bring on a fatal hæmorrhage.
Such was the terrible disease from which Alexis Nicolaïevitch was
suffering, such the perpetual menace to his life. A fall, nose-bleeding, a
simple cut—things which were a trifle to any other child—might prove fatal
to him. All that could be done was to watch over him closely day and night,
especially in his early years,[7] and by extreme vigilance try to prevent
accidents. Hence the fact that at the suggestion of the doctors he had been
given two ex-sailors of the Imperial yacht, Derevenko and his assistant

Nagorny, as his personal attendants and bodyguard. They looked after him
in rotation.
My first relations with the boy in my new appointment were not easy. I
was obliged to talk in Russian with him and give up French. My position
was delicate, as I had no rights and therefore no hold over him.
As I have said, at first I was astonished and disappointed at the lack of
support given me by the Czarina. A whole month had passed before I
received any instructions from her. I had a feeling that she did not want to
come between her son and myself. It made my initial task much more
difficult, but it might have the advantage, once I had established my
position, of enjoying it with greater freedom and personal authority. About
this time I had moments of extreme discouragement, and in fact I
sometimes despaired of success and felt ready to abandon the task I had
undertaken.
Fortunately for me, in Dr. Derevenko I found a wise adviser whose help
was of infinite value. He impressed on me the necessity for patience, and
told me that, in view of the constant danger of the boy’s relapse, and as a
result of a kind of religious fatalism which the Czarina had developed, she
tended to leave decision to circumstance and kept on postponing her
intervention, which would simply inflict useless suffering on her son if he
was not to survive. She did not feel equal to battling with the child to make
him accept me.
I understood myself, of course, that circumstances were unfavourable,
but I still cherished a hope that one day the health of my pupil would
improve.
The serious malady from which the Czarevitch had barely recovered had
left him very weak and nervous. At this time he was the kind of child who
can hardly bear correction. He had never been under any regular discipline.
In his eyes I was the person appointed to extract work and attention from
him, and it was my business to bend his will to the habit of obedience. To
all the existing supervision, which at any rate allowed him idleness as a
place of refuge, was to be added a new control which would violate even
that last retreat. He felt it instinctively without realising it consciously. I had
a definite impression of his mute hostility, and at times it reached a stage of
open defiance.

I felt a terrible burden of responsibility, for with all my precautions it
was impossible always to prevent accidents. There were three in the course
of the first month.
Yet as time passed by I felt my authority gaining a hold. I noticed more
and more frequent bursts of confidence on the part of my pupil, and they
seemed to me a promise of affectionate relations before long.
The more the boy opened his heart to me the better I realised the
treasures of his nature, and I gradually began to feel certain that with so
many precious gifts it would be unjust to give up hope.
Alexis Nicolaïevitch was then nine and a half, and rather tall for his age.
He had a long, finely-chiselled face, delicate features, auburn hair with a
coppery glint in it, and large blue-grey eyes like his mother’s. He
thoroughly enjoyed life—when it let him—and was a happy, romping boy.
Very simple in his tastes, he extracted no false satisfaction from the fact that
he was the Heir—there was nothing he thought about less—and his greatest
delight was to play with the two sons of his sailor Derevenko, both of them
a little younger than he.
He had very quick wits and a keen and penetrating mind. He sometimes
surprised me with questions beyond his years which bore witness to a
delicate and intuitive spirit. I had no difficulty in believing that those who
were not forced, as I was, to teach him habits of discipline, but could
unreservedly enjoy his charm, easily fell under its spell. Under the
capricious little creature I had known at first I discovered a child of a
naturally affectionate disposition, sensitive to suffering in others just
because he had already suffered so much himself. When this conviction had
taken root in my mind I was full of hope for the future. My task would have
been easy had it not been for the Czarevitch’s associates and environment.

As I have already said, I was on excellent terms with Dr. Derevenko.
There was, however, one point on which we were

THE FOUR GRAND-DUCHESSES GATHERING MUSHROOMS IN THE FOREST OF
BIELOVESA. AUTUMN OF 1912.

THE CZAREVITCH CUTTING CORN HE HAD SOWN IN THE PARK AT PETERHOF.
SUMMER OF 1913.
[Facing page 40.

not in agreement. I considered that the perpetual presence of the sailor
Derevenko and his assistant Nagorny was harmful to the child. The external
power which intervened whenever danger threatened seemed to me to
hinder the development of will-power and the faculty of observation. What
the child gained—possibly—in safety he lost in real discipline. I thought it
would have been better to give him more freedom and accustom him to
look to himself for the energy to resist the impulses of his own motion.
Besides, accidents continued to happen. It was impossible to guard
against everything, and the closer the supervision became, the more
irritating and humiliating it seemed to the boy, and the greater the risk that it
would develop his skill at evasion and make him cunning and deceitful. It
was the best way of turning an already physically delicate child into a
characterless individual, without self-control and backbone, even in the
moral sense.
I spoke in that sense to Dr. Derevenko, but he was so obsessed by fears
of a fatal attack, and so conscious of the terrible load of responsibility that
devolved upon him as the doctor, that I could not bring him round to share
my view.
It was for the parents, and the parents alone, in the last resort, to take a
decision which might have serious consequences for their child. To my
great astonishment, they entirely agreed with me, and said they were ready
to accept all the risks of an experiment on which I did not enter myself
without terrible anxiety. No doubt they realised how much harm the
existing system was doing to all that was best in their son, and if they loved
him to distraction their love itself gave them the strength to let him run the
risk of an accident which might prove fatal rather than see him grow up a
man without strength of character or moral fibre.
Alexis Nicolaïevitch was delighted at this decision. In his relations with
his playmates he was always suffering from the incessant supervision to
which he was subject. He promised me to repay the confidence reposed in
him.
Yet, sure though I was of the soundness of my view, the moment the
parents’ consent was obtained my fears were greater than ever. I seemed to
have a presentiment of what was to come....
Everything went well at first, and I was beginning to be easy in my
mind, when the accident I had so much feared happened without a word of

warning. The Czarevitch was in the schoolroom standing on a chair, when
he slipped, and in falling hit his right knee against the corner of some piece
of furniture. The next day he could not walk. On the day after the
subcutaneous hæmorrhage had progressed, and the swelling which had
formed below the knee rapidly spread down the leg. The skin, which was
greatly distended, had hardened under the force of the extravasated blood,
which pressed on the nerves of the leg and thus caused shooting pains,
which grew worse every hour.
I was thunderstruck. Yet neither the Czar nor the Czarina blamed me in
the slightest. So far from it, they seemed to be intent on preventing me from
despairing of a task my pupil’s malady made so perilous. As if they wished
by their example to make me face the inevitable ordeal, and enlist me as an
ally in the struggle they had carried on so long, they associated me in their
anxieties with a truly touching kindness.
The Czarina was at her son’s side from the first onset of the attack. She
watched over him, surrounding him with her tender love and care and trying
by a thousand attentions to alleviate his sufferings. The Czar came the
moment he was free. He tried to comfort and amuse the boy, but the pain
was stronger than his mother’s caresses or his father’s stories, and the
moans and tears began once more. Every now and then the door opened and
one of the Grand-Duchesses came in on tip-toe and kissed her little brother,
bringing a gust of sweetness and health into the room. For a moment the
boy would open his great eyes, round which the malady had already painted
black rings, and then almost immediately close them again.
One morning I found the mother at her son’s bedside. He had had a very
bad night. Dr. Derevenko was anxious, as the hæmorrhage had not been
stopped and his temperature was rising. The inflammation had spread
further and the pain was even worse than the day before. The Czarevitch lay
in bed groaning piteously. His head rested on his mother’s arm, and his
small, deathly-white face was unrecognisable. At times the groans ceased
and he murmured the one word “Mummy!” in which he expressed all his
sufferings and distress. His mother kissed him on the hair, forehead, and
eyes, as if the touch of her lips could have relieved his pain and restored
some of the life which was leaving him. Think of the tortures of that
mother, an impotent witness of her son’s martyrdom in those hours of
mortal anguish—a mother who knew that she herself was the cause of his
sufferings, that she had transmitted to him the terrible disease against which

human science was powerless! Now I understood the secret tragedy of her
life! How easy it was to reconstruct the stages of that long Calvary.

CHAPTER IV

THE CZARINA, ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA

T HE Czarina, Alexandra Feodorovna, formerly Alice of Hesse, and
fourth child of the Grand Duke Ludwig of Hesse and Alice of England,
youngest daughter of Queen Victoria, was born at Darmstadt on June
6th, 1872. She lost her mother early in life, and was largely brought up at
the English Court, where she soon became the favourite granddaughter of
Queen Victoria, who bestowed on the blonde “Alix” all the tender affection
she had had for her mother.[8]
At the age of seventeen the young princess paid a prolonged visit to
Russia, staying with her elder sister Elisabeth, who had married the Grand-
Duke Sergius Alexandrovitch, a brother of the Czar Alexander III. She took
an active part in Court life, appeared at reviews, receptions, and balls, and
being very pretty was made a great fuss of.
Everybody regarded her as the prospective mate of the Heir to the
Throne, but, contrary to general expectation, Alice of Hesse returned to
Darmstadt and nothing had been said. Did she not like the idea? It is
certainly a fact that five years later, when the official proposal arrived, she
showed signs of hesitation.
However, the betrothal took place at Darmstadt during the summer of
1894, and was followed by a visit to the Court of England. The Russian
Heir at once returned to his country. A few months later she was obliged to
leave suddenly for Livadia, where Alexander III. was dying. She was
present when his end came, and with the Imperial family accompanied the
coffin in which the mortal remains of the dead Emperor were carried to St.
Petersburg.
The body was taken from Nicholas station to the Cathedral of St. Peter
and St. Paul on a dull November day. A huge crowd was assembled on the
route of the funeral cortège as it moved through the melting snow and mud
with which the streets were covered. In the crowd women crossed

themselves piously and could be heard murmuring, in allusion to the young
Czarina, “She has come to us behind a coffin. She brings misfortune with
her.”
It certainly seemed as if from the start sorrow was dodging the steps of
her whose light heart and beauty had earned her the nickname of
“Sunshine” in her girlhood.
On November 26th, thus within a month of Alexander’s death, the
marriage was celebrated amidst the general mourning. A year later the
Czarina gave birth to her first child—a daughter who was named Olga.
The coronation of the young sovereigns took place in Moscow on May
14th, 1896. Fate seemed already to have marked them down. It will be
remembered that the celebrations were the occasion of a terrible accident
which cost the lives of a large number of people. The peasants, who had
come from all parts, had assembled in masses during the night in
Hodinskoïe meadows, where gifts were to be distributed. As a result of bad
organisation there was a panic, and more than two thousand people were
trodden to death or suffocated in the mud by the terror-stricken crowd.
When the Czar and Czarina went to Hodinskoïe meadows next morning
they had heard nothing whatever of the terrible catastrophe. They were not
told the truth until they returned to the city subsequently, and they never
knew the whole truth. Did not those concerned realise that by acting thus
they were depriving the Imperial couple of a chance to show their grief and
sympathy and making their behaviour odious because it seemed sheer
indifference to public misfortune?
Several years of domestic bliss followed, and Fate seemed to have
loosened its grip.
Yet the task of the young Czarina was no easy one. She had to learn all
that it meant to be an empress, and that at the most etiquette ridden Court in
Europe and the scene of the worst forms of intrigue and coterie.
Accustomed to the simple life of Darmstadt, and having experienced at the
strict and formal English Court only such restraint as affected a young and
popular princess who was there merely on a visit, she must have felt at sea
with her new obligations and dazzled by an existence of which all the
proportions had suddenly changed. Her sense of duty and her burning desire
to devote herself to the welfare of the millions whose Czarina she had

become fired her ambitions, but at the same time checked her natural
impulses.
Yet her only thought was to win the hearts of her subjects. Unfortunately
she did not know how to show it, and the innate timidity from which she
suffered was wont to play the traitor to her kind intentions. She very soon
realised how impotent she was to gain sympathy and understanding. Her
frank and spontaneous nature was speedily repelled by the icy conventions
of her environment. Her impulses came up against the prevalent inertia
about her,[9] and when in return for her confidence she asked for intelligent
devotion and real good will, those with whom she dealt took refuge in the
easy zeal of the polite formalities of Courts.
In spite of all her efforts, she never succeeded in being merely amiable
and acquiring the art which consists of flitting gracefully but superficially
over all manner of subjects. The fact is that the Czarina was nothing if not
sincere. Every word from her lips was the true expression of her real
feelings. Finding herself misunderstood, she quickly drew back into her
shell. Her natural pride was wounded. She appeared less and less at the
ceremonies and receptions she regarded as an intolerable nuisance. She
adopted a habit of distant reserve which was taken for haughtiness and
contempt. But those who came in contact with her in moments of distress
knew what a sensitive spirit, what a longing for affection, was concealed
behind that apparent coldness. She had accepted her new religion with
entire sincerity, and found it a great source of comfort in hours of trouble
and anguish; but above all, it was the affection of her family which
nourished her love, and she was never really happy except when she was
with them.

The birth of Olga Nicolaïevna had been followed by that of three other
fine and healthy daughters who were their parents’ delight. It was not an
unmixed delight, however, for the secret desire of their hearts—to have a
son and heir—had not yet been fulfilled. The birth of Anastasie
Nicolaïevna, the last of the Grand-Duchesses, had at first been a terrible
disappointment ... and the years were slipping by. At last, on August 12th,
1904, when the Russo-Japanese War was at its height, the Czarina gave
birth to the son they so ardently desired. Their joy knew no bounds. It

seemed as if all the sorrows of the past were forgotten and that an era of
happiness was about to open for them.
Alas! it was but a short respite, and was followed by worse misfortunes:
first the January massacre in front of the Winter Palace—the memory of
which was to haunt them like a horrible nightmare for the rest of their days
—and then the lamentable conclusion of the Russo-Japanese War. In those
dark days their only consolation was their beloved son, and it had not taken
long, alas! to discover that the Czarevitch had hæmophilia. From that
moment the mother’s life was simply one dreadful agony. She had already
made the acquaintance of that terrible disease; she knew that an uncle, one
of her brothers, and two of her nephews had died of it. From her childhood
she had heard it spoken of as a dreadful and mysterious thing against which
men were powerless. And now her only son, the child she loved more than
anything else on earth, was affected! Death would watch him, follow him at
every step, and carry him off one day like so many boys in his family. She
must fight! She must save him at any cost! It was impossible for science to
be impotent. The means of saving must exist, and they must be found.
Doctors, surgeons, specialists were consulted. But every kind of treatment
was tried in vain.
When the mother realised that no human aid could save, her last hope
was in God. He alone could perform the miracle. But she must be worthy of
His intervention. She was naturally of a pious nature, and she devoted
herself wholly to the Orthodox religion with the ardour and determination
she brought to everything. Life at Court became strict, if not austere.
Festivities were eschewed, and the number of occasions on which the
sovereigns had to appear in public was reduced to a minimum. The family
gradually became isolated from the Court and lived to itself, so to speak.
Between each of the attacks, however, the boy came back to life,
recovered his health, forgot his sufferings, and resumed his fun and his
games. At these times it was impossible to credit that he was the victim of
an implacable disease which might carry him off at any moment. Every
time the Czarina saw him with red cheeks, or heard his merry laugh, or
watched his frolics, her heart would fill with an immense hope, and she
would say: “God has heard me. He has pitied my sorrow at last.” Then the
disease would suddenly swoop down on the boy, stretch him once more on
his bed of pain and take him to the gates of death.

The months passed, the expected miracle did not happen, and the cruel,
ruthless attacks followed hard on each other’s heels. The most fervent
prayers had not brought the divine revelation so passionately implored. The
last hope had failed. A sense of endless despair filled the Czarina’s soul: it
seemed as if the whole world were deserting her.[10]
It was then that Rasputin, a simple Siberian peasant, was brought to her,
and he said: “Believe in the power of my prayers; believe in my help and
your son will live!”
The mother clung to the hope he gave her as a drowning man seizes an
outstretched hand. She believed in him with all the strength that was in her.
As a matter of fact, she had been convinced for a long time that the saviour
of Russia and the dynasty would come from the people, and she thought
that this humble moujik had been sent by God to save him who was the
hope of the nation. The intensity of her faith did the rest, and by a simple
process of auto-suggestion, which was helped by certain perfectly casual
coincidences, she persuaded herself that her son’s life was in this man’s
hands.
Rasputin had realised the state of mind of the despairing mother who
was broken down by the strain of her struggle and seemed to have touched
the limit of human suffering. He knew how to extract the fullest advantage
from it, and with a diabolical cunning he succeeded in associating his own
life, so to speak, with that of the child.
This moral hold of Rasputin on the Czarina cannot possibly be
understood unless one is familiar with the part played in the religious life of
the Orthodox world by those men who are neither priests nor monks—
though people habitually, and quite inaccurately, speak of the “monk”
Rasputin—and are called stranniki or startsi.
The strannik is a pilgrim who wanders from monastery to monastery and
church to church, seeking the truth and living on the charity of the faithful.
He may thus travel right across the Russian Empire, led by his fancy or
attracted by the reputation for holiness enjoyed by particular places or
persons.
The staretz is an ascetic who usually lives in a monastery, though
sometimes in solitude—a kind of guide of souls to whom one has recourse
in moments of trouble or suffering. Quite frequently a staretz is an ex-

strannik who has given up his old wandering life and taken up an abode in
which to end his days in prayer and meditation.
Dostoïevsky gives the following description of him in The Brothers
Karamazof:
“The staretz is he who takes your soul and will and makes them his.
When you select your staretz you surrender your will, you give it him in
utter submission, in full renunciation. He who takes this burden upon
him, who accepts this terrible school of life, does so of his own free will
in the hope that after a long trial he will be able to conquer himself and
become his own master sufficiently to attain complete freedom by a life
of obedience—that is to say, get rid of self and avoid the fate of those
who have lived their lives without succeeding in sufficing unto
themselves.”
God gives the staretz the indications which are requisite for one’s
welfare and communicates the means by which one must be brought back
to safety.
On earth the staretz is the guardian of truth and the ideal. He is also the
repository of the sacred tradition which must be transmitted from staretz to
staretz until the reign of justice and light shall come.
Several of these startsi have risen to remarkable heights of modern
grandeur and become saints of the Orthodox Church.
The influence of these men, who live as a kind of unofficial clergy, is
still very considerable in Russia. In the provinces and open country it is
even greater than that of the priests and monks.
The conversion of the Czarina had been a genuine act of faith. The
Orthodox religion had fully responded to her mystical aspirations, and her
imagination must have been captured by its archaic and naïve ritual. She
had accepted it with all the ardour of the neophyte. In her eyes Rasputin had
all the prestige and sanctity of a staretz.
Such was the nature of the feelings the Czarina entertained for Rasputin
—feelings ignobly travestied by calumny. They had their source in maternal
love, the noblest passion which can fill a mother’s heart.
Fate willed that he who wore the halo of a saint should be nothing but a
low and perverse creature, and that, as we shall soon see, this man’s evil

influence was one of the principal causes of which the effect was the death
of those who thought they could regard him as their saviour.

CHAPTER V

RASPUTIN

I N the preceding chapter I thought I ought to dwell on events some of
which took place before I took up my duties, because they alone could
explain the fundamental reasons why Rasputin was ever able to appear on
the scene and obtain so great an influence over the Czarina.
I should have preferred to confine my book to events in which I have
taken a direct part and give personal evidence only. But if I did so my story
could not be clear. In the present chapter I am compelled once more to
depart from the rule I wished to lay down for myself. If the reader is to
understand me, it is essential for me to give certain details about the life and
beginnings of Rasputin and to try and disentangle from the legends
innumerable of which he is the subject such facts as seem to me part of
history.
About one hundred and fifty versts south of Tobolsk the little village of
Pokrovskoïe lies lost in the marshes on the banks of the Tobol. There
Grigory Rasputin was born. His father’s name was Efim. Like many other
Russian peasants at that time, the latter had no family name. The inhabitants
of the village, of which he was not a native, had given him on his arrival the
name of Novy (the Newcomer).
His son Grigory had the same kind of youth as all the small peasantry of
that part of Siberia, where the poor quality of the soil often compels them to
live by expedients. Like them, he robbed and stole.... He soon made his
mark, however, by the audacity he showed in his exploits, and it was not
long before his misdoings earned him the reputation of an unbridled
libertine. He was now known solely as Rasputin, a corruption of the word
rasputnik (debauched), which was destined to become, as it were, his
family name.
The villagers of Siberia were in the habit of hiring out horses to
travellers passing through the country and offering their services as guides

and coachmen. One day Rasputin happened to conduct a priest to the
monastery of Verkhoturie. The priest entered into conversation with him,
was struck by his quick natural gifts, led him by his questions to confess his
riotous life, and exhorted him to consecrate to the service of God the
vitality he was putting to such bad uses. The exhortation produced so great
an impression on Grigory that he seemed willing to give up his life of
robbery and licence. He stayed for a considerable time at the monastery of
Verkhoturie and began to frequent the holy places of the neighbourhood.
When he went back to his village he seemed a changed man, and the
inhabitants could hardly recognise the reprobate hero of so many
scandalous adventures in this man whose countenance was so grave and
whose dress so austere. He was seen going from village to village,
spreading the good word and reciting to all and sundry willing to listen long
passages from the sacred books, which he knew by heart.
Public credulity, which he already exploited extremely skilfully, was not
slow in regarding him as a prophet, a being endowed with supernatural
powers, and in particular the power of performing miracles. To understand
this rapid transformation

LETTER TO THE AUTHOR FROM THE GRAND-DUCHESS OLGA NICOLAÏEVNA
(LIVADIA, CRIMEA, MAY 13/26, 1914).
[Facing page 60.

one must realise both the strange power of fascination and suggestion which
Rasputin possessed, and also the ease with which the popular imagination
in Russia is captured by the attraction of the marvellous.
However, the virtue of the new saint does not seem to have been proof
against the enticements of the flesh for long, and he relapsed into his
debauchery. It is true that he showed the greatest contrition for his
wrongdoings, but that did not prevent him from continuing them. Even at
that time he displayed that blend of mysticism and erotomania which made
him so dangerous a person.

Yet, notwithstanding all this, his reputation spread far and wide. His
services were requisitioned, and he was sent for from distant places, not
merely in Siberia, but even in Russia.
His wanderings at last brought him to St. Petersburg. There, in 1905, he
made the acquaintance of the Archimandrite Theophanes, who thought he
could discern in him signs of genuine piety and profound humility as well
as the marks of divine inspiration. Rasputin was introduced by him to
devout circles in the capital, whither his reputation had preceded him. He
had no difficulty in trafficking in the credulity of these devotees, whose
very refinement made them superstitious and susceptible to the magnetism
of his rustic piety. In his fundamental coarseness they saw nothing but the
entertaining candour of a man of the people. They were filled with the
greatest admiration for the naïveté of this simple soul....
It was not long before Rasputin had immense authority with his new
flock. He became a familiar figure in the salons of certain members of the
high aristocracy of St. Petersburg, and was even received by members of
the royal family, who sang his praises to the Czarina. Nothing more was
requisite for the last and vital stage. Rasputin was taken to Court by
intimate friends of Her Majesty, and with a personal recommendation from
the Archimandrite Theophanes. This last fact must always be borne in mind.
It was to shelter him from the attacks of his enemies for many years.

We have seen how Rasputin traded on the despair which possessed the
Czarina and had contrived to link his life with that of the Czarevitch and
acquire a growing hold over his mother. Each of his appearances seemed to
produce an improvement in the boy’s malady, and thus increased his
prestige and confirmed confidence in the power of his intercession.
After a certain time, however, Rasputin’s head was turned by this
unexpected rise to fame; he thought his position was sufficiently secure,
forgot the caution he had displayed when he first came to St. Petersburg,
and returned to his scandalous mode of life. Yet he did so with a skill which
for a long time kept his private life quite secret. It was only gradually that
the reports of his excesses spread and were credited.
At first only a few voices were faintly raised against the staretz, but it
was not long before they became loud and numerous. The first at Court to
attempt to show up the impostor was Mademoiselle Tioutcheva, the

governess of the Grand-Duchesses. Her efforts were broken against the
blind faith of the Czarina. Among the charges she made against Rasputin
were several which, in her indignation, she had not checked with sufficient
care so that their falsity was absolutely patent to her sovereign. Realising
her impotence, and with a view to discharging her responsibilities, she
asked that in any case Rasputin should not be allowed on the floor occupied
by the children.
The Czar then intervened, and Her Majesty yielded, not because her faith
was shaken, but merely for the sake of peace and in the interests of a man
whom she believed was blinded by his very zeal and devotion.
Although I was then no more than one of the Grand-Duchesses’
professors—it was during the winter of 1910—Mademoiselle Tioutcheva
herself told me all about this debate and its vicissitudes.[11] But I confess
that at that time I was still far from accepting all the extraordinary stories
about Rasputin.
In March, 1911, the hostility to Rasputin became more and more
formidable, and the staretz thought it wise to let the storm blow over and
disappear for a time. He therefore started on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.
On his return to St. Petersburg in the autumn of the same year the tumult
had not subsided, and he had to face the attacks of one of his former
protectors, Bishop Hermogenes, who employed terrible threats and
eventually extracted a promise from Rasputin to keep away from the Court,
where his presence compromised his sovereigns.
He had no sooner left the Bishop, who had actually gone so far as to
strike him, than he rushed to his powerful protectoress, Madame
Wyroubova, the Czarina’s all but inseparable companion. The Bishop was
exiled to a monastery.
Just as futile were the efforts of the Archimandrite Theophanes, who
could never forgive himself for having stood sponsor in some degree for the
staretz’s high moral character, and thus reassuring the Czar and Czarina by
his personal recommendation. He did his best to show him up, but the only
reward for his pains was to find himself transferred to the Government of
Tauris.
The fact was that Rasputin managed to make the two Bishops seem low
intriguers who had wanted to use him as an instrument, and then, becoming

jealous of a favour they could no longer exploit for their own personal
benefit, tried to bring about his downfall.
“The lowly Siberian peasant” had become a formidable adversary in
whom an utter lack of moral scruple was associated with consummate skill.
With a first-class intelligence service, and creatures of his own both at
Court and among the men around the ministers, as soon as he saw a new
enemy appear on the scene he was always careful to baulk him cleverly by
getting in the first blow.
Under the form of prophecies he would announce that he was going to
be the object of a new attack, taking good care not to indicate his
adversaries too plainly. So when the bolt was shot, the hand that directed it
held a crumbling missile. He often actually interceded in favour of those
who had attacked him, affirming with mock humility that such trials were
necessary for the good of his soul.
Another element which also contributed to keep alive the blind faith in
him which lasted until the end was the fact that the Czar and Czarina were
accustomed to see those to whom they paid particular attention become
objects of intrigue and cabals. They knew that their esteem alone was
sufficient to expose them to the attacks of the envious. The result was that
they were convinced that the special favour they showed to an obscure
moujik was bound in any case to raise a storm of hate and jealousy against
him and make him the victim of the worst calumnies.
The scandal, however, gradually spread from the purely ecclesiastical
world. It was mentioned in whispers in political and diplomatic circles, and
was even referred to in speeches in the Duma.
In the spring of 1912, Count Kokovtzof, then President of the Council of
Ministers, decided to take the matter up with the Czar. The step was a
particularly delicate one, as hitherto Rasputin’s influence had been confined
to the Church and the Imperial family circle. Those were the very spheres in
which the Czar was most intolerant of any interference by his ministers.
The Czar was not convinced by the Count’s action, but he realised that
some concession to public opinion was necessary. Shortly after Their
Majesties went to the Crimea, Rasputin left St. Petersburg and vanished into
Siberia.
Yet his influence was of the kind that distance does not diminish. On the
contrary, it only idealised him and increased his prestige.

As in his previous absences, there was a lively exchange of telegrams—
through the medium of Madame Wyroubova—between Pokrovskoïe and
the different residences occupied in turn by the Imperial family during the
year 1912.
The absent Rasputin was more powerful than Rasputin in the flesh. His
psychic empire was based on an act of faith, for there is no limit to the
power of self-delusion possessed by those who mean to believe at all cost.
The history of mankind is there to prove it!
But how much suffering and what terrible disasters were to result from
the tragic aberration!

CHAPTER VI

LIFE AT TSARSKOÏE-SELO—MY PUPILS
(THE WINTER OF 1913-14)

T O Rasputin was once more attributed the improvement in Alexis
Nicolaïevitch’s health a few days after the terrible attack to which I
have referred.
It will be remembered that the attack had occurred shortly after that
change in the Czarevitch’s manner of life I had thought it my duty to
advocate. I thus felt partially responsible.
I was in a very great difficulty. When I decided as I did, I had, of course,
realised the great dangers involved and thought myself strong enough to
face them. But the test of reality was so dreadful that I had to consider
whether I ought to persevere.... And yet I felt strongly that I had no
alternative.
After two months’ convalescence—the Czarevitch only recovered slowly
—the Czar and Czarina made up their minds to persevere with the method
they had adopted, notwithstanding the risks.
Dr. Botkin[12] and Dr. Derevenko were of a contrary opinion, but bowed
to the parents’ desires and bravely accepted a decision which added
considerably to the difficulties of a task which was exacting and
unpromising enough as it was. They were always on the look-out for the
possible crisis, and when the accident happened the struggle was all the
harder for them because they realised the inadequacy of the remedies at
their disposal. When, after nights of watching, they had the joy of seeing
their young patient out of dangerous, the improvement was attributed, not to
their care and efforts, but to the miraculous intervention of Rasputin! But
there was no false pride or envy about them, for they were inspired by
feelings of the deepest pity for the tortured mother and father and the
sufferings of the child who, at ten years of age, had already had far more to
bear than most men in a long lifetime.

Our stay in the Crimea was longer than usual owing to Alexis
Nicolaïevitch’s illness, and we only returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo in
December. We then spent the whole winter of 1913-14 there.
Our life at Tsarskoïe-Selo was far more intimate than when we were in
residence at other palaces. With the exception of the maid-of-honour on
duty and the officer commanding the “composite”[13] regiment, the suite did
not live in the palace, and unless relations were visiting the family the latter
generally took their meals alone very quietly.
Lessons[14] began at nine o’clock, and there was a break from eleven to
twelve. We went out driving in a carriage, sledge, or car, and then work was
resumed until lunch at one. In the afternoon we always spent two hours out
of doors. The Grand-Duchesses and, when he was free, the Czar, came with
us, and Alexis Nicolaïevitch played with them, sliding on an ice

THE CZAREVITCH WITH HIS DOG “JOY” ON THE BALCONY OF THE ALEXANDER
PALACE, TSARSKOÏE-SELO. SEPTEMBER, 1914.
[Facing page 70.

mountain we had made at the edge of a little artificial lake. He was also
fond of playing with his donkey Vanka, which was harnessed to a sledge,
and his dog Joy, an attractive little liver spaniel with short legs, and long
silky ears which almost touched the ground.
Vanka was a creature of quite unusual intelligence and sense of humour.
When the idea of giving Alexis Nicolaïevitch a donkey had been mooted,
all the horse-dealers in St. Petersburg had been referred to in vain.
Cinizelli’s Circus had then agreed to part with a thoroughbred animal which
had grown too old to perform any longer. Thus had Vanka come to Court,
and he seemed to be immensely attached to the young family. He certainly

was most amusing, for his repertoire of tricks was quite inexhaustible. In
the most expert manner imaginable he would turn out your pockets in the
hope of discovering delicacies. He was particularly fond of old indiarubber
balls, which he would quietly chew, closing one eye like an old Yankee.
These two animals played a large part in the life of Alexis Nicolaïevitch,
for his amusements were few. Above all, he was very short of playmates.
The two sons of his sailor Derevenko, his ordinary companions, were much
younger than he, and had neither the education nor the development
desirable.
It is true that his cousins sometimes spent Sundays and birthdays with
him, but these visits were rare. I often pressed the Czarina to remedy this
state of things. As a result of this pressure an attempt was made, but without
result.
Of course, the disease to which the boy was a prey made the choice of
his comrades an extremely difficult matter. It was lucky that, as I have said,
his sisters liked playing with him. They brought into his life an element of
youthful merriment which would otherwise have been sorely missed.
During our afternoon walks, the Czar, who was very fond of walking,
usually went round the park with one of his daughters, but quite frequently
he came and joined us. It was with his help that we made a huge tower of
snow which became quite an imposing fortress before long and kept us
busy several weeks.
At four o’clock we went in and resumed lessons until dinner, which was
at seven for Alexis Nicolaïevitch and at eight for the rest of the family. We
ended the day by reading one of his favourite books.

Alexis Nicolaïevitch was the centre of this united family, the focus of all
its hopes and affections. His sisters worshipped him and he was his parents’
pride and joy. When he was well the palace was, as it were, transformed.
Everyone and everything seemed bathed in sunshine. Endowed with a
naturally happy disposition, he would have developed quite regularly and
successfully had he not been kept back by his infirmity. Each of his crises
meant weeks and sometimes months of the closest attention, and when the
hæmorrhage had been heavy it was followed by a condition of general
anæmia which made all hard work impossible for him, sometimes for a
considerable period. Thus the interludes between attacks were all that were

available, and, in spite of his quick brain, this made teaching a difficult
matter.
The Grand-Duchesses were charming—the picture of freshness and
health. It would have been difficult to find four sisters with characters more
dissimilar and yet so perfectly blended in an affection which did not
exclude personal independence, and, in spite of contrasting temperaments,
kept them a most united family. With the initials of their Christian names
they had formed a composite Christian name, Otma, and under this
common signature they frequently gave their presents or sent letters written
by one of them on behalf of all.
I am sure I shall be forgiven for allowing myself the pleasure of
recording some personal memories here—memories which will enable me
to recall these girls in all the bloom and spontaneous enthusiasms of their
youth. I might almost say their childhood. For these were girls who fell
victims to a dreadful fate at a time when others are blossoming into
womanhood.
The eldest, Olga Nicolaïevna, possessed a remarkably quick brain. She
had good reasoning powers as well as initiative, a very independent manner,
and a gift for swift and entertaining repartee. She gave me a certain amount
of trouble at first, but our early skirmishes were soon succeeded by relations
of frank cordiality.
She picked up everything extremely quickly, and always managed to
give an original turn to what she learned. I well remember how, in one of
our first grammar lessons, when I was explaining the formation of the verbs
and the use of the auxiliaries, she suddenly interrupted me with:
“I see, monsieur. The auxiliaries are the servants of the verbs. It’s only
poor ‘avoir’ which has to shift for itself.”
She read a good deal apart from her lessons. When she grew older, every
time I gave her a book I was very careful to indicate by notes in the margin
the passages or chapters she was to leave out. I used to give her a summary
of these. The reason I put forward was the difficulty of the text or the fact
that it was uninteresting.
An omission of mine cost me one of the most unpleasant moments in my
professional career, but, thanks to the Czar’s presence of mind, the incident
ended better than I could have hoped.

Olga Nicolaïevna was reading “Les Miserables,” and had reached the
description of the battle of Waterloo. At the beginning of the letter she
handed me a list of the words she had not understood, in accordance with
our practice. What was my astonishment to see in it the word which is
forever associated with the name of the officer who commanded the Guard.
I felt certain I had not forgotten my usual precautions. I asked for the book
to verify my marginal note, and realised my omission. To avoid a delicate
explanation I struck out the wretched word and handed back the list to the
Grand-Duchess.
She cried, “Why, you’ve struck out the word I asked papa about
yesterday!”
I could not have been more thunderstruck if the bolt had fallen at my
feet.
“What! You asked your——”
“Yes, and he asked me how I’d heard of it, and then said it was a very
strong word which must not be repeated, though in the mouth of that
general it was the finest word in the French language.”
A few hours later I met the Czar when I was out walking in the park. He
took me on one side and said in a very serious tone:
“You are teaching my daughters a very curious vocabulary, monsieur....”
I floundered in a most involved explanation. But the Czar burst out
laughing, and interrupted:
“Don’t worry, monsieur. I quite realised what happened,

THE CZARINA AND THE CZAREVITCH IN THE COURT OF THE PALACE AT LIVADIA.
AUTUMN, 1913.

THE CZARINA SEWING IN THE GRAND-DUCHESSES’ ROOM.
[Facing page 74.

so I told my daughter that the word was one of the French army’s greatest
claims to fame.”
Tatiana Nicolaïevna was rather reserved, essentially well balanced, and
had a will of her own, though she was less frank and spontaneous than her
elder sister. She was not so gifted, either, but this inferiority was
compensated by more perseverance and balance. She was very pretty,
though she had not quite Olga Nicolaïevna’s charm.
If the Czarina made any difference between her children, Tatiana
Nicolaïevna was her favourite. It was not that her sisters loved their mother
any less, but Tatiana knew how to surround her with unwearying attentions
and never gave way to her own capricious impulses. Through her good
looks and her art of self-assertion she put her sister in the shade in public, as
the latter, thoughtless about herself, seemed to take a back seat. Yet the two
sisters were passionately devoted to each other. There was only eighteen
months between them, and that in itself was a bond of union. They were
called “the big pair,” while Marie Nicolaïevna and Anastasie Nicolaïevna
were still known as the “little pair.”
Marie Nicolaïevna was a fine girl, tall for her age, and a picture of
glowing health and colour. She had large and beautiful grey eyes. Her tastes
were very simple, and with her warm heart she was kindness itself. Her
sisters took advantage somewhat of her good nature, and called her “fat
little bow-wow.” She certainly had the benevolent and somewhat gauche
devotion of a dog.
Anastasie Nicolaïevna, on the other hand, was very roguish and almost a
wag. She had a very strong sense of humour, and the darts of her wit often
found sensitive spots. She was rather an enfant terrible, though this fault
tended to correct itself with age. She was also extremely idle, though with
the idleness of a gifted child. Her French accent was excellent, and she
acted scenes from comedy with remarkable talent. She was so lively, and
her gaiety so infectious, that several members of the suite had fallen into the
way of calling her “Sunshine,” the nickname her mother had been given at
the English Court.
In short, the whole charm, difficult though it was to define, of these four
sisters was their extreme simplicity, candour, freshness, and instinctive
kindness of heart.

Their mother, whom they adored, was, so to speak, infallible in their
eyes. Olga Nicolaïevna alone showed occasional traces of independence.
They surrounded her with every attention. Of their own initiative they had
arranged matters in such a way that they could take turns of “duty” with
their mother, keeping her company for the day. When the Czarina was ill
the result was that the daughter on duty could not go out at all.
Their relations with the Czar were delightful. He was Emperor, father,
and friend in one.
Their feelings for him were thus dictated by circumstances, passing from
religious veneration to utter frankness and the warmest affection. Was it not
he before whom the ministers, the highest dignitaries of the Church, the
grand-dukes, and even their mother bowed in reverence, he whose fatherly
heart opened so willingly to their sorrows, he who joined so merrily in their
youthful amusements, far from the eyes of the indiscreet?
With the exception of Olga Nicolaïevna, the Grand-Duchesses were very
moderate pupils. This was largely due to the fact that, in spite of my
repeated suggestions, the Czarina would never have a French governess. No
doubt she did not wish anyone to come between herself and her daughters.
The result was that though they read French, and liked it, they were never
able to speak it fluently.[15]
The Czarina’s state of health accounts for the fact that the education of
her daughters was to some extent neglected. The illness of Alexis
Nicolaïevitch had gradually worn down her powers of resistance. At times
of crisis she spared herself nothing and displayed remarkable energy and
courage. But, once the danger had passed, Nature resumed her rights, and
for weeks she would lie on a sofa quite exhausted by the strain.
Olga Nicolaïevna did not fulfil the hopes I had set upon her. Her fine
intellect failed to find the elements necessary to its development. Instead of
making progress she began to go back. Her sisters had ever had but little
taste for learning, their gifts being of the practical order.
By force of circumstances all four had soon learnt to be self-sufficient
and to find their natural good nature their sole resource. Very few girls
would have accommodated themselves so easily to a life such as theirs—a
life deprived of outside amusements, and with no other source of distraction
than those joys of family life which are so despised in these days!

CHAPTER VII

THE INFLUENCE OF RASPUTIN—MADAME WYROUBOVA—MY
TUTORIAL TROUBLES
(WINTER OF 1913)

W HILE the illness of Alexis Nicolaïevitch threw such a gloom over the
Imperial family, and the influence of Rasputin, a product of their very
distress, continued to grow, life at Tsarskoïe-Selo seemed to flow
along as smoothly as ever, at any rate to outward appearance.
At that time I still knew very little about the staretz, and I was searching
everywhere for material on which to base my judgment, for his personality
interested me decidedly. But it was anything but easy. The children never
mentioned Rasputin’s name, and in my presence even avoided the slightest
allusion to his existence. I realised that in so doing they were acting on their
mother’s instructions. The Czarina no doubt feared that as a foreigner and
not orthodox I was incapable of understanding the nature of the feelings of
herself and her family towards the staretz, feelings which made them revere
him as a saint. By imposing this duty of silence on my pupils she allowed
me to ignore Rasputin, or conveyed to me her desire that I should behave as
if I knew nothing about him. She thus deprived me of any chance of taking
sides against a man whose very name I realised I did not know.
From another source I had been able to convince myself that Rasputin
played a very insignificant part in the life of the Czarevitch. On several
occasions Dr. Derevenko told me the amusing remarks Alexis Nicolaïevitch
had made about Rasputin in his presence. The latter tickled his young
imagination and piqued his curiosity, but had no influence whatever with
him.
As a result of Mlle. Tioutcheva’s protest, Rasputin no longer went up to
the Grand-Duchesses’ floor, and he visited the Czarevitch but seldom.
No doubt the authorities were afraid I might meet him, for the rooms I
occupied were adjoining those of my pupil. As I had required his personal
attendant to keep me informed of the smallest details of his life, Rasputin
could not have seen him without my knowledge.[16]

The children saw Rasputin when he was with their parents, but even at
that time his visits were infrequent. Weeks, and sometimes months, passed
without his being summoned to Court. It became more and more usual to
see him with Madame Wyroubova, who had a little house quite near to the
Alexander Palace. The Czar and his heir hardly ever went there, and
meetings were always very rare.
As I have already explained, Madame Wyroubova was the intermediary
between the Czarina and Rasputin. It was she who sent on to the staretz
letters addressed to him and brought his replies—usually verbal—to the
palace.
Relations between Her Majesty and Madame Wyroubova were very
intimate, and hardly a day passed without her visiting her Imperial mistress.
The friendship had lasted many years. Madame Wyroubova had married
very young. Her husband was a degenerate and an inveterate drunkard, and
succeeded in inspiring his young wife with a deep hatred of him. They
separated, and Madame Wyroubova endeavoured to find relief and
consolation in religion. Her misfortunes were a link with the Czarina, who
had suffered so much herself, and yearned to comfort her. The young
woman who had had to go through so much won her pity. She became the
Czarina’s confidante, and the kindness the Czarina showed her made her
her lifelong slave.
Madame Wyroubova’s temperament was sentimental and mystical, and
her boundless affection for the Czarina was a positive danger, because it
was uncritical and divorced from all sense of reality.
The Czarina could not resist so fiery and sincere a devotion. Imperious
as she was, she wanted her friends to be hers, and hers alone. She only
entertained friendships in which she was quite sure of being the dominating
partner. Her confidence had to be rewarded by complete self-abandonment.
She did not realise that it was rather unwise to encourage demonstrations of
that fanatical loyalty.
Madame Wyroubova had the mind of a child, and her unhappy
experiences had sharpened her sensibilities without maturing her judgment.
Lacking in intellect and discrimination, she was the prey of her impulses.
Her opinions on men and affairs were unconsidered but none the less
sweeping. A single impression was enough to convince her limited and
puerile understanding. She at once classified people, according to the

impression they made upon her, as “good” or “bad,”—in other words,
“friends” or “enemies.”
It was with no eye to personal advantage, but out of a pure affection for
the Imperial family and her desire to help them, that Madame Wyroubova
tried to keep the Czarina posted as to what was going on, to make her share
her likes and dislikes, and through her to influence the course of affairs at
Court. But in reality she was the docile and unconscious, but none the less
mischievous, tool of a group of unscrupulous individuals who used her in
their intrigues. She was incapable either of a political policy or considered
aims, and could not even guess what was the game of those who used her in
their own interests. Without any strength of will, she was absolutely under
the influence of Rasputin and had become his most fervent adherent at
Court.[17]
I had not seen the staretz since I had been at the palace, when one day I
met him in the anteroom as I was preparing to go out. I had time to look
well at him as he was taking off his cloak. He was very tall, his face was
emaciated, and he had piercing grey-blue eyes under thick bushy eyebrows.
His hair was long, and he had a long beard like a peasant. He was wearing a
Russian smock of blue silk drawn in at the waist, baggy black trousers, and
high boots.
This was our one and only meeting, but it left me with a very
uncomfortable feeling. During the few moments in which our looks met I
had a distinct impression that I was in the presence of a sinister and evil
being.

The months slipped by, however, and I had the pleasure of observing the
progress made by my pupil. He had grown fond of me and was trying to
respond to the trust I showed in him. I still had a hard struggle against his
laziness, but the feeling that the amount of liberty permitted him depended
entirely upon the use he made of it fired his zeal and strengthened his will.
It was fortunate that the winter had been a good one, and there had been
no other serious relapse after that at Livadia.
Of course I knew quite well that this was only an interlude, but I noticed
that Alexis Nicolaïevitch was making a real effort to control his impulsive
and turbulent nature, which had unfortunately caused serious accidents, and
I began to wonder whether I should not find his illness, however terrible in

other ways, an ally which would gradually compel the boy to become his
own master and might refine his character.
It was all a great comfort to me, but I cherished no illusions as to the
difficulties of my task. I had never realised so well before how his
environment fought against my efforts. I had to struggle against the servile
flattery of the servants and the silly adulations of some of the people around
him. It always surprised me greatly that Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s simple
nature had hitherto to a large extent resisted the attraction of the extravagant
praise he received.
I remember one occasion when a deputation of peasants from one of the
Governments of Central Russia came to bring presents to the Czarevitch.
The three men of which it was composed, on an order given by Derevenko
in a low voice, dropped on their knees before Alexis Nicolaïevitch to offer
him what they had brought. I noticed that the boy was embarrassed and
blushed violently, and when we were alone I asked him whether he liked
seeing people on their knees before him.
“Oh no, but Derevenko says it must be so!”
“That’s absurd!” I replied. “Even the Czar doesn’t like people to kneel
before him. Why don’t you stop Derevenko insisting on it?”
“I don’t know. I dare not.”
I took the matter up with Derevenko, and the boy was delighted to be
freed from this irksome formality.
But a more serious element was his isolation and the circumstances
under which his education was carried on. I realised that these were almost
inevitable, and that the education of a prince tends to make him an
incomplete being who finds himself outside life if only because he has not
been subject to the common lot in his youth. Such teaching as he receives
can only be artificial, tendencious, and dogmatic. It often has the absolute
and uncompromising character of a catechism.
There are several reasons: the restricted choice of teachers, the fact that
their liberty of expression is limited by the conventions of their official life
and their regard for the exalted position of their pupil, and, finally, that they
have to get through a vast programme in a very few years. It inevitably
means that they have to resort to mere formulæ. They proceed by assertion,
and think less of rousing the spirit of enquiry and analysis and stimulating

the faculty of comparison in their pupils than of avoiding everything which
might awaken an untimely curiosity and a taste for unofficial lines of study.
Further, a child brought up in such conditions is deprived of something
which plays a vital part in the formation of judgment. He is deprived of the
knowledge which is acquired out of the schoolroom, knowledge such as
comes from life itself, unhampered contact with other children, the diverse
and sometimes conflicting influences of environment, direct observation
and simple experience of men and affairs—in a word, everything which in
the course of years develops the critical faculty and a sense of reality.
Under such circumstances an individual must be endowed with
exceptional gifts to be able to see things as they are, think clearly, and
desire the right things.
He is cut off from life. He cannot imagine what is going on behind the
wall on which false pictures are painted for his amusement or distraction.
All this made me very anxious, but I knew that it would not fall to my lot
to remedy this serious state of affairs, so far as it could be remedied. There
was a custom in the Russian Imperial family that when the Heir had reached
the age of eleven he should be given a vospitatiet (educator), whose office
was to direct the training and education of the young prince. The vospitatiet
was usually a soldier, as the military career seemed the best qualification for
this heavy and responsible duty. The post was usually given to a general, an
ex-director of some military school. It was a highly coveted post in view of
the powers and privileges it conferred, and particularly because of the
influence the holder might get over the Heir, an influence which often
continued during the early years of his reign.
The selection of the vospitatiet was thus a vital matter. The direction
which Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s education would take depended upon him, and
I awaited his appointment with considerable anxiety.

CHAPTER VIII

JOURNEYS TO THE CRIMEA AND RUMANIA—PRESIDENT
POINCARÉ’S VISIT—DECLARATION OF WAR BY GERMANY
(APRIL-JULY, 1914)

I N the spring of 1914 the Imperial family went to the Crimea, as in
preceding years. We arrived at Livadia on April 13th, a bright, sunny day.
In fact, we were almost dazzled by the sunshine, which bathed the high,
steep cliffs, the little Tartar villages half buried in the bare sides of the
mountains, and the staring white mosques which stood out sharply against
the old cypresses in the cemeteries. The contrast with the landscapes we had
just left was so striking that, although this new country was familiar, it
seemed quite fairylike and unreal in its wondrous beauty under this halo of
sunshine.
These spring days in the Crimea were a delicious relief after the
interminable St. Petersburg winter, and we looked forward to them months
before they came.
On the excuse of settling in, we all took holiday the first few days, and
used it to enjoy this marvel of nature to the full. Then regular lessons were
resumed. My colleague, M. Petroff, accompanied us as before.
Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s health had improved in recent months; he had
grown a good deal, and he looked so well that we were all in high spirits.
On May 8th the Czar, wishing to give his son a treat, decided that we
should take advantage of a day which promised to be particularly sunny to
pay a visit to the “Red Rock.” We left in a car, the party comprising the
Czar, the Czarevitch, an officer from the Standard, and myself. The sailor
Derevenko and the cossack on duty followed in another car. We gradually
ascended the slopes of the Jaila mountains through beautiful forests of pine-
trees, whose enormous trunks rose tall and majestic to the leafy dome above
them. We soon reached the end of our journey—a huge rock sheer above
the valley, and looking as if it had grown rusty in the course of ages.

The day was so fine that the Czar decided to continue the drive. We
descended the northern slopes of the Jaila mountains. There was still plenty
of snow about, and Alexis Nicolaïevitch had huge fun sliding on it. He ran
round us, skipping about, rolling in the snow and picking himself up, only
to fall again a few seconds later. It seemed as if his lively nature and joie de
vivre had never been displayed to better advantage before. The Czar
watched his son’s frolics with obvious pleasure. You could see how happy
he was to realise that the boy had recovered the health and strength of
which he had been deprived so long. Yet he was still haunted by the fear of
accidents, and every now and then he intervened to moderate his transports.
Although he never so much as referred to the disease to which the Heir was
a victim, it caused him perpetual anxiety and concern.
The day drew to a close, and we were quite sorry to have to start back.
The Czar was in high spirits during the drive. We had an impression that
this holiday devoted to his son had been a tremendous pleasure to him. For
a few hours he had escaped from his Imperial duties and the attentions,
exquisitely

EXCURSION TO THE “RED ROCK” ON MAY 8TH. (THE CRIMEA, SPRING OF 1914.)

THE FOUR GRAND-DUCHESSES (LEFT TO RIGHT: ANASTASIE, OLGA, TATIANA, AND
MARIE). STANDARD, 1914.
[Facing page 92.

polite though they were, of those about him. Thanks to the fact that this little
trip had been quite impromptu, he had even dodged the vigilant care of the
palace police, a thing he felt was always about him (though this duty was
performed in the discreetest possible manner), and hated thoroughly. For
once, at any rate, he had been able to live like an ordinary mortal. He seemed
rested and relieved.
In ordinary times the Czar did not see much of his children. His work and
the demands of Court life prevented him from giving them as much time as
he would have wished. He had handed over their bringing-up entirely to the
Czarina, and in the short time he spent with them in family intimacy he liked
to enjoy their company without restraint and with a mind free from all cares.
At such times he wanted to be free of the immense burden of responsibility
upon his shoulders. He wanted to be simply the father and forget that he was
the Czar.
Nothing of any importance occurred to break the monotony of our life
during the following weeks.
About the end of May there were rumours at Court that the Grand-
Duchess Olga Nicolaïevna was about to be betrothed to Prince Carol of
Rumania.[18] She was then eighteen and a half. The parents on both sides
seemed in favour of the match, which was very desirable at that moment on
political grounds also. I knew that M. Sazonoff, the Minister for Foreign
Affairs, was doing his utmost to bring about the betrothal and that the final
arrangements were to be made during a visit which the Russian Imperial
family were to pay to Rumania in the immediate future.
One day at the beginning of June when I was alone with Olga
Nicolaïevna she suddenly asked me a question with that confident and
disingenuous frankness which was all her own and the legacy of the relations
which had been established between us when she was quite a little girl:
“Tell me the truth, monsieur: do you know why we are going to
Rumania?”
In some confusion I replied:
“I believe it’s a courtesy visit. The Czar is going to return the visit the
King of Rumania paid him some time back.”
“Oh, that’s the official reason ... but what’s the real reason? I know you
are not supposed to know, but I’m sure everyone is talking about it and that
you know it....”

As I nodded in assent, she added:
“All right! But if I don’t wish it, it won’t happen. Papa has promised not
to make me ... and I don’t want to leave Russia.”
“But you could come back as often as you like.”
“I should still be a foreigner in my own country. I’m a Russian, and mean
to remain a Russian!”
On June 13th we embarked on the Imperial yacht Standard at Yalta, and
the next morning we arrived at Constanza, the great Rumanian port on the
Black Sea where the celebrations were to take place. On the quay a company
of infantry with its colours and band received us with military honours,
while a battery of artillery posted on the hill above the fort gave us the
prescribed salute. All the ships in the harbour had their flags out.
Their Majesties were received by the old King Carol, Queen Elizabeth
(“Carmen Sylva”), and the princes and princesses of the royal family. After
the customary presentations we went to the Cathedral, where a Te Deum was
celebrated by the Bishop of the Lower Danube. At one o’clock the members
of the two families took luncheon together privately, while the suite were the
guests of the President of the Council of Ministers. The royal luncheon was
served in the pavilion which “Carmen Sylva” had had built at the pierhead. It
was one of her favourite residences, and she spent a considerable part of
every year there. She was fond of sitting for hours, “listening to the sea,” on
the terrace which seemed suspended between the sky and the waves, where
the great sea-birds only could break in on her solitude.
In the afternoon Their Majesties gave an At Home on board the Standard
and then attended a great review.
At eight o’clock in the evening we all assembled for the gala banquet,
which was served in a beautiful room built for the purpose. It was certainly
charmingly decorated, with its ceiling and walls of white stucco sown with
little electric lamps most tastefully disposed and its palms and plants and
profusion of well-arranged flowers. The whole thing was a blend of colour
and line which was highly pleasing to the eye.
The Czar, with Queen Elizabeth on one side and Princess Marie[19] on the
other, was in the centre of a long table at which eighty-four guests were
seated. The Czarina sat opposite him, between King Carol and Prince
Ferdinand.[20] Olga Nicolaïevna was next to Prince Carol, and replied with
her usual natural charm to his questions. The three other Grand-Duchesses,

who found it none too easy to conceal their boredom on such occasions, lost
no chances of leaning to wards me and indicating their sister with a sly wink.
Towards the end of the meal, which proceeded with the usual ceremonial,
the King rose to give the Czar a toast of welcome. He spoke in French, but
with a strong German accent. The Czar replied, also in French. He spoke
pleasantly, in a musical, well-modulated voice. When dinner was over we
went into another room, where Their Majesties went round talking to the
guests, and those to whom this favour was not accorded lost no time in
collecting in groups as affinity or mere chance dictated. But the evening was
cut short, as the Standard had to leave Constanza the same day. An hour later
the yacht put to sea and set sail for Odessa.
The next day I heard that the scheme for the marriage had been
abandoned, or at any rate indefinitely postponed. Olga Nicolaïevna had won.
[21]

On the morning of June 15th we arrived at Odessa. The Czar reviewed
the troops of the garrison, who were presented to him by General Ivanoff,
commanding this military area.
The next day we stopped for several hours at Kishineff in Bessarabia in
order to be present at the unveiling of a monument to the memory of
Alexander I., and on the 18th we returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo. Two days later
the Czar was visited by the King of Saxony, who came to thank him for his
appointment as honorary colonel of one of the regiments of his Guard.
During the visit the troops paraded before the palace. It was the only
ceremony which marked the King’s short stay. On June 23rd he bade
farewell to the Imperial family.[22]
Shortly afterwards we left for Peterhof, where we embarked on July 14th
for a short cruise in the fjords of Finland. The Alexandria[23] took us from
Peterhof to Cronstadt, where the Standard was waiting for us. As we were
going on board the Czarevitch jumped at the wrong moment, and his ankle
caught the bottom of the ladder leading to the deck. At first I thought this
accident would have no ill effects, but towards evening the boy began to be
in pain and his sufferings rapidly increased. Everything pointed to a serious
crisis.
When I woke next morning we were in the heart of a Finnish fjord. It was
an exquisite spot. The sea was deep emerald green, flaked with white by the
waves, and dotted with small islands of red granite crowned with pines

whose trunks flashed in the sunshine. In the middle distance was the shore,
with its long fringe of yellow sand and its dark green forests which stretched
away to the horizon.
I went down to Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s room. He had had a very bad night.
The Czarina and Dr. Botkin were with him, but quite powerless to alleviate
his terrible sufferings.[24]
The day passed sullenly and slowly. Since the previous evening I had
noticed that the suite were a prey to unwonted excitement. I asked Colonel D
—— what the cause was, and learned that there had been an attack on
Rasputin and that his life was in danger. He had gone to Siberia a fortnight
before, and on his arrival at his own village, Pokrovskoïe, had been stabbed
in the stomach by a young woman. The wound might be fatal. There was
great excitement on board, whisperings and mysterious confabulations
which suddenly stopped whenever anyone suspected of being an adherent of
Rasputin came near. Everyone else was inspired by a lively hope of being at
last delivered from that baneful influence, but no one dare reveal his joy too
openly. The villainous moujik seemed to have nine lives, and he might
recover.[25]

On the 19th we returned to Peterhof, where the President of the French
Republic was expected. Our cruise was only interrupted, and we were to
resume our voyage after he left. Alexis Nicolaïevitch had taken a turn for the
better in the last two days, but he was still unable to walk, and he had to be
carried off the yacht.
In the afternoon of the next day the cruiser La France arrived in
Cronstadt harbour with the French President on board. The Czar was there to
receive him. They returned to Peterhof together, and M. Poincaré was taken
to the apartments prepared for him in the palace. In the evening a gala
banquet was given in his honour, and the Czarina and the ladies-in-waiting
were present.
For four days the President of the French Republic was the guest of
Nicholas II., and many ceremonies marked his short visit. He made an
excellent impression upon the Czar, a fact which I was able to prove to my
own satisfaction under the following circumstances.
M. Poincaré had been invited to the Imperial luncheon-table, where he
was the sole guest. He was received without the slightest formality into the

family circle at the little Alexandria Cottage.
When the meal was over the Czarevitch came and showed me, not
without considerable pride, the ribbon of the Legion of Honour which the
President of the Republic had just given him. We then went out into the park,
and in a few minutes we were joined by the Czar.
“Do you know, I’ve just been talking to M. Poincaré about you?” he said
in his usual affable manner. “He had spoken to Alexis and asked me who had
taught him French. He is a remarkable man, with a splendid intellect, and a
brilliant talker. That’s always useful; but what I like most is that there is
nothing of the diplomat about him.[26] He is not reticent, but plain-spoken
and frank, and wins one’s confidence at once. If only we could do without
diplomacy humanity would make immense strides.”
On July 23rd the President left Cronstadt for Stockholm, immediately
after a dinner given in Their Majesties’ honour on the La France.
The next day, to our utter amazement, we learned that Austria had
presented an ultimatum to Serbia on the previous evening.[27] I met the Czar
in the park in the afternoon. He was preoccupied, but did not seem anxious.
On the 25th an Extraordinary Council was held at Krasnoïe-Selo in the
Czar’s presence. It was decided to pursue a policy of dignified but firm
conciliation. The Press was extremely angry at the step taken by Austria.
The next few days the tone of the Press became increasingly violent.
Austria was accused of desiring to annihilate Serbia. Russia could not let the
little Slav state be overwhelmed. She could not tolerate an Austro-Hungarian
supremacy in the Balkans. The national honour was at stake.
Yet while tempers were rising and the diplomats were setting the
machinery of all the chancellories in motion, heartrending telegrams left
Alexandria Cottage for distant Siberia, where Rasputin was slowly
recovering from his wound in the hospital at Tioumen.[28] They were nearly
all of the same tenor: “We are horrified at the prospect of war. Do you think
it is possible? Pray for us. Help us with your counsel.”
Rasputin would reply that war must be avoided at any cost if the worst
calamities were not to overtake the dynasty and the Empire.
This advice was consonant with the dearest wish of the Czar, whose
pacific intentions could not be doubted for a moment. We had only to see
him during that terrible last week of July to realise what mental and moral
torture he had passed through. But the moment had come when the ambition

and perfidy of Germany were to steel him against his own last hesitation and
sweep everything with them into the whirlpool.
In spite of all the offers of mediation and the fact that the Russian
Government had suggested closing the incident by direct negotiations
between St. Petersburg and Vienna, we learned on July 29th that general
mobilisation had been ordered in Austria. The next day we heard of the
bombardment of Belgrade, and on the following day Russia replied with the
mobilisation of her whole army. In the evening of that day Count Pourtalès,
the German Ambassador at St. Petersburg, called to inform M. Sazonoff that
his Government would give Russia twelve hours in which to stop her
mobilisation, failing which Germany would mobilise in turn.[29]
The twelve hours granted to Russia in the ultimatum expired at noon on
Saturday, August 1st. Count Pourtalès, however, did not appear at the
Ministry for Foreign Affairs until the evening. He was shown in to Sazonoff,
and then formally handed him Germany’s declaration of war on Russia. It
was ten minutes past seven. The irreparable step had been taken.

CHAPTER IX

THE IMPERIAL FAMILY IN THE FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR—OUR
JOURNEY TO MOSCOW

(AUGUST, 1914)

A T the moment when this historic scene was taking place in the Foreign
Minister’s room at St. Petersburg, the Czar, the Czarina, and their
daughters were attending evensong in the little Alexandria church. I had
met the Czar a few hours before, and been much struck by the air of weary
exhaustion he wore. The pouches which always appeared under his eyes
when he was tired seemed to be markedly larger. He was now praying with
all the fervour of his nature that God would avert the war which he felt was
imminent and all but inevitable.
His whole being seemed to go out in an expression of simple and
confident faith. At his side was the Czarina, whose care-worn face wore that
look of suffering I had so often seen at her son’s bedside. She too was
praying fervently that night, as if she wished to banish an evil dream....
When the service was over Their Majesties and the Grand-Duchesses
returned to Alexandria Cottage. It was almost eight o’clock. Before the Czar
came down to dinner he went into his study to read the dispatches which had
been brought in his absence. It was thus, from a message from Sazonoff, that
he learned of Germany’s declaration of war. He spoke to his Minister on the
telephone for a short time and asked him to come down to Alexandria
Cottage the moment he could get away.
Meanwhile the Czarina and the Grand-Duchesses were waiting for him in
the dining-room. Her Majesty, becoming uneasy at the long delay, had just
asked Tatiana Nicolaïevna to fetch her father, when the Czar appeared,
looking very pale, and told them that war was declared, in a voice which
betrayed his agitation, notwithstanding all his efforts. On learning the news

the Czarina began to weep, and the Grand-Duchesses likewise dissolved into
tears on seeing their mother’s distress.[30]
At nine o’clock Sazonoff arrived at Alexandria. He was closeted with the
Czar for a long time, and the latter also received Sir George Buchanan, the
Ambassador of Great Britain, in the course of the evening.
I did not see the Czar again until after lunch the next day, when he came
up to kiss the Czarevitch[31] before leaving for the solemn session at the
Winter Palace, at which, in accordance with traditional usage, he was to
issue a manifesto to his people announcing the war with Germany. He
looked even worse than on the previous evening, and his eyes sparkled as if
he had the fever. He told me he had just heard that the Germans had entered
Luxemburg and attacked French customs houses before war was declared on
France.
I will reproduce here some of the notes I made in my diary about this
time.
Monday, August 3rd.—The Czar came up to Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s
room this morning. He was a changed man. Yesterday’s ceremony
resolved itself into an impressive manifestation. When he appeared on the
balcony of the Winter Palace the enormous crowd which had collected on
the square fell on their knees and sang the Russian National Anthem. The
enthusiasm of his people has shown the Czar that this is unquestionably a
national war.
I hear that at the Winter Palace yesterday the Czar took a solemn oath
not to make peace while a single enemy soldier remains on Russian soil.
In taking such an oath before the whole world Nicholas II. shows the true
character of this war. It is a matter of life and death, a struggle for
existence.
The Czarina had a long talk with me this afternoon. She was in a state
of great indignation, as she had just heard that on orders from the
Emperor William II. the Dowager-Empress of Russia had been prevented
from continuing her journey to St. Petersburg and had had to go from
Berlin to Copenhagen.
“Fancy a monarch arresting an Empress! How could he descend to
that? He has absolutely changed since the militarist party, who hate
Russia, have gained the upper hand with him. But I am sure he has been
won over to the war against his will. He’s been dragged into it by the

Crown Prince, who openly assumed the leadership of the pan-German
militarists and seemed to disapprove of his father’s policy. He has forced
his father’s hand.
“I have never liked the Emperor William, if only because he is not
sincere. He is vain and has always played the comedian. He was always
reproaching me with doing nothing for Germany, and has always done his
best to separate Russia and France,[32] though I never believed it was for
the good of Russia. He will never forgive me this war!
“You know that the Czar received a telegram from him the night
before last. It arrived several hours after the declaration of war, and
demanded ‘an immediate reply, which alone could avert the terrible
disaster.’ He thus tried to deceive the Czar once more, unless the telegram
was kept back at Berlin by those who were bent on war in any case.”
Tuesday, August 4th.—Germany has declared war on France and I hear
that Switzerland also has mobilised. I have been to the Legation to get the
orders for my ultimate departure.
Wednesday, August 5th.—I met the Czar in the park. He told me with
immense pleasure that, as a result of the violation of the neutrality of
Belgium, England has joined the great cause. The neutrality of Italy
seems assured as well.
We have already won a great diplomatic victory. Military victory will
follow, and, thanks to the help of England, it will come sooner than we
think. The Germans have against them the whole of Europe, with the
exception of Austria. Their insolence and despotism have at last been too
much even for their allies. Look at the Italians!
This evening I had another long talk with the Czarina, who will not
hear of my leaving for Switzerland.
“It’s ridiculous! You will never get there. All communications are
interrupted.”
I told her that an arrangement had been made between the French
Embassy and the Swiss Legation, and that we should all go home
together via the Dardanelles.
“The trouble is that, if you have some chance—it’s a very small one—
of getting home, you will have no chance of getting back here before the
end of the war. As Switzerland will not fight, you will be at home doing
nothing.”

At that moment Dr. Derevenko entered the room. In his hand he held
an evening paper announcing the violation of Swiss neutrality by
Germany.
“Again! They must be crazy, mad!” cried the Czarina. “They have
absolutely lost their heads!”
Realising she could not keep me now, she abandoned her resistance
and began to speak kindly of my relations, who will be without news of
me for some considerable time.
“I myself have no news of my brother,” she added. “Where is he? In
Belgium or on the French front? I shiver to think that the Emperor
William may avenge himself against me by sending him to the Russian
front. He is quite capable of such monstrous behaviour! What a horrible
war this is! What evil and suffering it means!... What will become of
Germany? What humiliation, what a downfall is in store for her? And all
for the sins of the Hohenzollerns—their idiotic pride and insatiable
ambition. Whatever has happened to the Germany of my childhood? I
have such happy and poetic memories of my early years in Darmstadt and
the good friends I had there. But on my later visits Germany seemed to
me a changed country—a country I did not know and had never known....
I had no community of thought or feeling with anyone except the old
friends of days gone by. Prussia has meant Germany’s ruin. The German
people have been deceived. Feelings of hatred and revenge which are
quite foreign to their nature have been instilled into them. It will be a
terrible, monstrous struggle, and humanity is about to pass through
ghastly sufferings....”
Thursday, August 6th.—I went into the town this morning. The
violation of the neutrality of Switzerland is not confirmed and seems
most improbable. It is impossible to travel via the Dardanelles. Our
departure is thus postponed, and we cannot say when it will take place.
This uncertainty makes me anxious.
Sunday, August 9th.—The Czar has had another long talk with me to-
day. As before, he expressed himself with a confidence and frankness
which can only be explained by the exceptional circumstances through
which we are passing. Neither he nor the Czarina ever used to discuss
political or personal questions with me. But the amazing events of the last
few days, and the fact that I have been so intimately associated with their

troubles and anxieties, have drawn me closer to them, and for the time
being the conventional barriers of etiquette and Court usage have fallen.
The Czar first spoke to me about the solemn session of the Duma on
the previous day. He told me how

THE CZAR AND THE CZAREVITCH EXAMINING THE FIRST MACHINE-GUN CAPTURED
FROM THE GERMANS. PETERHOF, AUGUST, 1914.

THE CZAR AND THE CZAREVITCH BEFORE THE BARBED WIRE. WHITE RUSSIA,
AUTUMN, 1915.
[Facing page 110.

tremendously pleased he had been with its resolute and dignified attitude
and its fervent patriotism.
“The Duma was in every way worthy of the occasion. It expressed the
real will of the nation, for the whole of Russia smarts under the insults
heaped upon it by Germany. I have the greatest confidence in the future
now.... Speaking personally, I have done everything in my power to avert
this war, and I am ready to make any concessions consistent with our
dignity and national honour. You cannot imagine how glad I am that all
the uncertainty is over, for I have never been through so terrible a time as
the days preceding the outbreak of war. I am sure that there will now be a
national uprising in Russia like that of the great war of 1812.”
Wednesday, August 12th.—It is Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s birthday. He is
ten to-day.
Friday, August 14th.—The Grand-Duke Nicholas Nicolaïevitch,[33]
Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Armies, has left for the front. Before
leaving Peterhof he came to Alexandria to give the Czar the first trophy
of the war, a machine-gun captured from the Germans in one of the
skirmishes which have marked the commencement of operations on the
East Prussian frontier.
Saturday, August 15th.—I was told last night that my return to
Switzerland has been officially excused. I am told this is the result of the
action M. Sazonoff has taken at Berne at Her Majesty’s suggestion. In
any case, it is more and more doubtful whether the Swiss will be able to
get away.
The Imperial family is to go on the 17th to Moscow where the Czar
will observe the traditional custom and ask the blessing of God on
himself and his people in the tragic hours through which the country is
passing.
Monday, August 17th.—The arrival of Their Majesties at Moscow has
been one of the most impressive and moving sights I have ever seen in
my life.
After the customary reception at the station we went in a long file of
carriages towards the Kremlin. An enormous crowd had collected in the

squares and in the streets, climbed on the roofs of the shops, into the
branches of trees. They swarmed in the shop windows and filled the
balconies and windows of the houses. While all the bells of the churches
were ringing as if they would never stop, from those thousands of throats
poured that wonderful Russian National Anthem, so overwhelming with
its religious grandeur and pent emotion, in which the faith of a whole race
is embodied:
“God save the Czar!
Mighty and powerful, let him reign for our glory,
For the confusion of our enemies, the orthodox Czar.
God save the Czar!”

On the steps of the churches, through the great doorways of which one
could see the light of the candles burning before the reliquaries, the
priests in vestments, and holding their great crucifixes in both hands,
blessed the Czar as he passed. The hymn stopped, and then began again,
rising like a prayer with a mighty and majestic rhythm:
“God save the Czar!”

The procession arrived at the Iberian Gate.[34] The Czar got out of his
carriage and, in accordance with custom, entered the chapel to kiss the
miraculous image of the Virgin of Iberia. He came out, walked a little
way, and then stopped, high above the immense multitude. His face was
grave and composed. He stood motionless to hear the voice of his people.
He seemed to be in silent communion with them. Once again he could
hear the great heart of Russia beating....
He then turned again towards the chapel, crossed himself, put on his
cap, and slowly walked to his carriage, which disappeared under the old
gate and went towards the Kremlin.

Alexis Nicolaïevitch is complaining a good deal of his leg again to-
night. Will he be able to walk to-morrow or will he have to be carried
when Their Majesties go to the Cathedral? The Czar and Czarina are in
despair. The boy was not able to be present at the ceremony in the Winter
Palace. It is always the same when he is supposed to appear in public.
You can be practically certain that some complication will prevent it. Fate
seems to pursue him.

Tuesday, August 18th.—When Alexis Nicolaïevitch found he could not
walk this morning he was in a terrible state. Their Majesties have decided
that he shall be present at the ceremony all the same. He will be carried
by one of the Czar’s cossacks. But it is a dreadful disappointment to the
parents, who do not wish the idea to gain ground among the people that
the Heir to the Throne is an invalid.
At eleven o’clock, when the Czar appeared at the top of the Red
Staircase, the huge crowd in the square gave him a magnificent reception.
He came down slowly, with the Czarina on his arm, and at the head of a
long procession slowly crossed the bridge connecting the palace with the
Cathedral of the Assumption and entered the church amid a frantic
outburst of cheering from the crowd. The Metropolitan Bishops of Kiev,
St. Petersburg, and Moscow and the high dignitaries of the Orthodox
clergy were present. When Mass was over, the members of the Imperial
family in turn approached the holy relics and kissed them. Then they
knelt at the tombs of the patriarchs. Afterwards they went to the
Monastery of Miracles to pray at the tomb of St. Alexis.
Long after Their Majesties had returned to the palace the crowd
continued to collect in the square in the hope of seeing them again. Even
when we came out several hours later there were still hundreds of
peasants outside the palace.
Thursday, August 20th.—Popular enthusiasm is waxing from day to
day. It seems as if the people of Moscow are so proud of having their
Czar with them, and so anxious to keep him as long as possible, that they
mean to hold him here by manifest proofs of their affection. The
manifestations are increasingly spontaneous, enthusiastic, and expressive.
Alexis and I drive out in a car every morning. As a rule we go to the
Monks’ Hill, from which there is a magnificent view of the valley of the
Moskova and the city of the Czars. It was from this spot that Napoleon
gazed on Moscow before entering it on September 14th, 1812. It is
certainly a marvellous view. In the foreground, at the foot of the hill, is
the Monastery of Novo-Dievitchy, with its fortified enceinte and sixteen
castellated towers. A little further back is the Holy City, with its four
hundred and fifty churches, its palaces and parks, its monasteries with
their crenellated walls, its gilded cupolas and innumerable domes of
brilliant colours and strange shapes.

As we were coming back from our usual drive this morning, so dense
was the crowd that the chauffeur was obliged to stop in one of the rather
narrow streets in the Yakimanskaïa quarter. The crowd consisted of
humble folk and peasants from the district who had come into the city to
shop or in the hope of seeing the Czar. All at once there was a loud shout:
“The Heir!... The Heir!...” The crowd surged towards us, surrounded us,
and came up so close that our way was blocked, and we, so to speak,
found ourselves prisoners of these moujiks, workmen and shopkeepers
who struggled and fought, shouted, gesticulated, and behaved like
lunatics in order to get a better view of the Czarevitch. By degrees some
of the women and children grew bolder, mounted the steps of the car,
thrust their arms over the doors, and when they succeeded in touching the
boy they yelled out triumphantly: “I’ve touched him!... I’ve touched the
Heir!...”
Alexis Nicolaïevitch, frightened at these exuberant demonstrations,
was sitting far back in the car. He was very pale, startled by this sudden
popular manifestation, which was taking extravagant forms which were
quite novel to him. He recovered himself, however, when he saw the
kindly smiles of the crowd, but he remained embarrassed at the attention
bestowed upon him, not knowing what to say or do.
Personally, I was speculating, not without considerable anxiety, how
all this would end, for I knew that no police regulations are issued for the
Czarevitch’s drives as neither the time nor the route can be fixed
beforehand. I began to fear that we might meet with some accident in the
middle of this unruly crowd swarming round us.
To my relief two huge gorodovy (policemen) came up, puffing and
blowing, shouting and storming. The crowd displayed the unquestioning
and resigned obedience of the moujik. It began to waver, then slowly
drifted away. I then told Derevenko, who was following in another car, to
go ahead, and by degrees we succeeded in getting clear.
Friday, August 21st.—Their Majesties, before returning to Tsarskoïe-
Selo, decided to visit the Troïtsa Monastery, the most celebrated
sanctuary in Russia after the world-famed Laure of Kiev. The train took
us as far as the little station of Serghievo, from which we reached the
monastery by car. Perched on a hill, it would be taken for a fortified city
from a distance if the bright-coloured towers and gilded domes of its
thirteen churches did not betray its true purpose. In the course of its

history this rampart of Orthodoxy has had to resist some formidable
assaults, the most famous being the sixteen months’ siege by an army of
thirty thousand Poles at the beginning of the seventeenth century.
This monastery, like Moscow and the towns of the Upper Volga, is a
spot where the past seems ever present. It calls up visions of the Russia of
the boyarin, the Grand-Dukes of Moscow, and the first Czars, and vividly
explains the historical evolution of the Russian people.
The Imperial family were present at a Te Deum and knelt before the
relics of St. Sergius, the founder of the monastery. The Archimandrite
then handed the Czar an icon painted in a fragment of the coffin of the
saint, one of the most revered in Russia. In olden times this image always
accompanied the Czars on their campaigns. On the Czar’s orders it is
being sent to General Headquarters and placed in the “field chapel” of the
Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Armies.
The Czar, Czarina, and their children visited the little church of Saint
Nicon and then stayed a few minutes in the ancient residence of the
patriarchs. As time was pressing, we had to abandon the idea of visiting
the hermitage of Gethsemane, which is a little distance from the
monastery. In accordance with a practice still frequently observed in
Russia, certain hermits still have themselves shut up here in subterranean
walled cells. They live in prayer and fasting to the end of their days,
completely isolated from the world, and the slit through which their food
is passed is their sole means of communication with their fellow-men.
The Imperial family bade the Archimandrite farewell and left the
monastery, accompanied by a crowd of monks who swarmed round the
cars.

CHAPTER X

THE FIRST SIX MONTHS OF THE WAR

O N August 22nd we returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo, where the Czar was to be
obliged to spend some time before he could get away to General
Headquarters. Decisions of the utmost importance required his presence
near the capital.
Notwithstanding the terrible weight of responsibility on his shoulders, the
Czar never showed such firmness, resolution, and conscious energy as
during this period at the beginning of the war. His personal influence had
never been exerted with more authority. It seemed as if he had devoted
himself body and soul to the formidable task of leading Russia to victory.
We felt he was inspired by some inward force and a dour determination to
conquer which communicated itself to everyone with whom he came in
contact.
The Czar was shy and retiring by nature. He belonged to the category of
human beings who are always hesitating because they are too diffident and
are ever slow to impose their will on others because they are too gentle and
sensitive. He had little faith in himself and imagined that he was one of the
unlucky ones. Unfortunately his life seemed to show that he was not entirely
wrong. Hence his doubts and hesitations. But this time it seemed as if he had
changed. What was it gave him his confidence?
In the first place the Czar believed that his cause was a holy cause. The
events of the end of July had enabled him to see through the duplicity of
Germany to which he had nearly fallen a victim. He also felt that he had
never been so near to his people. He seemed to be borne along by them. His
journey to Moscow had shown him how popular the war was and how much
the nation appreciated the fact that his firm and dignified attitude had
enhanced its prestige in the eyes of the outside world. The enthusiasm of the
masses had never before been demonstrated with the same spontaneous
fervour. He felt that he had the whole country behind him, and he hoped that

political passion, which had vanished in the presence of the common peril,
would not revive so long as the war was in progress.
The disaster of Soldau, in East Prussia, occurred a few days after his
arrival in Moscow, but it had not shaken his confidence. He knew the cause
of that terrible defeat had been that the concentration of the troops had not
been complete, and that General Samsonoff’s army had had to advance into
German territory too fast in order to attract some of the enemy forces to
itself and thus relieve the Western Front. That defeat had had its
compensation a week later in the victory of the Marne. It was not right to
bewail a sacrifice which had saved France and therefore ultimately Russia
herself. It is true that the same result could have been obtained with less loss
and that the Russian High Command was not free from blame, but this was
one of the misfortunes which are always possible in the early days of a
campaign.
The Czar thus preserved all his confidence and energy. At the very
beginning of the war, and notwithstanding the opposition of many influential
people, he had prohibited the production and sale of spirits. The step meant a
serious loss to the Treasury, and that at a time when money was wanted more
than ever. But his faith had been stronger than all the objections which had
been urged. He had also acted personally in endeavouring to replace all
unpopular Ministers by men who seemed to have the confidence of the
Duma. In that way he desired to emphasise his wish for closer collaboration
with the representatives of the people.
On October 3rd the Czar had gone to G.H.Q., where he spent three days.
Then after a short visit to the troops in the region of Brest and Kovno, he had
returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo.
Henceforth he made periodic visits to the front and the interior of the
country, seeing the different sectors of the immense front, the clearing
stations and military hospitals, the factories and, in fact, everything which
played any part in the conduct of the terrible war.
The Czarina had devoted herself to the cause of the wounded from the
start, and she had decided that the Grand-Duchesses Olga Nicolaïevna and
Tatiana Nicolaïevna should assist her in her task. All three of them took a
course in nursing, and passed several hours of every day caring for the
wounded who were sent to Tsarskoïe-Selo. Her Majesty, sometimes with the
Czar and sometimes alone with her two daughters, paid several visits to the
Red Cross establishments in the towns of Western and Central Russia. At her

suggestion, many military hospitals had been organised, as well as
ambulance trains specially fitted up for the evacuation of the wounded to the
rear, a process which was often very slow owing to the immense distances.
Her example had been followed, and private initiative had never been
displayed with the same enthusiasm and generosity.
Lastly a congress of all the zemstvos[35] and the municipalities of Russia
had assembled in Moscow to organise the resources of the country. Under
the influence of energetic and disinterested individuals the congress had
rapidly been converted into a potent piece of machinery, with immense
resources at its command and in a position to give the Government the most
valuable help.
In its scope and the patriotic fervour behind it this movement had been
unprecedented in Russian history. The war had become a truly national war.
The month of September had been marked for Russia by alternating
victories and reverses. In East Prussia the defeat of Tannenberg had been
followed by that of the Masurian Lakes, where the superiority of the
Germans had been demonstrated once again. In Galicia, on the other hand,
the Russians had captured Lemberg, and continued their irresistible advance,
inflicting serious losses on the Austrian army, which had fallen back into the
Carpathians. In the following month the Germans tried to secure Warsaw,
but their furious onslaught had been broken against the splendid resistance
of the Russians. The losses on both sides had been heavy.
In December the Czar paid a visit to the Caucasus, where the Southern
Army was operating. He was anxious to spend a little time with the troops
who were fighting under the most trying conditions against the Turkish
divisions massed on the Armenian frontier. On his return he joined the
Czarina at Moscow, and the children also were brought there to meet him.
The Czar visited the military schools and with Her Majesty, his son and
daughters, several times made the rounds of the hospitals and nursing
establishments in that city.
During the five days we spent at Moscow the enthusiasm of the people
had been every bit as great as in August, and it was with real regret that
Their Majesties left the ancient capital of Muscovy, the Czar leaving for
G.H.Q. and the other members of the family returning to Tsarskoïe-Selo.
After the New Year’s Day celebrations the Czar resumed his periodical
visits to the front. The army was then preparing for the great offensive which

was to take place in March.

Throughout this winter the health of the Czarevitch had been very
satisfactory, and his lessons could proceed along regular lines. In the early
spring Her Majesty informed me that the Czar and she had decided, in view
of the circumstances, to dispense with the appointment of a vospitatiet for
Alexis Nicolaïevitch for the moment. Contrary to my expectations, I thus
found myself compelled to shoulder the immense burden of responsibility
alone for some time longer, and to find some means of filling up the gaps in
the Heir’s education. I had a strong feeling that it was essential that he
should get away from his ordinary environment, even if it were only for a
few hours a day, and try to establish contact with real life. I applied for and
obtained a General Staff map of the country, and I planned a series of motor
drives which enabled us gradually to cover all the district around within a
radius of twenty miles. We used to start out immediately after lunch, and
often stopped at villages to watch the peasants at work. Alexis Nicolaïevitch
liked questioning them, and they always answered him with the frank, kindly
simplicity of the Russian moujik, not having the slightest idea whom they
were speaking to. The railway lines of the suburbs of St. Petersburg had a
great attraction for the boy. He took the liveliest interest in the activities of
the little stations we passed and the work of repair on the track, bridges, etc.
The palace police grew alarmed at these excursions, which took us
beyond the guarded zone, especially as our route was not known beforehand.
I was asked to observe the rules in force, but I disregarded them, and our
drives continued as before. The police then changed their procedure, and
whenever we left the park we were certain to see a car appear and follow in
our tracks. It was one of Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s greatest delights to try and
throw it off the scent, and now and then we were successful.
My particular anxiety, however, was to find companions for the Imperial
Heir. This was a problem most difficult to solve. Fortunately circumstances
themselves conspired to make good this deficiency to a certain extent. Dr.
Derevenko had a son who was almost the same age as Alexis Nicolaïevitch.
The two boys got to know each other, and were soon good friends. No
Sunday, fête day or holiday passed without them meeting. They were
together every day ultimately, and the Czarevitch even obtained permission
to visit the house of Dr. Derevenko, who lived in a little villa not far from the
palace. He often spent whole afternoons there with his friend and playmate

in the modest home of a bourgeois family. There was a good deal of
criticism of this innovation, but Their Majesties would not interfere. They
were so unaffected in their own private life that they could not but encourage
the same tastes in their children.
Yet the war had already brought some very remarkable change in our life
at the palace. It had always been austere, and now became even more so. The
Czar was away a good deal. The Czarina and her two elder daughters almost
always wore the costume of a nurse, and divided their time between visits to
the hospitals and the innumerable duties arising out of their work for the
relief of the wounded. The Czarina was very tired even when the war began.
She had spent herself without counting the consequences, devoting herself
with the enthusiasm and ardour she brought to everything to which she set
her hand. Although her health was severely shaken, she displayed
remarkable physical elasticity. She seemed to derive comfort and strength
from the accomplishment of the splendid task which she had undertaken. It
was as if she found that it satisfied her craving for self-devotion and enabled
her to forget the poignant anxiety and apprehension that the Czarevitch’s
illness caused, even in its inactive periods.
Another result of the war, as agreeable as unexpected, was that Rasputin
had retired into the background. At the end of September he had returned
from Siberia completely recovered from the terrible wound which had all but
ended his days. But everything pointed to the fact that since his return he
was being more or less neglected. In any case, his visits were more and more
infrequent. It was true that as Alexis Nicolaïevitch had been so much better
during the winter there had been no need to resort to his intervention, so that
he had found himself deprived of what had been his great stand-by.
But when all is said, his power remained quite formidable. I had proof of
the fact a short time after, when Madame Wyroubova was all but killed in a
terrible railway accident. She was nearly dead when she was dragged from
under the fragments of a shattered carriage, and had been brought to
Tsarskoïe-Selo in a condition which seemed desperate. In her terror the
Czarina had rushed to the bedside of the woman who was almost her only
friend. Rasputin, who had been hastily sent for, was there also. In this
accident the Czarina saw a new proof of the evil fate which seemed to
pursue so relentlessly all those whom she loved. As she asked Rasputin in a
tone of anguish whether Madame Wyroubova would live, he replied:

“God will give her back to you if she is needed by you and the country. If
her influence is harmful, on the other hand, He will take her away. I cannot
claim to know His impenetrable designs.”
It must be admitted that this was a very clever way of evading an
awkward question. If Madame Wyroubova recovered he would have earned
her eternal gratitude, as, thanks to him, her recovery would seem to
consecrate, as it were, her mission with the Czarina. If she died, on the other
hand, Her Majesty would see in her death a manifestation of the inscrutable
ways of Providence, and thus be the more easily consoled in her loss.[36]
Rasputin’s intervention had helped him to recover his influence, but his
triumph was short-lived. In spite of everything, we felt that something had
changed, and that he was not so important as he had been. I was delighted to
note the fact, particularly as shortly before I had had a long talk on the
subject of the staretz with the Swiss Minister in Petrograd.[37] The
information he gave me in the course of our conversation left me in no doubt
as to the real character of Rasputin. As I had always suspected, he was a
misguided mystic who possessed a kind of psychic power, an unbalanced
creature who worked alternately through his carnal desires and his mystic
visions, a being quite capable of having weeks of religious ecstasy after
nights of infamy. But before this interview I had never realised the
importance that was attached to Rasputin’s influence on politics, not merely
in Russian circles, but even in the embassies and legations of Petrograd. That
influence was greatly exaggerated, but the mere fact that it could exist was a
kind of challenge to public opinion. The presence of this man at Court was
also a subject of mystery and abhorrence to all who knew the debauchery of
his private life. I fully realised that all this involved the greatest danger to the
prestige of Their Majesties and furnished a weapon which their enemies
would sooner or later try to use against them.
The mischief could only have been remedied by sending Rasputin away;
but where was the power strong enough to bring about his disgrace? I knew
the deep, underlying causes of his hold over the Czarina too well not to fear
the restoration of his influence if circumstances took a turn favourable to
him.
The first six months of the war had not brought the results hoped for, and
everything pointed to a long and bitter struggle. Unexpected complications
might arise, for the prolongation of the war might well bring very serious
economic difficulties which could foster general discontent and provoke

actual disorder. The Czar and Czarina were much concerned at this aspect of
the matter. It made them very anxious.
As ever in moments of trouble and uncertainty, it was from religion and
the affection of their children that they drew the comfort they needed. With
their usual natural simplicity and good humour the Grand-Duchesses had
accepted the increasing austerity of life at Court. It is true that their own
lives, so utterly destitute of the elements which young girls find most
agreeable, had prepared them for the change. When war broke out in 1914,
Olga Nicolaïevna was nineteen and Tatiana Nicolaïevna had just had her
seventeenth birthday. They had never been to a ball. The only parties at
which they had appeared were one or two given by their aunt, the Grand-
Duchess Olga Alexandrovna. After hostilities one thought, and one thought
alone, inspired them—to relieve the cares and anxieties of their parents by
surrounding them with a love which revealed itself in the most touching and
delicate attentions.
If only the world had known what an example the Imperial family were
setting with their tender and intimate association! But how few ever
suspected it! For it was too indifferent to public opinion and avoided the
public gaze.

CHAPTER XI

THE RETREAT OF THE RUSSIAN ARMY—THE CZAR PLACES
HIMSELF AT THE HEAD OF HIS ARMY—THE GROWING
INFLUENCE OF THE CZARINA
(FEBRUARY-SEPTEMBER, 1915)

I N spite of the successes gained by the Russians in Galicia in the autumn,
the situation was very uncertain in the spring of 1915. On both sides
preparations were being made for a fierce renewal of the struggle to which
the fighting of January and February was only the prelude. On the Russian
side it looked as if everything possible had been done to strengthen the
army’s fighting power and assure the normal flow of supplies. The Czar, at
any rate, believed that it was so, on the faith of the reports he had received.
He had placed all his hopes on the success of this spring campaign.
The Austrians were the first to take the offensive, but the Russians
counter-attacked vigorously, and their superiority was soon made manifest
all along the front. In the first fortnight of March their successes were
continued. On the 19th they captured the fortress of Przemysl. The whole
garrison and considerable booty in war material fell into their hands. There
was tremendous excitement in the country. The Czar returned from G.H.Q.
on March 24th. He was in high spirits. Were the fortunes of war at length
going to turn in favour of Russia?
In the middle of April Russian divisions stood on the crest of the
Carpathians and menaced the rich plains of Hungary. The Austrian army was
at the end of its tether. But these successes had been bought at the price of
enormous losses, and the mountain fighting continued under conditions
which were extremely trying even for the victor. The prolongation of the war
was also beginning to show effects on the population at home. It had begun
to feel the high cost of food and the poverty of communications was
paralysing all economic life. There must be no delay in finding a solution.

But Germany could not remain indifferent to the dissolution of the
Austrian army, and as soon as she clearly appreciated the danger she made
up her mind to avert it by taking every step in her power. Several German
army corps had been massed east of Cracow and placed under the command
of General Mackensen, who was to take the offensive against the flank of the
Russian army and try to cut the communications of the troops operating in
the Carpathians. The onslaught began in the first days of May, and under the
pressure of the Germans the Russian army of Western Galicia was obliged to
retreat rapidly to the east. It had to accept the loss of the Carpathians, the
capture of which had cost so much blood and effort, and descend into the
plains. The troops fought with remarkable courage and endurance, but they
were cruelly short of arms and ammunition.
The retreat continued. On June 5th Przemysl was lost, and on June 22nd
Lemberg. By the end of the month all Galicia—that Slav land the conquest
of which had filled all Russian hearts with joy—had been evacuated.

THE CZAR.

THE CZAREVITCH.
Facing page 134.

Meanwhile the Germans had begun a vigorous offensive in Poland and
made rapid progress in spite of the fierce resistance of the Russians. It was a
grave moment. The whole Russian front had been shaken and given way
under the pressure of the Austro-German armies. Men wished to know who
was responsible for these disasters. They called for the guilty and demanded
their punishment.
The development of events had been a terrible blow to the Czar. It had
been a shock, especially as he had certainly not expected anything of the
kind. But he set his teeth against adversity. On June 25th he dismissed the
Minister of War, General Sukhomlinoff, whose criminal negligence seemed
to have been responsible for the fact that it was impossible to secure the
army’s supplies. He replaced him by General Polivanoff. On the 27th he
summoned a conference at G.H.Q., at which all the Ministers were present.
It was a question of rousing all the energies of the country, of mobilising all
its forces and resources for the life-and-death struggle with the hated foe.
It was decided to summon the Duma. The first sitting took place on
August 1st, the anniversary of the declaration of war by Germany on Russia.
The firm and courageous attitude of the Assembly did a good deal to calm
the public agitation. But while calling on the whole nation to co-operate in
the defence of the Fatherland, the Duma demanded that the guilty should be
discovered and punished. A few days later the Czar appointed a

“Commission of Enquiry” with a view to fixing responsibility for the
nation’s misfortunes.
Meanwhile the German offensive in Poland had made further progress.
On August 5th Warsaw was abandoned by the Russians, who withdrew to
the right bank of the Vistula. On the 17th Kovno was lost. One after the
other all the Russian fortresses fell before the onslaught of the enemy, whose
advance no obstacle seemed capable of staying. By the end of August the
whole of the Government of Poland was in the hands of the Germans.
The reverses assumed the proportions of a catastrophe which endangered
the very existence of the country. Should we be able to stop the invading
hordes or should we have to follow the precedent of 1812 and withdraw into
the interior, thus abandoning Russian soil to the enemy? Had all our willing
sacrifices brought us nothing?
The country was suffering from the incessant withdrawals of men and
from requisitions. Agriculture was short of labour and horses. In the towns
the cost of living was rising with the disorganisation of the railways and the
influx of refugees. The most pessimistic news passed from mouth to mouth.
There was talk of sabotage, treason, etc. Russian public opinion, so
changeable and prone to exaggeration whether in joy or sorrow, indulged in
the most gloomy forebodings.
It was just when Russia was passing through this acute crisis that
Nicholas II. decided to take the command of his armies in person.
For several months the Czarina had been urging the Czar to take this step,
but he had stood out against her suggestion as he did not like the idea of
relieving the Grand-Duke Nicholas of the post he had given him. When the
war broke out his first impulse had been to put himself at the head of his
army, but, yielding to the representations of his Ministers, he had abandoned
an idea which was very close to his heart. He had always regretted it, and
now that the Germans had conquered all Poland and were advancing on
Russian soil, he considered it nothing less than criminal to remain away
from the front and not take a more active part in the defence of his country.
The Czar had returned from G.H.Q. on July 11th, and spent two months
at Tsarskoïe-Selo before making up his mind to this new step. I will relate a
conversation I had with him on July 16th, as it shows quite clearly what
were the ideas that inspired him at that time. On that day he had joined

Alexis Nicolaïevitch and myself in the park, and had just been telling his son
something about his recent visit to the army. Turning to me, he added:
“You have no idea how depressing it is to be away from the front. It
seems as if everything here saps energy and enfeebles resolution. The most
pessimistic rumours and the most ridiculous stories are accepted and get
about everywhere. Folk here care nothing except for intrigues and cabals,
and regard low personal interests only. Out at the front men fight and die for
their country. At the front there is only one thought—the determination to
conquer. All else is forgotten, and, in spite of our losses and our reverses,
everyone remains confident. Any man fit to bear arms should be in the army.
Speaking for myself, I can never be in too much of a hurry to be with my
troops.”[38]
The Czarina was able to take advantage of this great ambition. She set
herself to overcome the scruples which considerations of another character
inspired. She desired the removal of the Grand-Duke Nicholas, whom she
accused of secretly working for the ruin of the Czar’s reputation and prestige
and for a palace revolution which would further his own ends. On the
strength of certain information she had received from Madame Wyroubova,
she was also persuaded that G.H.Q. was the centre of a plot, the object of
which was to seize her daring the absence of her husband and confine her in
a convent.
The Czar, on the other hand, had full confidence in the loyalty of the
Grand-Duke Nicholas. He considered him incapable of any criminal action,
but he was compelled to admit his complicity in the intrigue against the
Czarina. Yet he did not give way until the imperious instinct urging him to
put himself at the head of his army had become an obligation of conscience.
By intervening personally in the struggle he hoped to show the world that
the war would be fought out to the bitter end and prove his own unshakable
faith in ultimate victory. In this tragic hour he thought it was his duty to
stake his own person, and as head of the state to assume the full burden of
responsibility. By his presence among the troops he wished to restore their
confidence, for their morale had been shaken by the long series of reverses,
and they were tired of fighting against an enemy whose strength consisted
principally in the superiority of his armament.
In spite of the recent retreats, the prestige of the Grand-Duke Nicholas
was still considerable in Russia. During this first twelve months of the war
he had given proof of resolution and an iron will. The fact that he was

deprived of his command in times of defeat indicated that he was held
responsible, and was bound to be interpreted as a punishment, as unjust on
the merits as insulting to his honour. The Czar fully realised all this, and only
decided as he did much against his will. His first idea had been to keep the
Grand-Duke with him at G.H.Q., but that would have made the position of
the ex-Generalissimo somewhat delicate. The Czar decided to appoint him
Lieutenant-General of the Caucasus and Commander-in-Chief of the army
operating against the Turks.
The Czar communicated his decision to take over the Supreme Command
to his Ministers at a council which took place at Tsarskoïe-Selo a few days
before his departure for G.H.Q. The news threw most of those present into
utter consternation, and they did their best to dissuade him from his project.
They pointed to the grave difficulties in the way of public business if the
head of the state was to spend practically all his time at G.H.Q., more than
five hundred miles from the seat of government. They referred to his
innumerable duties and asked him not to take new and crushing
responsibilities upon himself. In the last resort they begged him not to place
himself at the head of his troops at a moment so critical. In case of failure he
was running a risk of exposing himself to attacks which would undermine
his prestige and authority.
Yet the Czar was not to be moved. Several members of his immediate
entourage made several further attempts to convince him, but these failed
also, and on the evening of September 4th he left for Mohileff, where
G.H.Q. was established at that time. The next day he signed the Prikase, in
which he announced to the troops that he was taking command in person,
and at the foot he added in his own hand:
“With unshakable faith in the goodness of God and firm confidence in
final victory we shall accomplish our sacred duty in defending our
Fatherland to the end, and we shall never let the soil of Russia be outraged.”
He was repeating the oath he had taken at the outset of the war and
casting his crown into the arena.
In France and England this announcement came as a surprise which was
not without a certain element of apprehension, but this action was regarded
as a pledge which irrevocably associated the Russian Empire, in the person
of its Czar, with the fortunes of the Entente, and this at a moment when a
series of defeats would have been grounds for fearing separatist tendencies.
All the great newspapers of the Allied countries emphasised the importance

of this decision. It was hoped that it would have a considerable effect on the
morale of the Russian army and contribute to further the cause of final
victory. In Russia the whole Press raised a shout of triumph, but in sober
reality opinion about the wisdom of changing the command was sharply
divided at first. In the army itself we shall see that the presence of the Czar
helped to raise the spirits and courage of the men and gave the campaign a
new impetus.
History will some day reveal the political and military consequences of
this step, which was certainly an act of courage and faith on the part of the
Czar himself.

As I had feared, the apparent indifference with which Rasputin had been
treated during the winter had only been temporary, and at the time of the
disasters in May there was a revival of his influence, which grew steadily
stronger. The change is easily explained. At the beginning of the war the
Czar and Czarina were utterly obsessed by the greatness of their task, and
had passed through hours of exaltation in the knowledge of the love they
bore their people, a love they felt was reciprocated. That fervent communion
had filled them with hope. They believed that they were really the centre of
that great national movement which swept over the whole of Russia. The
military events of the following months had not shaken their courage. They
had maintained their ardent faith

THE CZARINA.

THE FOUR GRAND-DUCHESSES.
[Facing page 140.

in that spring offensive which was to bring about the final success of the
Russian armies.
When the great catastrophe followed they passed through a time of
unspeakable anguish. In her sorrow the Czarina was bound to feel impelled
to seek moral support from him whom she already regarded not only as the
saviour of her son, but as the representative of the people, sent by God to
save Russia and her husband also.
It is not true that personal ambition or a thirst for power induced the
Czarina to intervene in political affairs. Her motive was purely sentimental.
She worshipped her husband as she worshipped her children, and there was
no limit to her devotion for those she loved. Her only desire was to be useful
to the Czar in his heavy task and to help him with her counsel.
Convinced that autocracy was the only form of government suited to the
needs of Russia, the Czarina believed that any great concessions to liberal
demands were premature. In her view the uneducated masses of the Russian
people could be galvanised into action only by a Czar in whose person all
power was centralised. She was certain that to the moujik the Czar was the
symbol of the unity, greatness, and glory of Russia, the head of the state and
the Lord’s Anointed. To encroach on his prerogatives was to undermine the
faith of the Russian peasant and to risk precipitating the worst disasters for

the country. The Czar must not merely rule: he must govern the state with a
firm and mighty hand.
To the new task the Czarina brought the same devotion, courage, and,
alas! blindness she had shown in her fight for the life of her son. She was at
any rate logical in her errors. Persuaded, as she was, that the only support for
the dynasty was the nation, and that Rasputin was God’s elect (had she not
witnessed the efficacy of his prayers during her son’s illness?), she was
absolutely convinced that this lowly peasant could use his supernatural
powers to help him who held in his hands the fate of the empire of the Czars.
Cunning and astute as he was, Rasputin never advised in political matters
except with the most extreme caution. He always took the greatest care to be
very well informed as to what was going on at Court and as to the private
feelings of the Czar and his wife. As a rule, therefore, his prophecies only
confirmed the secret wishes of the Czarina. In fact, it was almost impossible
to doubt that it was she who inspired the “inspired,” but as her desires were
interpreted by Rasputin, they seemed in her eyes to have the sanction and
authority of a revelation.
Before the war the influence of the Czarina in political affairs had been
but intermittent. It was usually confined to procuring the dismissal of anyone
who declared his hostility to the staretz. In the first months of the war there
had been no change in that respect, but after the great reverses in the spring
of 1915, and more particularly after the Czar had assumed command of the
army, the Czarina played an ever-increasing part in affairs of state because
she wished to help her husband, who was overwhelmed with the burden of
his growing responsibilities. She was worn out, and desired nothing more
than peace and rest, but she willingly sacrificed her personal comfort to what
she believed was a sacred duty.
Very reserved and yet very impulsive, the Czarina, first and foremost the
wife and mother, was never happy except in the bosom of her family. She
was artistic and well-educated, and liked reading and the arts. She was fond
of meditation, and often became wholly absorbed in her own inward
thoughts and feelings, an absorption from which she would only emerge
when danger threatened. She would throw herself at the obstacle with all the
ardour of a passionate nature. She was endowed with the finest moral
qualities, and was always inspired by the highest ideals. But her sorrows had
broken her. She was but the shadow of her former self, and she often had

periods of mystic ecstasy in which she lost all sense of reality. Her faith in
Rasputin proves it beyond a doubt.
It was thus that in her desire to save her husband and son, whom she
loved more than life itself, she forged with her own hands the instrument of
their undoing.

CHAPTER XII

NICHOLAS II. AS COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF—THE ARRIVAL OF THE
CZAREVITCH AT G.H.Q.—VISITS TO THE FRONT
(SEPTEMBER—DECEMBER, 1915)

T HE Grand-Duke Nicholas left G.H.Q. on September 7th, two days after
the arrival of the Czar. He left for the Caucasus, taking with him General
Yanushkevitch, who had been replaced as First Quartermaster-General of
the Russian armies by General Alexeieff a short time before. This
appointment had been very well received by military circles, who had high
hopes of Alexeieff. He it was who had drawn up the plan of campaign in
Galicia in the autumn of 1914, and as Commander of the North-Western
Front he had just given further proof of his military talent. The burden which
was now laid upon his shoulders was a crushing one, for as a result of the
irresistible advance of the Germans the Russian army was in a very critical
position, and the decisions which he had to take were exceptionally grave.
From the outset the Czar gave him an entirely free hand with regard to the
operations, confining himself to covering him with his authority and taking
responsibility for everything he did.
A few days after Nicholas II. took over the Supreme Command the
situation suddenly took a turn for the worse. The Germans, who had massed
large forces north-west of Vilnam, had succeeded in breaking the Russian
front, and their cavalry was operating in the rear of the army and threatening
its communications. On September 18th we seemed on the verge of a great
disaster.
Thanks to the skill of the dispositions which were taken and the
endurance and heroism of the troops, the peril was averted. This was the last
effort of the enemy, who himself had shot his bolt. In the early days of
October the Russians in turn gained a success over the Austrians, and
gradually the immense front became fixed and both sides went to ground.
This marked the end of the long retreat which had begun in May. In spite
of all their efforts the Germans had not obtained a decision. The Russian
armies had abandoned a large stretch of territory, but they had everywhere
escaped the clutches of their foes.

The Czar returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo on October 6th for a few days, and it
was decided that Alexis Nicolaïevitch should go back with him to G.H.Q.,
for he was most anxious to show the Heir to the troops. The Czarina bowed
to this necessity. She realised how greatly the Czar suffered from loneliness,
for at one of the most tragic hours of his life he was deprived of the presence
of his family, his greatest consolation. She knew what a comfort it would be
to have his son with him. Yet her heart bled at the thought of Alexis leaving
her. It was the first time she had been separated from him, and one can
imagine what a sacrifice it meant to the mother, who never left her child,
even for a few minutes, without wondering anxiously whether she would
ever see him alive again.
We left for Mohileff on October 14th, and the Czarina and the Grand-
Duchesses came to the station to see us off. As I

THE CZAR AND CZAREVITCH ON THE BANKS OF THE DNIEPER. SUMMER OF 1916.

THE CZAR AND CZAREVITCH NEAR MOHILEFF. SUMMER OF 1916.
[Facing page 148.

was saying good-bye to her, Her Majesty asked me to write every day to
give her news of her son. I promised to carry out her wishes faithfully the
whole time we were away.
The next day we stopped at Riegitza, where the Czar wished to review
some troops which had been withdrawn from the front and were billeted in
the neighbourhood. All these regiments had taken part in the exhausting
campaigns in Galicia and the Carpathians, and their establishment had been
almost entirely renewed two or three times over. But in spite of the terrible
losses they had suffered, they marched past the Czar with a proud and
defiant bearing. Of course, they had been resting behind the line for several
weeks, and had had time to recover from their weariness and privations. It
was the first time that the Czar had passed any of his troops in review since
he had taken over the Command. They now looked upon him both as their
Emperor and Generalissimo. After the ceremony he mixed with the men and
conversed personally with several of them, asking questions about the severe
engagements in which they had taken part. Alexis Nicolaïevitch was at his
father’s heels, listening intently to the stories of these men, who had so often
stared death in the face. His features, which were always expressive, became
quite strained in the effort not to lose a single word of what the men were
saying. His presence at the Czar’s side greatly interested the soldiers, and

when he had gone they were heard exchanging in a whisper their ideas about
his age, size, looks, etc. But the point that made the greatest impression upon
them was the fact that the Czarevitch was wearing the uniform of a private
soldier, which had nothing to distinguish it from that of a boy in the service.
On October 16th we arrived at Mohileff, a little White Russian town of a
highly provincial appearance to which the Grand-Duke Nicholas had
transferred G.H.Q. during the great German offensive two months before.
The Czar occupied the house of the Governor, which was situated on the
summit of the steep left bank of the Dnieper. He was on the first floor in two
fairly large rooms, one of which was his study and the other his bedroom. He
had decided that his son should share his room. Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s camp-
bed was accordingly placed next to his father’s. I myself and some members
of the Czar’s military suite were lodged in the local court-house, which had
been converted for use by G.H.Q.
Our time was spent much as follows. Every morning at half-past nine the
Czar called on the General Staff. He usually stayed there until one o’clock,
and I took advantage of his absence to work with Alexis Nicolaïevitch in his
study, which we had been obliged to make our workroom owing to lack of
space. We then took lunch in the main room of the Governor’s house. Every
day there were some thirty guests, which included General Alexeieff, his
principal assistants, the heads of all the military missions of the Allies, the
suite, and a few officers who were passing through Mohileff. After lunch the
Czar dealt with urgent business and then about three we went for a drive in a
car.
When we had proceeded a certain distance from the town we stopped and
went for a walk in the neighbourhood for an hour. One of our favourite
haunts was the pretty pine-wood in the heart of which is the little village of
Saltanovka, where the army of Marshal Davout met the troops of General
Raievsky on July 29th, 1912.[39] On our return the Czar resumed work while
Alexis Nicolaïevitch prepared the lessons for the next day in his father’s
study. One day when I was there as usual the Czar turned towards me, pen in
hand, and interrupted me in my reading to remark abruptly:
“If anyone had told me that I should one day sign a declaration of war on
Bulgaria I should have called him a lunatic. Yet that day has come. But I am
signing against my will, as I am certain that the Bulgarian people have been
deceived by their king and the partisans of Austria, and that the majority

remain friendly to Russia. Race feeling will soon revive and they will realise
their mistake, but it will be too late then.”
The incident shows what a simple life we led at G.H.Q., and the intimacy
which was the result of the extraordinary circumstances under which I was
working.

As the Czar was anxious to visit the troops with the Czarevitch, we left
for the front on October 24th. The next day we arrived at Berditcheff, where
General Ivanoff, commanding the South-Western Front, joined our train. A
few hours later we were at Rovno. It was in this town that General Brussiloff
had established his headquarters, and we were to accompany him to the
place where the troops had been assembled. We went by car, as we had more
than twelve miles to cover. As we left the town a squadron of aeroplanes
joined us and escorted us until we saw the long grey lines of the units
massed behind a forest. A minute later we were among them. The Czar
walked down the front of the troops with his son, and then each unit defiled
in turn before him. He then had the officers and men on whom decorations
were to be bestowed called out of the ranks and gave them the St. George’s
Cross.
It was dark before the ceremony was over. On our return the Czar, having
heard from General Ivanoff that there was a casualty station quite near,
decided to visit it at once. We entered a dark forest and soon perceived a
small building feebly lit by the red flames of torches. The Czar and Alexis
Nicolaïevitch entered the house, and the Czar went up to all the wounded
and questioned them in a kindly way. His unexpected arrival at so late an
hour at a spot so close to the front was the cause of the general astonishment
which could be read on every face. One private soldier, who had just been
bandaged and put back in bed, gazed fixedly at the Czar, and when the latter
bent over him he raised his only sound hand to touch his sovereign’s clothes
and satisfy himself that it was really the Czar who stood before him and not
a ghost. Close behind his father stood Alexis Nicolaïevitch, who was deeply
moved by the groaning he heard and the suffering he felt all around him.
We rejoined our train and immediately left for the south. When we woke
next morning we were in Galicia. During the night we had crossed the
former Austrian frontier. The Czar was anxious to congratulate the troops,
whose prodigies of valour had enabled them to remain on hostile soil
notwithstanding the dearth of arms and ammunition. We left the railway at

Bogdanovka and gradually mounted the plateau on which units from all the
regiments of General Tcherbatcheff’s army had been assembled. When the
review was over the Czar disregarded the objections of his suite and visited
the Perchersky Regiment, three miles from the front lines, at a place which
enemy artillery fire could have reached. We then returned to our cars, which
we had left in a forest, and went to General Lechitzsky’s army, which was
some thirty miles away. We were overtaken by darkness on our way back. A
thick mist covered the countryside; we lost our way and twice had to go
back. But after many wanderings we at length struck the railway again,
though we were sixteen miles from the place where we had left our train!
Two hours later we left for G.H.Q.
The Czar brought away a most encouraging impression from his tour of
inspection. It was the first time that he had been in really close contact with
the troops, and he was glad that he had been able to see with his own eyes,
practically in the firing-line, the fine condition of the regiments and the
splendid spirit with which they were inspired.
We returned to Mohileff in the evening of October 27th, and the next
morning Her Majesty and the Grand-Duchesses also arrived at G.H.Q.
During their journey the Czarina and her daughters had stopped at several
towns in the Governments of Tver, Pskoff, and Mohileff, in order to visit the
military hospitals. They stayed three days with us at Mohileff and then the
whole family left for Tsarskoïe-Selo, where the Czar was to spend several
days.
I have somewhat lingered over the first journey which the Czar made
with his son, and to avoid mere repetition I shall confine myself to a short
summary of the visits we paid to the armies in the month of November.
We left Tsarskoïe-Selo on the 9th. On the 10th we were at Reval, where
the Czar visited a flotilla of submarines which had just come in. The boats
were covered with a thick coating of ice, a sparkling shell for them. There
were also two English submarines which had surmounted enormous
difficulties in penetrating into the Baltic, and had already succeeded in
sinking a certain number of German ships. The Czar bestowed the St.
George’s Cross on their commanding officers.
During our next day at Riga, which formed a kind of advanced bastion in
the German lines, we spent several hours with the splendid regiments of
Siberian Rifles, which were regarded as some of the finest troops in the
Russian army. Their bearing was magnificent, as they marched past before

the Czar, answering his salute with the traditional phrase: “Happy to serve
Your Imperial Majesty,” followed by a tremendous round of cheers.
A few days later we were at Tiraspol, a little town sixty miles north of
Odessa, where the Czar reviewed units from the army of General
Tcherbatcheff. After the ceremony the Czar, desiring to know for himself
what losses the troops had suffered, asked their commanding officers to
order all men who had been in the ranks since the beginning of the campaign
to raise their hands. The order was given, and but a very few hands were
lifted above those thousands of heads. There were whole companies in
which not a man moved. The incident made a very great impression on
Alexis Nicolaïevitch. It was the first time that reality had brought home to
him the horrors of war in so direct a fashion.
The next day, November 22nd, we went to Reni, a small town on the
Danube on the Rumanian frontier. An immense quantity of supplies had been
collected there, for it was a base for the river steamers which were engaged
in taking food, arms and ammunition to the unfortunate Serbians whom the
treachery of Bulgaria had just exposed to an Austro-German invasion.
The following day, near Balta in Podolia, the Czar inspected the famous
division of Caucasian cavalry whose regiments had won new laurels in the
recent campaign. Among other units were the Kuban and Terek Cossacks,
perched high in the saddle

THE CZAR AND THE CZAREVITCH AT A RELIGIOUS SERVICE AT G.H.Q., MOHILEFF.
[Facing page 154.

and wearing the huge fur caps which make them look so fierce. As we
started to return, the whole mass of cavalry suddenly moved forward, took
station on both sides of the road, broke into a gallop, tearing up the hills,
sweeping down the banks of ravines, clearing all obstacles, and thus escorted
us to the station in a terrific charge in which men and animals crashed
together on the ground while above the mêlée rose the raucous yells of the
Caucasian mountaineers. It was a spectacle at once magnificent and terrible
which revealed all the savage instincts of this primitive race.
We did not return to G.H.Q. until November 26th, after having visited
practically the whole of the immense front from the Baltic to the Black Sea.

On December 10th we heard that the Czar was intending to visit the
regiments of the Guard which were then on the frontier of Galicia. On the
morning of our departure, Thursday, December 16th, Alexis Nicolaïevitch,
who had caught cold the previous day and was suffering from a heavy
catarrh in the head, began to bleed at the nose as a result of sneezing
violently. I summoned Professor Fiodrof,[40] but he could not entirely stop
the bleeding. In spite of this accident we started off, as all preparations had
been made for the arrival of the Czar. During the night the boy got worse.
His temperature had gone up and he was getting weaker. At three o’clock in
the morning Professor Fiodrof, alarmed at his responsibilities, decided to
have the Czar roused and ask him to return to Mohileff, where he could
attend to the Czarevitch under more favourable conditions.
The next morning we were on our way back to G.H.Q., but the boy’s state
was so alarming that it was decided to take him back to Tsarskoïe-Selo. The
Czar called on the General Staff and spent two hours with General Alexeieff.
Then he joined us and we started off at once. Our journey was particularly
harrowing, as the patient’s strength was failing rapidly. We had to have the
train stopped several times to be able to change the plugs. Alexis
Nicolaïevitch was supported in bed by his sailor Nagorny (he could not be
allowed to lie full length), and twice in the night he swooned away and I
thought the end had come.
Towards morning there was a slight improvement, however, and the
hæmorrhage lessened. At last we reached Tsarskoïe-Selo. It was eleven
o’clock. The Czarina, who had been torn with anguish and anxiety, was on
the platform with the Grand-Duchesses. With infinite care the invalid was
taken to the palace. The doctors ultimately succeeded in cauterizing the scar

which had formed at the spot where a little blood-vessel had burst. Once
more the Czarina attributed the improvement in her son’s condition that
morning to the prayers of Rasputin, and she remained convinced that the boy
had been saved thanks to his intervention.
The Czar stayed several days with us, but he was anxious to get away as
he was wishful to take advantage of the comparative stagnation at the front
to visit the troops and get into the closest possible touch with them.
His journeys to the front had been a great success. His presence had
everywhere aroused immense enthusiasm, not only among the men but also
among the peasants, who swarmed in from the country round whenever his
train stopped, in the hope of catching a glimpse of their sovereign. The Czar
was certain that his efforts would tend to revive feelings of patriotism and
personal loyalty in the nation and the army. His recent experiences
persuaded him that he had succeeded, and those who went with him thought
the same. Was it an illusion? He who denies its truth can know little of the
Russian people, and cannot have the slightest idea how deep-rooted was
monarchical sentiment in the moujik.

CHAPTER XIII

THE CZAR AT THE DUMA—THE CAMPAIGN IN GALICIA—OUR
LIFE AT G.H.Q.—GROWING DISAFFECTION IN THE REAR
(1916)

T HE Czar had returned to G.H.Q. alone on December 25th, and three days
later he reviewed on the Galician frontier the divisions of the Guard
which had been concentrated in view of an imminent offensive. The
absence of Alexis Nicolaïevitch was a real sorrow to him, as he had been
looking forward eagerly to presenting him to his Guard. He had then
returned to Mohileff.
Towards the end of the year 1915 the military situation of the Russians
had greatly improved. The army had taken advantage of the quiet months
which followed the conclusion of the great German offensive at the end of
September, 1915, and, thanks to the enormous reserves in man-power at the
disposal of the country, it had easily made good the very heavy losses it had
suffered in the retreat. Once more the Germans found themselves baulked of
the great prize they had promised themselves—a prize which their brilliant
successes at the opening of the campaign seemed to have assured. They had
growing doubts about their ability to overcome the stubborn Russian
resistance by arms, and by clever propaganda and cunning intrigues they
were now endeavouring to stir up such disaffection in the interior of the
country as would hasten, they hoped, the consummation so devoutly to be
desired. But in the person of the Czar they found an insurmountable obstacle
to the realisation of their designs. That obstacle must be removed.
By assuming the command of his troops and thus staking his crown on
the struggle, the Czar had definitely deprived his enemies of all hopes of a
reconciliation. At Berlin the authorities now knew that Nicholas II. would
stand by his allies to the bitter end, and that all attempts at a rapprochement
would be broken against his unswerving determination to continue the war at
any cost. They also knew that the Czar was the sole bond between the

different parties in the Empire, and that once it was removed no organised
power would be capable of averting dismemberment and anarchy.
The German General Staff therefore devoted itself unceasingly to ruin the
prestige of the monarchy and bring about the downfall of the Czar. To attain
that object the essential step was to compromise the Czar in the eyes of his
people and his allies. Germany had in Russia many sources of intelligence
and powerful means of action, and she devoted herself to spreading the idea
that the Czar was thinking of liquidating the war and making a separate
peace.
The Czar decided to nip these intrigues in the bud and to define his
intentions beyond doubt. On January 2nd, at Zamirie, where he was
inspecting the regiments of General Kuropatkin’s army, he ended his address
to the troops with the following formal declaration:
“You need have no fear. As I announced at the beginning of the war, I
will not make peace until we have driven the last enemy soldier beyond our
frontiers, nor will I conclude peace except by agreement with our allies, to
whom we are bound not only by treaties but by sincere friendship and the
blood spilt in a common cause.”
Nicholas II. thus confirmed in the presence of his army that solemn
compact which had been entered upon on August 2nd, 1914, and renewed
when he had become Commander-in-Chief of the Russian armies. The
Government was anxious to give the widest possible publicity to the Czar’s
speech, and had it printed and distributed among the armies and in the
country districts.
In January and February the Czar continued his visits to the front and
G.H.Q. (it was at Mohileff that he spent the Russian New Year), and returned
to Tsarskoïe-Selo on February 21st, the day before the opening of the Duma.
Five days before, the news of the capture of the fortress of Erzerum, which
had so long been the backbone of the Turkish resistance, had caused great
joy throughout Russia. It was certainly a fine success, and the offensive of
the army of the Caucasus continued to make rapid headway.
The morning after his arrival the Czar carried out his intention of going
with his brother, the Grand-Duke Michael, to the Tauride Palace, where the
Duma was to resume its labours that day. It was the first time that the
representatives of the nation had received a visit from their sovereign, and in
political circles great importance was attached to this historical event. It bore

witness to the Czar’s ardent desire for closer co-operation with the people’s
representatives, and the step was particularly warmly welcomed, as
confidence in the Government had been shaken as the result of the reverses
suffered by the army and the crushing charges made against the former
Minister of War, General Sukhomlinoff.
The Czar was received on his arrival at the Tauride Palace by M.
Rodzianko, President of the Duma, who conducted him into the Catherine
Hall, where he was present at a Te Deum to celebrate the capture of Erzerum.
Then turning to the deputies, the Czar expressed his great pleasure at being
among them, and voiced his absolute conviction that in the tragic days
through which Russia was passing they would all unite their efforts and
work together in perfect harmony for the welfare of the country. His words
were received with vociferous cheers.
The Czar withdrew after a visit to the chambers and offices of the Tauride
Palace. Half an hour later the President, in opening the session, ended his
speech with these words:
“The direct association of the Czar with his people, that benefit which is
inestimable and indispensable to the prosperity of the Russian Empire, is
now strengthened by a tie which is still more potent. This good news will fill
all hearts with, joy even in the remotest corners of our land, and give fresh
courage to our glorious soldiers, the defenders of their country.”
On that memorable day it seemed that the sovereign, the Ministers, and
the representatives of the nation had one thought, and one thought alone—to
conquer at whatever cost.
The same evening the Czar went to the Council of State, which was also
resuming its labours that day. Then he returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo, which he
left next morning for G.H.Q. This was the time of the great onslaught on
Verdun, and it was essential that Russia should intervene without delay in
order to draw a larger portion of the German forces upon herself. It was
decided to take the offensive.
The attack was launched about March 15th in the Dvinsk and Vilna
sectors, and at first it was crowned with success, but the progress of the
Russians was slow, for the Germans offered a very stubborn resistance.
There had been a thaw, the roads were almost impracticable, and the men
had to wade through mud and marsh. The attack died down about the
beginning of April and soon came to a standstill. Yet the diversion had borne

fruit, for the Germans had found themselves compelled to send considerable
reinforcements to the threatened sectors.

Alexis Nicolaïevitch had remained very weak as the result of the
excessive hæmorrhage which had so endangered his life in December. It was
February before he was quite strong again, but the Czarina had learned from
experience, and intended to keep him at Tsarskoïe-Selo until the return of the
fine weather.[41]
I was far from complaining of the Czarina’s decision, for the Czarevitch’s
education was suffering as the result of our long visits to the front.
We did not return to G.H.Q. until May 17th. The Czar was to remain
there for a considerable time. A fortnight after our arrival—on June 4th—the
great offensive of General Brussiloff opened in Galicia. It was a complete
triumph, and our successes were greatly extended in the following days.
Under the pressure of the Russian army the Austrian front gave way and was
withdrawn towards Lemberg. The number of prisoners was very large, and
the situation of the Austrians in the Lutzk sector became highly critical. The
news of this fine victory was received with immense enthusiasm at G.H.Q. It
was to be the last cause of rejoicing for the Czar.
Since our return to Headquarters our life had followed the same course as
during our previous visits, though I no longer gave the Czarevitch his
lessons in his father’s study, but in a little verandah which we had converted
into a schoolroom or in a large tent in the garden, which was also our dining-
room. It was here that the Czar took his meals after the hot weather began.
We took advantage of the fine summer days to go sailing on the Dnieper. We
had the use of a small yacht which had been placed at our disposal by the
Ministry of Ways and Communications.
From time to time the Czarina and the Grand-Duchesses paid short visits
to G.H.Q. They lived in their train, but joined the Czar at lunch and came
with us on our excursions. The Czar in return dined with the Czarina and
spent part of the evening with his family whenever he could. The Grand-
Duchesses greatly enjoyed these visits to Mohileff—all too short to their
taste—which meant a little change in their monotonous and austere lives.
They had far more freedom here than at Tsarskoïe-Selo. As is so often the
case in Russia, the station at Mohileff was a very long way from the town
and almost in the open country. The Grand-Duchesses spent their spare time

visiting the peasants of the neighbourhood or the families of railway
employees. Their simple ways and natural kindness soon won all hearts, and
as they adored children you could see them always accompanied by a mob
of ragamuffins collected on their walks and duly stuffed with sweets.
Unfortunately, life at Mohileff grievously interrupted Alexis

THREE OF THE GRAND-DUCHESSES (OLGA, ANASTASIE, AND TATIANA) VISITING THE
WIFE AND CHILDREN OF A RAILWAY EMPLOYEE AT MOHILEFF.

THE CZARINA AND THE GRAND-DUCHESS TATIANA TALKING TO REFUGEES.
MOHILEFF, MAY, 1916.
[Facing page 166.

Nicolaïevitch’s studies and was also bad for his health. The impressions
he gained there were too numerous and exciting for so delicate a nature as
his. He became nervous, fretful, and incapable of useful work. I told the
Czar what I thought. He admitted that my objections were well founded, but
suggested that these drawbacks were compensated for by the fact that his son
was losing his timidity and natural wildness, and that the sight of all the
misery he had witnessed would give him a salutary horror of war for the rest
of his life.
But the longer we stayed at the front the stronger was my conviction that
it was doing the Czarevitch a lot of harm. My position was becoming
difficult, and on two or three occasions I had to take strong steps with the
boy. I had an idea that the Czar did not entirely approve, and did not back me
up as much as he might have done. As I was extremely tired by my work in
the last three years—I had had no holiday since September, 1913—I decided
to ask for a few weeks’ leave. My colleague, M. Petroff, came to take my
place, and I left General Headquarters on July 14th.
As soon as I arrived at Tsarskoïe-Selo the Czarina summoned me, and I
had a long talk with her, in the course of which I tried to show the grave
disadvantages for Alexis Nicolaïevitch of his long visits to the front. She
replied that the Czar and herself quite realised them, but thought that it was

better to sacrifice their son’s education temporarily, even at the risk of
injuring his health, than to deprive him of the other benefits he was deriving
from his stay at Mohileff. With a candour which utterly amazed me she said
that all his life the Czar had suffered terribly from his natural timidity and
from the fact that as he had been kept too much in the background he had
found himself badly prepared for the duties of a ruler on the sudden death of
Alexander III. The Czar had vowed to avoid the same mistakes in the
education of his son.
I realised that I had come up against a considered decision, and was not
likely to secure any modification. All the same, it was agreed that Alexis
Nicolaïevitch’s lessons should be resumed on a more regular plan at the end
of September, and that I should receive some assistance in my work.
When our conversation was over the Czarina made me stay behind to
dinner. I was the only guest that evening. After the meal we went out on the
terrace. It was a beautiful summer evening, warm and still. Her Majesty was
stretched on a sofa, and she and two of her daughters were knitting woollen
clothing for the soldiers. The two other Grand-Duchesses were sewing.
Alexis Nicolaïevitch was naturally the principal topic of conversation. They
never tired of asking me what he did and said. I spent an hour thus in this
homely and quiet circle, suddenly introduced into the intimacy of that family
life which etiquette had forbidden me from entering, save in this casual and
rare fashion.

In the days following I spent my time in a round of visits and renewing
relationships which my journeys to the front had compelled me to neglect. I
thus saw people in different strata of society in the capital, and was not slow
to realise that far-reaching changes had taken place in public opinion in
recent months. People did not confine themselves to violent attacks on the
Government, but went on to attack the person of the Czar.
Since that memorable February 22nd on which Nicholas II. had presented
himself to the Duma in his sincere desire for reconciliation, the differences
between the sovereign and the representatives of the nation had only
increased. The Czar had long been hesitating to grant the liberal concessions
which had been demanded. He considered it was the wrong time, and that it
was dangerous to attempt reforms while the war was raging. It was not that
he clung to his autocratic personal prerogatives, for he was simplicity and
modesty itself, but he feared the effect such radical changes might have at so

critical a moment. When the Czar declared on February 22nd that he was
happy to be among the representatives of his people, the Czar had spoken his
real thoughts. In inviting them to unite all their efforts for the welfare of the
country in the tragic days through which it was passing, he was urging them
to forget all their political differences and have only one goal—victory and
belief in their Czar until the end of the war.
Why did he not make a solemn promise that day to give the nation the
liberties they asked as soon as circumstances permitted? Why did he not try
to recover by his acts that confidence of the Duma which he felt he was
losing? The answer is that those around him had made it impossible for him
to find out for himself what was really going on in the country.
The Czar’s visit to the Tauride Palace had given rise to great hopes. They
had not been fulfilled, and men were not slow to see that nothing had been
changed. The conflict with the Government was immediately resumed. The
demands became more pressing and recrimination more violent. Frightened
by the false reports of those who abused his confidence, the Czar began to
regard the opposition of the Duma as the result of revolutionary agitation,
and thought he could re-establish his authority by measures which only
swelled the general discontent.
But it was the Czarina who was the special object of attack. The worst
insinuations about her conduct had gained currency and were believed even
by circles which hitherto had rejected them with scorn. As I have said, the
presence of Rasputin at Court was a growing blot on the prestige of the
sovereigns, and gave rise to the most malicious comments. It was not as if
the critics confined themselves to attacks upon the private life of the
Czarina. She was openly accused of Germanophile sympathies, and it was
suggested that her feelings for Germany could become a danger to the
country. The word “treason” was not yet heard, but guarded hints showed
that the suspicion had been planted in a good many heads. I knew that all
this was the result of German propaganda and intrigues.[42]
I have explained above that in the autumn of 1915 the Berlin Government
had realised that they could never overthrow Russia as long as she stood
united round her Czar, and that from that moment her one idea had been to
provoke a revolution which would involve the fall of Nicholas II. In view of
the difficulties of attacking the Czar directly, the Germans had concentrated
their efforts against the Czarina and begun a subterranean campaign of
defamation against her. It was skilfully planned and began to show results

before long. They had stopped at nothing in the way of calumny. They had
adopted the classic procedure, so well known to history, of striking the
monarch in the person of his consort. It is, of course, always easier to
damage the reputation of a woman, especially when she is a foreigner.
Realising all the advantages to be derived from the fact that the Czarina was
a German princess, they had endeavoured to suggest very cunningly that she
was a traitor to Russia. It was the best method of compromising her in the
eyes of the nation. The accusation had been favourably received in certain
quarters in Russia and had become a formidable weapon against the dynasty.
The Czarina knew all about the campaign in progress against her and it
pained her as a most profound injustice, for she had accepted her new
country, as she had adopted her new faith, with all the fervour of her nature.
She was Russian by sentiment as she was orthodox by conviction.[43]
My residence behind the front also enabled me to realise how much the
country was suffering from the war. The weariness and privations were
causing general discontent. As a result of the increasing shortage of rolling-
stock, fuel, which had been cruelly scarce in the winter, continued to be
unpurchasable. It was the same with food, and the cost of living continued to
rise at an alarming rate.

On August 11th I returned to G.H.Q. thoroughly perturbed at all I had
seen and heard. It was pleasant to find the atmosphere at Mohileff very
different from that at Petrograd, and to feel the stimulating influence of
circles which offered so stern a resistance to the “defeatist” spirit at work at
home. Yet the authorities there were very concerned at the political situation,
although that was not so obvious at first sight.
Alexis Nicolaïevitch gave me a very affectionate welcome when I came
back (he had written to me regularly while I was away), and the Czar
received me with exceptional kindness. I could thus congratulate myself on
the result of leaving my pupil for some time, especially as it might have been
a false step, and I took up my duties again with renewed energies. My
English colleague, Mr. Gibbes, had meanwhile joined us, and as M. Petroff
remained with us, the Czarevitch’s lessons could proceed practically
regularly.
At the front the fighting had gradually died down in the northern and
central sectors. It continued only in Galicia, where the Russians were still

driving the Austrians before them, and their defeat would long since have
become a flight if they had not been supported by a large number of German
regiments.
The campaign of 1916, however, had convinced the Russian General
Staff that they would never break the resistance of the enemy and secure
final victory so long as they suffered from so great a lack of artillery. Their
inferiority in that respect prevented a thorough exploitation of the successes
gained by the courage of the troops and their numerical superiority at the
beginning of each attack. There was nothing for it but to wait until the
material promised by the Allies, the delivery of which had been delayed by
difficulties of transport, was ready and available.
The Austrian defeats had had a very great effect on Rumania. She was
more and more inclined to associate herself with the cause of the Entente,
but she was still hesitating to enter the arena. The Russian Minister at
Bucharest had had to bring strong pressure to bear to induce her to make up
her mind.[44]
On August 27th Rumania at length declared war. Her position was very
difficult, as she was on the extreme left flank of the immense Russian front,
from which she was separated by the Carpathians. She was threatened with
an Austro-German attack from the north and west, and could be taken in rear
by the Bulgarians. That is exactly what happened, and the beginning of
October marked the beginning of the reverses which were to end only with
the occupation of almost the whole of Rumania.
As soon as the danger was apparent the Russian General Staff had taken
steps to send help to the Rumanian army, but the distances were great and
the communications extremely defective. Nor was Russia in a position to
reduce the effectives on her own front to any serious degree, for in case of
urgent necessity she would have found herself unable to retrieve the
divisions sent to Rumania in time. Under pressure from the Czar, however,
all the available reinforcements had been directed there. The question was
whether these troops would arrive in time to save Bucharest.
We returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo on November 1st. The impression made by
the Rumanian disaster had been great, and the Minister for Foreign Affairs
had been held responsible. At the beginning of the year Sturmer had
succeeded Goremykin as President of the Council of Ministers. His
appointment had been badly received, and he had simply made one fault
after another. It had been as the result of his intrigues that Sazonoff, who had

rendered such great services as Foreign Minister, had had to resign, and
Sturmer had hastened to take his place while remaining President of the
Council.
He was hated as much for his name as his acts. It was alleged that he only
kept himself in power thanks to the influence of Rasputin. Some even went
so far as to accuse him of pro-German sympathies, and to suspect him of
favouring a separate peace with Germany.[45] Nicholas II. compromised
himself by keeping for so long a Minister whom all suspected. It was hoped
that the Czar would ultimately realise that he had been deceived once more,
but we all feared that he would find out only too late, when the harm done
was irremediable.[46]

CHAPTER XIV

POLITICAL TENSION—THE DEATH OF RASPUTIN
(DECEMBER, 1916)

T HE political atmosphere became more and more heavy, and we could
feel the approach of the storm. Discontent had become so general that in
spite of the censorship the Press began to speak about it. Party feeling
ran ever higher, and there was only one point on which opinion was
unanimous—the necessity of putting an end to the omnipotence of Rasputin.
Everyone regarded him as the evil counsellor of the Court and held him
responsible for all the disasters from which the country was suffering. He
was accused of every form of vice and debauchery and denounced as a vile
and loathsome creature of fantastic habits, and capable of baseness and
ignominy of every kind. To many he was an emanation of the devil himself,
the anti-Christ whose dreaded coming was to be the signal for the worst
calamities.
The Czar had resisted the influence of Rasputin for a long time. At the
beginning he had tolerated him because he dare not weaken the Czarina’s
faith in him—a faith which kept her alive. He did not like to send him away,
for if Alexis Nicolaïevitch had died, in the eyes of the mother he would have
been the murderer of his own son. Yet he had maintained a cautious reserve,
and had only gradually been won over to the views of his wife. Many
attempts had been made to enlighten him as to the true character of Rasputin
and secure his dismissal. His confidence had been shaken, but the Czar had
never yet been convinced.[47]
On November 6th we left Tsarskoïe-Selo, and after a short stay at
Mohileff we left on the 9th for Kieff, where the Czar was to visit the
Dowager Empress. He stayed two days in the company of his mother and
some of his relations, who did their best to show him how serious the
situation was and persuade him to remedy it by energetic measures. The
Czar was greatly influenced by the advice which was given him. He had
never seemed to me so worried before. He was usually very self-controlled,
but on this occasion he showed himself nervous and irritable, and once or
twice he spoke roughly to Alexis Nicolaïevitch.

We returned to G.H.Q. on the 12th, and a few days later Sturmer fell, to
the unconcealed relief of everyone. The Czar entrusted the office of
President of the Council to A. Trepoff, who was known as an advocate of
moderate and sane reforms. Hope revived. Unfortunately the intrigues
continued. The Germans flattered themselves that these were only the
prelude to grave troubles and redoubled their efforts, sowing the seeds of
doubt and suspicion everywhere and trying to compromise the Court beyond
repair in the eyes of the nation.
Trepoff had asked the Czar to dismiss the Minister of the Interior,
Protopopoff, whose utter inefficiency and the fact that he was a disciple of
Rasputin had made him bitterly unpopular. The President of the Council felt
that he would never be able to do anything useful so long as that Minister
remained at his post, for all the politicians of any standing proclaimed their
helplessness and were refusing to accept responsibility.
The courageous initiative of patriots such as Sazonoff, Krivoshin,
Samarin, Ignatieff, and A. Trepoff—to mention but a few—was not
supported as it might have been. If the intelligent masses of the nation had
grouped themselves round them the growing peril could have been averted
and in quite legal fashion. But these men did not receive the support they
were entitled to expect. Criticism and the intrigues and rivalries of
individuals and parties prevented that unity which alone could have saved
the situation.
If unity had been realised it would have represented a power such as
would have paralysed the evil influence of Rasputin and his adherents.
Unfortunately those who did realise it were the exception. The majority kept
out of a disagreeable conflict, and by retiring from the field left it free to
adventurers and the apostles of intrigue. They made no effort to lighten the
burden of the men who realised the danger and had undertaken to save the
Czar, in spite of himself, and to support the tottering régime until the end of
the war.
The Czar had originally acquiesced in Trepoff’s suggestion, but under the
influence of the Czarina he had changed his mind and remained irresolute,
not knowing what to decide. He had been deceived so often that he did not
know in whom he could have confidence. He felt himself alone and deserted
by all. He had spent himself without reflection since he had assumed the
Supreme Command, but the burden he had taken upon his shoulders was too
heavy and beyond his strength. He realised the fact himself. Hence his

weakness towards the Czarina, and the fact that he tended more and more to
yield to her will.
Yet many of the decisions he had taken in 1915 and his visit to the Duma
in February, 1916, show that till then, at any rate, he could resist her when he
was sure that it was for the good of the country. It was only in the autumn of
1916 that he succumbed to her influence, and then only because he was worn
out by the strain of his double functions as Czar and Commander-in-Chief,
and in his increasing isolation he did not know what to do to escape a
situation which was getting worse from day to day. If he had received better
support at that time from the moderate parties, who can say that he would
not have found the strength to continue his resistance!
The Czarina herself sincerely believed—on the strength of Rasputin’s
word—that Protopopoff was the man who could save Russia. He was kept in
office, and Trepoff, realising his impotence, lost no time in resigning his
post.

We returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo on December 8th. The situation was
becoming more strained every day. Rasputin knew that the storm of hatred
was gathering against him, and dare not leave the little flat he occupied in
Petrograd. Exasperation with him had reached fever-heat, and the country
was waiting for deliverance and fervently hoping that someone would
remove the man who was considered the evil genius of Russia. But Rasputin
was well guarded. He had the protection of the Imperial police, who watched
over his house night and day. He had also the protection of the
Revolutionary Socialists, who realised that he was working for them.
I do not think that Rasputin was an agent—in the usual sense of the word
—in Germany’s pay, but he was certainly a formidable weapon in the hands
of the German General Staff, which was vitally interested in the
prolongation of the life of so valuable an ally and had surrounded him with
spies who were also guards. The Germans had found him a splendid weapon
for compromising the Court, and had made great use of him.
Many attempts had been made, even by the Czarina’s greatest friends at
Court, to open her eyes to the true character of Rasputin. They had all
collapsed against the blind faith she had in him. But in this tragic hour the
Grand-Duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna[48] wished to make one last effort to
save her sister. She came from Moscow, intending to spend a few days at

Tsarskoïe-Selo with the relations she loved so dearly. She was nine years
older than her sister, and felt an almost maternal tenderness for her. It was at
her house, it will be remembered, that the young princess had stayed on her
first visit to Russia. It was she who had helped Alexandra Feodorovna with
wise advice and surrounded her with every attention when she started her
reign. She had often tried to open her sister’s eyes before, but in vain. Yet
this time she hoped that God would give her the powers of persuasion which
had hitherto failed her, and enable her to avert the terrible catastrophe she
felt was imminent.
As soon as she arrived at Tsarskoïe-Selo she spoke to the Czarina, trying
with all the love she bore her to convince her of her blindness, and pleading
with her to listen to her warnings for the sake of her family and her country.
The Czarina’s confidence was not to be shaken. She realised the feelings
which had impelled her sister to take this step, but she was terribly grieved
to find her accepting the lying stories of those who desired to ruin the
staretz, and she asked her never to mention the subject again. As the Grand-
Duchess persisted, the Czarina broke off the conversation. The interview
was then objectless.
A few hours later the Grand-Duchess left for Moscow, death in her heart.
The Czarina and her daughters accompanied her to the station. The two
sisters took leave of each other. The tender affection which had associated
them since their childhood was still intact, but they realised that there was a
broken something lying between them.[49]
They were never to see each other again.
On December 18th we left for Mohileff again. The situation there had
taken a turn for the worse. The news of the capture of Bucharest had just
come in to depress everyone’s spirits. It seemed to justify the most gloomy
forebodings. Rumania appeared to be lost.
We were all oppressed and uneasy, a prey to that vague anxiety which
men experience at the approach of some danger or catastrophe. The
muttering of the gathering storm could be heard.
Suddenly the news of Rasputin’s death fell like a thunderbolt.[50] It was
December 31st, and the same day we left for Tsarskoïe-Selo.
I shall never forget what I felt when I saw the Czarina again. Her
agonised features betrayed, in spite of all her efforts, how terribly she was
suffering. Her grief was inconsolable. Her idol had been shattered. He who

alone could save her son had been slain. Now that he had gone, any
misfortune, any catastrophe, was possible. The period of waiting began—
that dreadful waiting for the disaster which there was no escaping....

CHAPTER XV

THE REVOLUTION—THE ABDICATION OF NICHOLAS II.
(MARCH, 1917)

R ASPUTIN was no more and the nation was avenged. A few brave men
had taken upon themselves to secure the disappearance of the man who
was execrated by one and all.[51] It might be hoped that after this
explosion of wrath faction would die down. Unfortunately it was not so. On
the contrary, the struggle between the Czar and the Duma became more
bitter than ever.
The Czar was convinced that in existing circumstances all concessions on
his part would be regarded as a sign of weakness which, without removing
the causes of the discontent which resulted from the miseries and privations
of the war, could only diminish his authority and possibly accelerate a
revolution. The opposition of the Duma revealed the incapacity and
impotence of the Government and in no way improved the situation. Faction
became more intense, intrigue multiplied at a time when nothing but the
presentation of a united front by all the intelligent classes of the nation could
have paralysed the evil influence of Protopopoff. A universal effort would
have been required to avert the catastrophe which was rapidly approaching.
It was true that this meant asking the upper classes to prove that they could
show as much self-denial as enlightened patriotism, but in the tragic
circumstances through which the country was passing such action might
have been expected of them.
How is it that in Russia no one realised what everyone in Germany knew
—that a revolution would inevitably deliver up the country to its enemies? “I
had often dreamed,” writes Ludendorff in his War Memories, “of the
realisation of that Russian revolution which was to lighten our military
burden. A perpetual illusion! We had the revolution to-day quite
unexpectedly. I felt as if a great weight had fallen from my shoulders.”[52]
The Germans were the only people in Europe who knew Russia. Their
knowledge of it was fuller and more exact than that of the Russians
themselves. They had known for a long time that the Czarist régime, with all
its faults, was the only one capable of prolonging the Russian resistance.

They knew that with the fall of the Czar Russia would be at their mercy.
They stopped at nothing to procure his fall. That is why the preservation of
the existing system should have been secured at any cost. The revolution
was inevitable at that moment, it was said. It could only be averted by the
immediate grant of a constitution. And so on! The fact is that the perverse
fate which had blinded the sovereigns was to blind the nation in turn.
Yet the Czar was inspired by two dominant sentiments—his political
enemies themselves knew it—to which all Russia could rally. One of them
was his love for his country and the other his absolute determination to
continue the war to the bitter end. In the universal blindness which was the
result of party passion men did not realise that, in spite of all, a Czar pledged
to the cause of victory was an immense moral asset for the Russian people.
They did not see that a Czar who was what he was popularly supposed to be
could alone lead the country to victory and save it from bondage to
Germany.
The position of the Czar was extraordinarily difficult. To the Extremists
of the Right, who regarded a compromise with Germany as their only road to
salvation, he was the insurmountable obstacle, who had to make way for
another sovereign. To the Extremists of the Left who desired victory, but a
victory without a Czar, he was the obstacle which the revolution would
remove. And while the latter were endeavouring to undermine the
foundations of the monarchy by intensive propaganda at and behind the front
—thus playing Germany’s game—the moderate parties adopted that most
dangerous and yet characteristically Russian course of doing nothing. They
were victims of that Slav fatalism which means waiting on events and
hoping that some providential force will come and guide them for the public
good. They confined themselves to passive resistance because they failed to
realise that in so acting they were paralysing the nation.
The general public had unconsciously become the docile tool of German
intrigue. The most alarming rumours, accepted and given the widest
currency, created an anti-monarchist and defeatist atmosphere behind the
front—an atmosphere of distrust and suspicion which was bound to have a
speedy effect upon the men in the firing-line themselves. Everyone hacked at
the central pillar of the tottering political edifice, and no one thought of
attempting to shore it up while still there was time. Everything was done to
accelerate the revolution; nothing to avert its consequences.

It was forgotten that Russia did not consist merely of fifteen to twenty
million human beings ripe for parliamentary government, but that it had one
hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty million peasants, most of them
rude and uneducated, to whom the Czar was still the Lord’s Anointed, he
whom God had chosen to direct the destinies of Great Russia. Accustomed
from his earliest youth to hear the priest invoke the name of the Czar in the
offertory, one of the most solemn moments in the Orthodox liturgy, the
moujik in his mystical exaltation was bound to attribute to him a character
semi-divine.[53]
The Czar was not the head of the Russian Church. He was its protector
and defender. But after Peter the Great abolished the patriarchate the people
were inclined to regard him as the incarnation of both spiritual and temporal
authority. It was an error, of course, but it survived. It was this double aspect
of the person of the sovereign which made Czarism mean so much to the
masses, and as the Russian people are essentially mystic, the second factor
was not a whit less important than the first. For in the mind of the moujik,
autocracy could not be separated from Orthodoxy.
The Russian revolution could not be exclusively a political revolution. It
must necessarily have a religious character. When the old system fell it was
bound to create such a void in the political and religious conscience of the
Russian people that unless care were taken it would involve the whole of the
social organism in its fall. To the humble peasant the Czar was both the
incarnation of his mystic aspirations and in a sense a tangible reality,
impossible to replace by a political formula, which would be an
incomprehensible abstraction to him. Into the vacuum created by the
collapse of the Czaristic régime the Russian revolution—in view of the
passion of the absolute and the proneness to extremes which are
characteristic of the Slav nature—was certain to hurl itself with a violence
that no government could control. There was a fatal risk that it would all end
in political and religious chaos or sheer anarchy.
As the revolution was desired, preparations should have been made to
avert this eventuality. Even in times of peace it would have been a
formidable risk: to venture upon such a step in war was simply criminal. We
Westerners are apt to judge Russian affairs by the governing classes with
which we have come in contact—classes which have attained a degree of
culture and civilisation equal to our own. We too often forget the millions of
semi-barbarous and ignorant beings who understand the simplest and most

primitive sentiments alone. Of these the Czarist fetish was one of the most
striking examples.
The British Ambassador, getting his information from Russian politicians
whose patriotism was above suspicion, but who saw their country as they
wanted it to be and not as it really was, allowed himself to be led astray.
Insufficient account was taken of the special conditions which made Russia
a religious, political, and social anachronism to which none of the formulæ
or panaceas of Western Europe would apply. They forgot that in any country
at war the early stages of a revolution almost always produce a weakening of
the national effort and adversely affect the fighting power of the army. In a
country like Russia this would be true to a far greater extent. The Entente
made a mistake[54] in thinking that the movement which the beginning of
February, 1917, revealed was of popular origin. It was nothing of the kind,
and only the governing classes participated in it. The great masses stood
aloof. It is not true that it was a fundamental upheaval which overturned the
monarchy. It was the fall of the monarchy itself which raised that formidable
wave which engulfed Russia and nearly submerged the neighbouring states.

After his return from G.H.Q. the Czar had remained at Tsarskoïe-Selo for
the months of January and February. He felt that the political situation was
more and more strained, but he had not yet lost all hope. The country was
suffering: it was tired of the war and anxiously longing for peace. The
opposition was growing from day to day, and the storm was threatening, but
in spite of everything Nicholas II. hoped that patriotic feeling would carry
the day against the pessimism which the trials and worries of the moment
made general, and that no one would risk compromising the results of a war
which had cost the nation so much by rash and imprudent action.
His faith in his army was also unshaken. He knew that the material sent
from France and England was arriving satisfactorily and would improve the
conditions under which it had to fight. He had the greatest hopes of the new
formations which had been created in the course of the winter.[55] He was
certain that his army would be ready in the spring to join in that great
offensive of the Allies which would deal Germany her death-blow and thus
save Russia: a few weeks more and victory would be his.
Yet the Czar hesitated to leave Tsarskoïe-Selo, such was his anxiety about
the political situation. On the other hand, he considered that his departure
could not be deferred much longer, and that it was his duty to return to

G.H.Q. He ultimately left for Mohileff on Thursday, March 8th, arriving
there next morning.
He had hardly left the capital before the first symptoms of insurrection
began to be observable in the working-class quarters. The factories went on
strike, and the movement spread rapidly during the days following. The
population of Petrograd had suffered great privations during the winter, for
owing to the shortage of rolling-stock the transport of food and fuel had
become very difficult, and there was no sign of improvement in this respect.
The Government could think of nothing likely to calm the excitement, and
Protopopoff merely exasperated everyone by the measures of repression—as
stupid as criminal—taken by the police. Troops also had been employed. All
the regiments being at the front, the only troops at Petrograd were units
under instruction, whose loyalty had been thoroughly undermined by
organised propaganda in the barracks in spite of counter-measures. There
were cases of defection, and after three days of half-hearted resistance unit
after unit went over to the insurgents. By the 13th the city was almost
entirely in the hands of the revolutionaries, and the Duma proceeded to form
a provisional government.
At first we at Mohileff had no idea of the scale of the events which had
occurred at Petrograd. Yet after Saturday, March 10th, General Alexeieff and
some officers of the Czar’s suite had tried to open his eyes and persuade him
to grant the liberties the nation demanded immediately. But once more
Nicholas II. was deceived by the intentionally incomplete and inaccurate
statements of a few ignorant individuals in his suite[56] and would not take
their advice.
By the 12th it was impossible to conceal the truth from the Czar any
longer; he understood that extraordinary measures were required, and
decided to return to Tsarskoïe-Selo at once.
The Imperial train left Mohileff on the night of the 12th, but on arriving
at the station of Malaia-Vichera twenty-four hours later it was ascertained
that the station of Tosno, thirty miles south of Petrograd, was in the hands of
the insurgents, and that it was impossible to get to Tsarskoïe-Selo. There was
nothing for it but to turn back.
The Czar decided to go to Pskoff to General Russky, the Commander-in-
Chief of the Northern Front. He arrived there on the evening of the 14th.
When the General had told him the latest developments in Petrograd the
Czar instructed him to inform M. Rodzianko by telephone that he was ready

to make every concession if the Duma thought that it would tranquillise the
nation. The reply came: “It is too late.”
Was it really so? The revolutionary movement was confined to Petrograd
and its suburbs; in spite of propaganda, the Czar still enjoyed considerable
prestige in the army, and his authority with the peasants was intact. Would
not the grant of a Constitution and the help of the Duma have been enough
to restore to Nicholas II. the popularity he had enjoyed at the beginning of
the war?
The reply of the Duma left the Czar with the alternatives of abdicating or
marching on Petrograd with the troops which remained faithful to him: the
latter would mean civil war in the presence of the enemy. Nicholas II. did
not hesitate, and on the morning of the 15th he handed General Russky a
telegram informing the President of the Duma that he intended to abdicate in
favour of his son.
A few hours later he summoned Professor Fiodorof to his carriage and
said:
“Tell me frankly, Sergius Petrovitch. Is Alexis’s malady incurable?”
Professor Fiodorof, fully realising the importance of what he was going
to say, answered:
“Science teaches us, sire, that it is an incurable disease. Yet those who are
afflicted with it sometimes reach an advanced old age. Still, Alexis
Nicolaïevitch is at the mercy of an accident.”
The Czar hung his head and sadly murmured:
“That’s just what the Czarina told me. Well, if that is the case and Alexis
can never serve his country as I should like him to, we have the right to keep
him ourselves.”
His mind was made up, and when the representatives of the Provisional
Government and the Duma arrived from Petrograd that evening he handed
them the Act of Abdication he had drawn up beforehand and in which he
renounced for himself and his son the throne of Russia in favour of his
brother, the Grand-Duke Michael Alexandrovitch.
I give a translation of this document which, by its nobility and the
burning patriotism in every line, compelled the admiration of even the
Czar’s enemies:

The Act of Abdication of the Czar Nicholas II.
By the grace of God, We, Nicholas II., Emperor of all the Russias, Tsar
of Poland, Grand-Duke of Finland, etc., etc.... to all Our faithful subjects
make known:

In these days of terrible struggle against the external enemy who has
been trying for three years to impose his will upon Our Fatherland, God
has willed that Russia should be faced with a new and formidable trial.
Troubles at home threaten to have a fatal effect on the ultimate course of
this hard-fought war. The destinies of Russia, the honour of Our heroic
army, the welfare of the people and the whole future of Our dear country
demand that the war should be carried to a victorious conclusion at any
price.
Our cruel foe is making his supreme effort, and the moment is at hand
in which Our valiant army, in concert with Our glorious allies, will
overthrow him once and for all.
In these days, which are decisive for the existence of Russia, We think
We should follow the voice of Our conscience by facilitating the closest
co-operation of Our people and the organisation of all its resources for the
speedy realisation of victory.
For these reasons, in accord with the Duma of the Empire, We think it
Our duty to abdicate the Crown and lay down the supreme power.
Not desiring to be separated from Our beloved son, We bequeath Our
heritage to Our brother, the Grand-Duke Michael Alexandrovitch, and
give him Our blessing. We abjure him to govern in perfect accord with
the representatives of the nation sitting in the legislative institutions, and
to take a sacred oath in the name of the beloved Fatherland.
We appeal to all the loyal sons of the country, imploring them to fulfil
their patriotic and holy duty of obeying their Czar in this sad time of
national trial. We ask them to help him and the representatives of the
nation to guide the Russian state into the path of prosperity and glory.
God help Russia.
The Czar had fallen. Germany was on the point of winning her greatest
victory, but the fruits might still escape her. They would have escaped her if
the intelligent section of the nation had recovered itself in time and had

gathered round the Grand-Duke Michael, who, by his brother’s desire—the
Act of Abdication said so in terms—was to be a constitutional sovereign in
the full sense of the word. Nothing prevented so desirable a consummation,
for Russia was not yet in the presence of one of those great popular
movements which defy all logic and hurl nations into the gulf of the
unknown. The revolution had been exclusively the work of the Petrograd
population, the majority of which would not have hesitated to rally round the
new ruler if the Provisional Government and the Duma had set the example.
The army, which was still a well-disciplined body, represented a serious
force. As for the great bulk of the nation, it had not the slightest idea that
anything had passed.
This last chance of averting the catastrophe was lost through thirst for
power and fear of the Extremists. The day after the Czar’s abdication the
Grand-Duke Michael, acting on the advice of all save two of the members of
the Provisional Government, renounced the throne in turn and resigned to a
constituent assembly the task of deciding what the future form of
government should be.
The irreparable step had been taken. The removal of the Czar had left in
the minds of the masses a gaping void it was impossible for them to fill.
They were left to their own devices—a rudderless ship at the mercy of the
waves—and searching for an ideal, some article of faith which might replace
what they had lost, they found nothing but chaos around them.
To finish her work of destruction, Germany had only to give Lenin and
his disciples a plentiful supply of money and let them loose on Russia. Lenin
and his friends never dreamed of talking to the peasants about a democratic
republic or a constituent assembly. They knew it would have been waste of
breath. As up-to-date prophets, they came to preach the holy war and to try
and draw these untutored millions by the attraction of a creed in which the
finest teaching of Christ goes hand in hand with the worst sophisms—a
creed which, thanks to the Jews, the adventurers of Bolshevism, was to be
translated into the subjection of the moujik and the ruin of the country.

CHAPTER XVI

THE CZAR NICHOLAS II.

N ICHOLAS II., desiring to say farewell to his troops, left Pskoff on
March 16th and returned to G.H.Q. He stayed there until the 21st, living
in the Governor’s house as before and receiving General Alexeieff’s
report every day. The Dowager Empress, Marie Feodorovna, had come from
Kieff to join the Czar, and she remained with him until the day he left for
Tsarskoïe-Selo.
On the 21st the Commissioners sent by the Provisional Government and
the Duma arrived at Mohileff. They instructed General Alexeieff to tell the
Czar that on the orders of the Provisional Government he was under arrest,
and that their duty was to conduct him to Tsarskoïe-Selo. The
Commissioners’ carriage was attached to the Czar’s train and they all left
together the same evening.
Before leaving G.H.Q, Nicholas II. insisted on taking leave of his troops
by addressing to them the following Order of the Day:
Prikaze of the Chief of Staff to the Commander-in-Chief.
8 (21) March, 1917. No. 371.
I address my soldiers, who are dear to my heart, for the last time. Since
I have renounced the Throne of Russia for myself and my son, power has
been taken over by the Provisional Government which has been formed
on the initiative of the Duma of the Empire.
May God help it to lead Russia into the path of glory and prosperity!
May God help you, my glorious soldiers, to defend our Fatherland against
a cruel enemy! For two and a half years you have endured the strain of
hard service; much blood has been shed, great efforts have been made,
and now the hour is at hand in which Russia and her glorious Allies will
break the enemy’s last resistance in one common, mightier effort.

This unprecedented war must be carried through to final victory.
Anyone who thinks of peace or desires it at this moment is a traitor to his
country and would deliver her over to the foe. I know that every soldier
worthy of the name thinks as I do.
Do your duty, protect our dear and glorious country, submit to the
Provisional Government, obey your leaders, and remember that any
failure in duty can only profit the enemy.
I am firmly convinced that the boundless love you bear our great
country is not dead within you. God bless you, and may St. George, the
great martyr, lead you to victory!
Nicholas.

The Chief of the General Staff, Alexeieff.
In this sad and tragic hour the Czar had only one desire—to make the task
of the Government which had dethroned him easier. His only fear was that
the events which had happened might have an evil effect on the army which
the enemy could turn to his own advantage.
On the orders of the Minister of War this Order of the Day was never
brought to the knowledge of the troops!

Why did Fate decree that the Czar Nicholas II. should reign at the
beginning of the twentieth century and in one of the most troublous periods
of history? Endowed with remarkable personal qualities, he was the
incarnation of all that was noblest and most chivalrous in the Russian nature.
But he was weak. The soul of loyalty, he was the slave of his pledged word.
His fidelity to the Allies, which was probably the cause of his death, proves
it beyond doubt. He despised the methods of diplomacy and he was not a
fighter. He was crushed down by events.
Nicholas II. was modest and timid; he had not enough self-confidence:
hence all his misfortunes. His first impulse was usually right. The pity was
that he seldom acted on it because he could not trust himself. He sought the
counsel of those he thought more competent than himself; from that moment
he could no longer master the problems that faced him. They escaped him.
He hesitated between conflicting causes and often ended by following that to
which he was personally least sympathetic.

The Czarina knew the Czar’s irresolute character. As I have said, she
considered she had a sacred duty to help him in his heavy task. Her influence
on the Czar was very great and almost always unfortunate; she made politics
a matter of sentiment and personalities, and too often allowed herself to be
swayed by her sympathies or antipathies, or by those of her entourage.
Impulsive by nature, the Czarina was liable to emotional outbursts which
made her give her confidence unreservedly to those she believed sincerely
devoted to the country and the dynasty. Protopopoff was a case in point.
The Czar was always anxious to be just and to do the right thing. If he
sometimes failed, the fault lies at the door of those who did their utmost to
hide the truth from him and isolate him from his people. All his generous
impulses were broken against the passive resistance of an omnipotent
bureaucracy or were wilfully frustrated by those to whom he entrusted their
realisation. He thought that personal initiative, however powerful and well
meant, was nothing compared to those higher forces which direct the course
of events. Hence that sort of mystical resignation in him which made him
follow life rather than try to lead it. It is one of the characteristics of the
Russian nature.
An essentially reflective man, he would have been perfectly happy to live
as a private individual, but he was resigned to his lot, and humbly accepted
the superhuman task which God had given him. He loved his people and his
country with all the force of his nature; he had a personal affection for the
least of his subjects, those moujiks whose lot he earnestly desired to better.
What a tragic fate was that of this sovereign whose only desire during his
reign was to be close to his people and who never succeeded in realising his
wish. The fact is that he was well guarded, and by those whose interest it
was that he should not succeed.[57]

CHAPTER XVII

THE REVOLUTION SEEN FROM THE ALEXANDER PALACE—THE
CZAR’S RETURN TO TSARSKOÏE-SELO

W HILE the dramatic events I have described in the preceding chapters
were in progress at Pskoff and Mohileff the Czarina and her children,
who had remained behind at the Alexander Palace, were passing
through days of the most poignant anguish.
As we have seen, it was only after long hesitation that the Czar, in his
anxiety, had decided on March 8th, 1917, to leave Tsarskoïe-Selo and go to
G.H.Q.
His departure was a great blow to the Czarina, for to the fears aroused in
her breast by the political situation had been added her anxiety about Alexis
Nicolaïevitch. The Czarevitch had been in bed with measles for several days,
and his condition had been aggravated by various complications. To crown
everything, three of the Grand-Duchesses had also been taken ill, and there
was no one but Marie Nicolaïevna to help the mother.
On March 10th we learned that trouble had broken out in Petrograd and
that bloody collisions had taken place between police and demonstrators.
The fact was that for several days the shortage of food had produced
feelings of bitter discontent in the poorer quarters of the city. There had been
processions, and mobs had appeared in the streets demanding bread.
I realised that Her Majesty had a good deal on her mind, for, contrary to
her usual habit, she spoke freely about political events, and told me that
Protopopoff had accused the Socialists of conducting an active propaganda
among railway employees with a view to preventing the provisioning of the
city, and thus precipitating a revolution.
On the 11th the situation suddenly became very critical and the most
alarming news arrived without warning. The mob made its way into the
centre of the town, and the troops, who had been called in the previous
evening, were offering but slight resistance.

I heard also that an Imperial ukase had ordered the sittings of the Duma
to be suspended, but that, in view of the grave events in progress, the
Assembly had disregarded the decree for its prorogation and decided to form
an executive committee charged with the duty of restoring order.
The fighting was renewed with greater violence the next morning, and the
insurgents managed to secure possession of the arsenal. Towards the evening
I was told on the telephone from Petrograd that reserve elements of several
regiments of the Guard—e.g., the Paul, Preobrajensky, and other regiments
—had made common cause with them. This piece of news absolutely
appalled the Czarina. She had been extremely anxious since the previous
evening, and realised that the peril was imminent.
She had spent these two days between the rooms of the Grand-Duchesses
and that of Alexis Nicolaïevitch, who had taken a turn for the worse, but she
always did her utmost to conceal her torturing anxiety from the invalids.
At half-past ten on the morning of the 13th the Czarina beckoned me to
step into an adjoining room just as I was entering the Czarevitch’s bedroom.
She told me that the capital was actually in the hands of the revolutionaries
and that the Duma had just set up a Provisional Government with Rodzianko
at its head.
“The Duma has shown itself equal to the occasion,” she said. “I think it
has realised the danger which is threatening the country, but I’m afraid it is
too late. A Revolutionary-Socialist Committee has been formed which will
not recognise the authority of the Provisional Government. I have just
received a telegram from the Czar saying he will be here at six in the
morning, but he wants us to leave Tsarskoïe-Selo for Gatchina,[58] or else go
to meet him. Please make all arrangements for Alexis’s departure.”
The necessary orders were given. Her Majesty was a prey to terrible
doubt and hesitation. She informed Rodzianko of the serious condition of the
Czarevitch and the Grand-Duchesses, but he replied: “When a house is
burning the invalids are the first to be taken out.”
At four o’clock Dr. Derevenko came back from the hospital and told us
that the whole network of railways round Petrograd was already in the hands
of the revolutionaries, so that we could not leave, and it was highly
improbable that the Czar would be able to reach us.
About nine in the evening Baroness Buxhœveden entered my room. She
had just heard that the garrison of Tsarskoïe-Selo had mutinied and that there

was firing in the streets. She was going to tell the Czarina, who was with the
Grand-Duchesses. As a matter of fact, she came into the corridor at that
moment and the Baroness told her how things stood. We went to the
windows. We saw General Reissine, who had taken up position outside the
palace at the head of two companies of the composite regiment. I also saw
some marines of the bodyguard and cossacks of the escort. The park gates
had been occupied in special strength, the men being drawn up in four ranks,
ready to fire.
At that moment we heard on the telephone that the rebels were coming in
our direction and had just killed a sentry less than five hundred yards from
the palace. The sound of firing came steadily nearer and a fight seemed
inevitable. The Czarina was horrorstruck at the idea that blood might be shed
under her very eyes; she went out with Marie Nicolaïevna and exhorted the
men to keep cool. She begged them to parley with the rebels. It was a
terrible moment, and our hearts almost stopped beating with suspense. A
single mistake and there would have been a hand-to-hand fight followed by
bloodshed. However, the officers stepped in and a parley began. The rebels
were impressed by the words of their old leaders and the resolute attitude of
the troops which remained faithful.
The excitement gradually subsided and a neutral zone was fixed between
the two camps.
Thus was the night passed, and in the morning formal orders from the
Provisional Government arrived which put an end to the dreadful situation.
In the afternoon Her Majesty sent for the Grand Duke Paul and asked him
if he knew where the Czar was. The Grand Duke did not know. When the
Czarina questioned him about the situation he replied that in his opinion the
grant of a constitution at once could alone avert the peril. The Czarina shared
that view, but could do nothing, as she had been

IN THE CHAIR, THE GRAND-DUCHESS MARIE RECOVERING FROM HER ILLNESS. ON
THE LEFT, ANASTASIE NICOLAÏEVNA. ON THE RIGHT, TATIANA NICOLAÏEVNA. APRIL,
1917.

THE FOUR GRAND-DUCHESSES IN THE PARK AT TSARSKOÏE-SELO. MAY, 1917.
[Facing page 212.

unable to communicate with the Czar since the previous evening.
The day of the 15th passed in an oppressive suspense. At 3.30 a.m. next
morning Dr. Botkin was called to the telephone by a member of the
Provisional Government, who asked him for news of Alexis Nicolaïevitch.
(We heard subsequently that a report of his death had been circulating in the
city.)
The Czarina’s ordeal was continued the next day. It was three days since
she had had any news of the Czar and her forced inaction made her anguish
all the more poignant.[59]
Towards the end of the afternoon the news of the Czar’s abdication
reached the palace. The Czarina refused to believe it, asserting it was a
canard. But soon afterwards the Grand Duke Paul arrived to confirm it. She
still refused to believe it, and it was only after hearing all the details he gave
her that Her Majesty yielded to the evidence. The Czar had abdicated at
Pskoff the previous evening in favour of his brother, the Grand Duke
Michael.
The Czarina’s despair almost defied imagination, but her great courage
did not desert her. I saw her in Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s room that same
evening. Her face was terrible to see, but, with a strength of will which was
almost superhuman, she had forced herself to come to the children’s rooms
as usual so that the young invalids, who knew nothing of what had happened
since the Czar had left for G.H.Q., should suspect nothing.
Late at night we heard that the Grand Duke Michael had renounced the
throne, and that the fate of Russia was to be settled by the Constituent
Assembly.
Next morning I found the Czarina in Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s room. She
was calm, but very pale. She looked very much thinner and ever so much
older in the last few days.
In the afternoon Her Majesty received a telegram from the Czar in which
he tried to calm her fears, and told her that he was at Mohileff pending the
imminent arrival of the Dowager Empress.
Three days passed. At half-past ten on the morning of the 21st Her
Majesty summoned me and told me that General Korniloff had been sent by
the Provisional Government to inform her that the Czar and herself were
under arrest and that all those who did not wish to be kept in close

confinement must leave the palace before four o’clock. I replied that I had
decided to stay with them.
“The Czar is coming back to-morrow. Alexis must be told everything.
Will you do it? I am going to tell the girls myself.”
It was easy to see how she suffered when she thought of the grief of the
Grand-Duchesses on hearing that their father had abdicated. They were ill,
and the news might make them worse.
I went to Alexis Nicolaïevitch and told him that the Czar would be
returning from Mohileff next morning and would never go back there again.
“Why?”
“Your father does not want to be Commander-in-Chief any more.”
He was greatly moved at this, as he was very fond of going to G.H.Q.
After a moment or two I added:
“You know your father does not want to be Czar any more, Alexis
Nicolaïevitch.”
He looked at me in astonishment, trying to read in my face what had
happened.
“What! Why?”
“He is very tired and has had a lot of trouble lately.”
“Oh yes! Mother told me they stopped his train when he wanted to come
here. But won’t papa be Czar again afterwards?”
I then told him that the Czar had abdicated in favour of the Grand Duke
Michael, who had also renounced the throne.
“But who’s going to be Czar, then?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps nobody now....”
Not a word about himself. Not a single allusion to his rights as the Heir.
He was very red and agitated.
There was a silence, and then he said:
“But if there isn’t a Czar, who’s going to govern Russia?”
I explained that a Provisional Government had been formed and that it
would govern the state until the Constituent Assembly met, when his uncle
Michael would perhaps mount the throne.
Once again I was struck by the modesty of the boy.

At four o’clock the doors of the palace were closed. We were prisoners!
The composite regiment had been relieved by a regiment from the garrison
of Tsarkoïe-Selo, and the soldiers on sentry duty were there not to protect us,
but to keep guard over us.

At eleven o’clock on the morning of the 22nd the Czar arrived,
accompanied by Prince Dolgorouky, the Marshal of the Court. He went
straight up to the children’s room, where the Czarina was waiting for him.
After luncheon he went into the room of Alexis Nicolaïevitch, where I
was, and greeted me with his usual unaffected kindness. But I could tell by
his pale, worn face that he too had suffered terribly during his absence.
Yet, despite the circumstances, the Czar’s return was a day of rejoicing to
his family. The Czarina and Marie Nicolaïevna, as well as the other children,
when they had been told what had occurred, had been a prey to such
dreadful doubts and fears on his account! It was a great comfort to be all
together in such times of trial. It seemed as if it made their troubles less
unbearable, and as if their boundless love for each other was a dynamic force
which enabled them to face any degree of suffering.
In spite of the self-control which was habitual with the Czar, he was
unable to conceal his immense distress, though his soon recovered in the
bosom of his family. He spent most of the day with them, and otherwise read
or went for walks with Prince Dolgorouky. At first he had been forbidden to
go into the park, and was only allowed the enjoyment of a small garden
contiguous to the palace. It was still under snow. A cordon of sentries was
posted round it.
Yet the Czar accepted all these restraints with extraordinary serenity and
moral grandeur. No word of reproach ever passed his lips. The fact was that
his whole being was dominated by one passion, which was more powerful
even than the bonds between himself and his family—love of country. We
felt he was ready to forgive anything to those who were inflicting such
humiliations upon him so long as they were capable of saving Russia.

THE CZARINA’S ROOM IN THE ALEXANDER PALACE. ON THE WALL “MARIE
ANTOINETTE AND HER CHILDREN,” A TAPESTRY AFTER MADAME VIGEE-LEBRUN’S
PICTURE PRESENTED BY THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT.

THE PORTRAIT GALLERY.
[Facing page 216.

The Czarina spent almost all her time on a chaise longue in the Grand-
Duchesses’ room, or else with Alexis Nicolaïevitch. Her anxieties and the
emotional strain had exhausted her physically, but since the Czar’s return she
had found great moral relief, and lived closely with her own thoughts,
speaking little and finally yielding to that urgent need for rest which had
long assailed her. She was glad she need struggle no longer and that she
could wholly devote herself to those she loved so tenderly.
She was now anxious about Marie Nicolaïevna only. The latter had been
taken ill much later than her sisters, and her condition was aggravated by a
severe attack of pneumonia of a virulent kind. Her constitution was
excellent, but she had all she could do to survive. She was also the victim of
her own devotion. This girl of seventeen had spent herself without reflection
during the revolution. She had been her mother’s greatest comfort and stand-
by. During the night of March 13th she had been rash enough to go out with
her mother to speak to the soldiers, thus exposing herself to the cold, even
though she realised that her illness was beginning. Fortunately the other
children were better, and already on the road to convalescence.
Our captivity at Tsarskoïe-Selo did not seem likely to last long, and there
was talk about our imminent transfer to England. Yet the days passed and
our departure was always being postponed. The fact was that the Provisional
Government was obliged to deal with the advanced wing and gradually felt
that its authority was slipping away from it. Yet we were only a few hours by
railway from the Finnish frontier, and the necessity of passing through
Petrograd was the only serious obstacle.
It would thus appear that if the authorities had acted resolutely and
secretly it would not have been difficult to get the Imperial family to one of
the Finnish ports and thus to some foreign country. But they were afraid of
responsibilities, and no one dare compromise himself. Once more Fate was
on guard!

CHAPTER XVIII

FIVE MONTHS’ CAPTIVITY AT TSARSKOÏE-SELO
(MARCH—AUGUST, 1917)

T HE Imperial family remained at Tsarskoïe-Selo until the month of
August, 1917. During the five months of this internment with them I
kept a diary of our life together. It will be understood that delicacy of
feeling prevents me from reproducing it in its entirety. I wish to avoid as
much as possible bringing in people who are still alive. I shall, however,
break through this reserve when it is a question of dealing with incidents
which throw light on the character of the Czar and his family or their
feelings during these long months of trial.
Sunday, April 1st.—Alexis Nicolaïevitch feeling much better. We went
to church this morning, where we found Their Majesties, the Grand-
Duchesses Olga and Tatiana, and the various members of the suite who
are sharing our captivity. When the priest prayed for the success of the
Russian and Allied armies the Czar and Czarina knelt down, the whole
congregation following their example.
A few days ago, as I was leaving Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s room, I met
ten soldiers wandering about in the passage. I went up to them and asked
what they wanted.
“We want to see the Heir.”
“He’s in bed and can’t be seen.”
“And the others?”
“They are also unwell.”
“And where is the Czar?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will he be going out?”
“I don’t know; but come, don’t hang about here. There must be no
noise because of the invalids!”

They went back, walking on their toes and talking in low voices.
These are the soldiers depicted to us as wild revolutionaries hating their
ex-Czar.
Tuesday, April 3rd.—To-day Kerenski came to the palace for the first
time. He went through all the rooms and noted all the sentry-posts,
wishing to assure himself in person that we are well guarded. Before
leaving he had a fairly long conversation with the Czar and Czarina.
Wednesday, April 4th.—Alexis Nicolaïevitch related to me yesterday’s
conversation between Kerensky and the Czar and Czarina.
The whole family was collected in the apartment of the Grand-
Duchesses. Kerensky entered and introduced himself, saying:
“I am the Procurator-General, Kerensky.”
Then he shook hands all round. Turning to the Czarina, he said:
“The Queen of England asks for news of the ex-Czarina.”
Her Majesty blushed violently. It was the first time that she had been
addressed as ex-Czarina. She

THE CZAR, HIS CHILDREN AND THEIR COMPANIONS IN CAPTIVITY CONVERTING THE
LAWNS OF THE PARK INTO A KITCHEN-GARDEN. MAY, 1917.
Near to the wooden hut, the Czarina in white, with a parasol, and two of the Grand-Duchesses. In the
centre, to the right, the Czar Nicholas II. The Alexander Palace in the background.
[Facing page 222.

answered that she was fairly well, but that her heart was troubling her as
usual. Kerensky went on:
“Anything I begin I always carry through to the bitter end, with all my
might. I wanted to see everything myself, to verify everything so as to be
able to report at Petrograd, and it will be better for you.”
He then asked the Czar to go with him into the next room as he wished
to speak to him in private. He went in first and the Czar followed.
After his departure, the Czar told us that no sooner were they alone
than Kerensky said to him:
“You know I’ve succeeded in getting the death penalty abolished?...
I’ve done this in spite of the fact that a great number of my comrades

have died, martyrs to their convictions.”
Was he trying to make a display of his magnanimity, and insinuating
that he was saving the Czar’s life though the latter had done nothing to
deserve it?
He then spoke of our departure, which he still hopes to be able to
arrange. When? Where? How? He did not know himself, and asked that
the matter should not be discussed.
This has been a hard blow for Alexis Nicolaïevitch. He has not yet
realised their new situation. It was the first time he had seen his father
receive orders and obey like a subordinate.
It is worthy of note that Kerensky arrived at the palace in one of the
Czar’s private cars, driven by a chauffeur from the Imperial garage.
Friday, April 6th.—The Czar told me to-day of the distress the papers
cause him. It is the ruin of the army; no more hierarchy or discipline. The
officers are afraid of their men and are spied upon by them. One feels the
Czar is hard hit by the collapse of the army which is so dear to him.
Sunday, April 8th.—After Mass, Kerensky announced to the Czar that
he was obliged to separate him from the Czarina—that he will have to
live apart, only seeing Her Majesty at meals, and that on condition that
only Russian is spoken. Tea, too, may be taken together, but in the
presence of an officer, as no servants are present.
A little later the Czarina came up to me in a great state of agitation,
and said:
“To think of his acting like this to the Czar, playing this low trick after
his self-sacrifice and his abdication to avoid civil war; how mean, how
despicable! The Czar would not have had a single Russian shed his blood
for him. He has always been ready to renounce all when he knew that it
was for the good of Russia.”
A moment later she went on:
“Yes, this horrible bitterness must be endured too.”
Monday, April 9th.—I learn that Kerensky had intended at first to
isolate the Czarina, but it was pointed out to him that it would be
inhuman to separate a mother from her sick children; it was then that he
decided to isolate the Czar.

April 13th, Good Friday.—In the evening the whole family went to
Confession.
Saturday, April 14th.—In the morning, at half-past nine, Mass and
Holy Communion. In the evening, at half-past eleven, everyone went to
church for the midnight service. Colonel Korovitchenko, the
Commandant of the palace and friend of Kerensky, and the three officers
of the guard were also present. The service lasted until two o’clock, when
we went to the library to exchange the traditional greetings. The Czar,
according to Russian custom, embraced all the men present, including the
Commandant and officers of the guard, who had remained with him. The
two men could not hide their emotion at this spontaneous act.
We then took our places at a round table for the Easter meal. Their
Majesties sat facing one another. There were seventeen of us, including
the two officers. The Grand-Duchesses Olga and Marie were not present,
nor Alexis Nicolaïevitch. The comparative animation which marked the
beginning soon relapsed and conversation flagged. His Majesty was
particularly silent. Was it sadness or fatigue?
Sunday, April 15th, Easter Day.—We went out for the first time with
Alexis Nicolaïevitch on the terrace in front of the palace. A superb spring
day.
In the evening at seven o’clock a religious service upstairs in the
children’s apartments. There were only fifteen of us. I noticed that the
Czar crossed himself piously when the priest prayed for the Provisional
Government.
On the following day, as the weather was still very fine, we went out
into the park, where we are now allowed to take the air, followed by
officers of the guard and sentries.
Wishing to take a little physical exercise, we amused ourselves by
clearing the sluices of the pond of the ice which was blocking them. A
crowd of soldiers and civilians soon lined up along the park railing and
watched our work. After some time the officer of the guard went up to the
Czar and told him that the Commandant of the Tsarskoïe-Selo garrison
had just warned him that he feared a hostile demonstration or even an
attempt on the lives of the Imperial family, and he would ask us not to
remain where we were. The Czar answered that he had no fear, and that
the good people were not annoying him in any way.

Wednesday, April 18th.—Whenever we go out, soldiers, with fixed
bayonets and under the command of an officer, surround us and keep
pace with us. We look like convicts with their warders. The instructions
are changed daily, or perhaps the officers interpret them each in his own
way!
This afternoon, when we were going back to the palace after our walk,
the sentry on duty at the gate stopped the Czar, saying:
“You cannot pass, sir.”
The officer with us here intervened. Alexis Nicolaïevitch blushed hotly
to see the soldier stop his father.
Friday, April 20th.—We now go out regularly twice a day: in the
morning from eleven till noon, in the afternoon from half-past two to
five. We all collect in the semi-circular hall and wait for the officer
commanding the guard to come and open the gates into the park. We go
out; the officer on duty and soldiers fall in behind us and take station
round the place where we stop to work. The Czarina and Grand-
Duchesses Olga and Marie are still confined to their rooms.

THE CZAR WORKING IN THE KITCHEN-GARDEN. BEHIND HIM THE OFFICER ON DUTY.
ON THE RIGHT THE SAILOR, NAGORNY. BEHIND, COUNTESS HENDRIKOF.

THE CZARINA, IN AN INVALID CHAIR. WORKING AT SOME EMBROIDERY AND
WATCHING HER FAMILY GARDENING.
[Facing page 226.

Sunday, April 22nd.—We are forbidden to go to the pond; we have to
keep near the palace and not go outside the radius which has been fixed
for us. In the distance we saw a crowd of several hundred people curious
to see us.
Wednesday, April 25th.—Kerensky returned to the palace. Dr. Botkin
has taken advantage of this to ask if it would be possible to transfer the
Imperial family to Livadia on account of the children’s health. Kerensky
replied that it was quite impossible for the moment. He then went to see
Their Majesties, and remained some time. Kerensky’s attitude to wards
the Czar is no longer what it was at the beginning; he has given up his
judicial bearing. I am convinced that he is beginning to understand what
the Czar is and yielding to his moral ascendancy like all who come near
him. Kerensky has requested the papers to put an end to their campaign
against the Czar, and more especially the Czarina. These calumnies
simply pour oil on the flames. He feels his responsibility towards the
captives. But not a word about our departure abroad. That proves his
powerlessness.

Sunday, April 29th.—In the evening a long conversation with Their
Majesties on the subject of Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s lessons. We must find a
way out since we have no longer any tutors. The Czar is going to make
himself responsible for History and Geography, the Czarina will take
charge of his religious instruction. The other subjects will be shared
between Baroness Buxhœveden (English), Mlle. Schneider (Arithmetic)
Dr. Botkin (Russian) and myself.
Monday, April 30th.—This morning the Czar greeted me with: “Good
morning, dear colleague”—he has just given Alexis Nicolaïevitch his first
lesson. Always the same serenity, the same anxiety to be agreeable to
those who share his captivity. He is an example and an encouragement to
us.
I have given Tatiana Nicolaïevna the article in the Journal des Débats
of April 18th, 1917, signed A. G. (Auguste Gauvain) for her parents to
read.
It is apparent that the régime to which we are being subjected is
becoming continually more severe.
Tuesday, May 1st.—For the first time Russia celebrates May 1st. We
hear the bands and see the processions of demonstrators pass along the
park railings.
This evening the Czar returned to me the copy of the Journal des
Débats dealing with his abdication. He told me it had given the Czarina
pleasure to read this article, which tried to be fair to him. Its tone was a
contrast to that of the English papers.
Thursday, May 3rd.—The Czar told me this evening that the news has
not been good for several days. The Extremist parties demand that France
and England should declare themselves ready to make peace “without
annexations or indemnities.” Deserters are becoming more and more
numerous and the army is melting away. Will the Provisional
Government be strong enough to continue the war?
The Czar is following events with acute interest; he is anxious, but still
hopes that the country will pull itself together and remain faithful to the
Allies.
Sunday, May 13th.—This is the second day we have spent making a
kitchen garden on one of the lawns of the park. We began by taking up
the turf, carrying away the sod on barrows and arranging it in heaps.

Everyone helped: the family, ourselves, and the servants, who for some
time have been going out with us. Several soldiers of the guard even have
come to help us!
The Czar has looked very preoccupied during the last few days. As we
were coming back from our walk he said to me:
“It seems Rvssky has resigned. He had asked that an offensive should
be undertaken. (One asks now; one no longer gives orders!) The Soldiers’
Committees refused. If this is true it is the end! What humiliation! To
remain on the defensive and not attack is suicide! We’re going to let our
allies be crushed, and then it will be our turn.”
Monday, May 14th.—The Czar returned to our conversation of
yesterday, adding:
“What gives me a little hope is our love of exaggeration. I can’t
believe that our army at the front is as bad as they say; it can’t have fallen
to this extent in two months.”
Thursday, May 17th.—It appears that the end has been reached of the
serious Government crisis that has lasted a fortnight. The news from
Petrograd seems less bad. The new Council of Ministers, reconstituted
with the addition of a few representatives of the soldiers and workmen,
will perhaps succeed in establishing its authority. Meanwhile anarchy is
everywhere gaining ground.
Saturday, May 19th.—The Czar’s birthday. (He is forty-nine.) Mass
and congratulations.
Sunday, May 27th.—For some time we have been allowed only a very
small supply of wood, and it is intensely cold everywhere. Mme.
Narichkine (Grand-Mistress of the Court) has been taken ill, and was sent
away to-day, the state of her health demanding care which cannot be
given here. She was in despair at the idea of leaving us, for she knows she
will not be permitted to return to the palace.
Saturday, June 2nd.—We are still working every day at the kitchen
garden. We are watering it from a tub which we take turns to drag.
Sunday, June 10th.—A few days ago the children were playing on
their island (an artificial islet in the middle of a little lake). Alexis
Nicolaïevitch was practising handling his little gun, which he thinks a lot
of, as it was given to the Czar when he was a boy by his father. An officer
came up to us. He told me that the soldiers had decided to take the gun

away from the Czarevitch, and were coming for it. When he heard this,
Alexis Nicolaïevitch put down his toy and joined the Czarina, who was
sitting on the grass a few yards from us. A moment later the officer on
duty came with two soldiers and demanded that the “weapon” should be
given up. I tried to intervene and make them understand that the gun was
not a weapon but a toy. It was no use: they took possession of it. Alexis
Nicolaïevitch began to sob. His mother asked me to make another attempt
to convince the soldiers, but I did not succeed any better than the first
time, and they went off with their prize.
Half an hour later the officer on duty took me aside

THE GRAND-DUCHESS TATIANA CARRIES TURF WITH THE HELP OF ONE OF THE
GUARDS.

THE CZAR AND HIS SERVANT JURAVSKY SAWING THE TRUNK OF A TREE THEY HAD
FELLED.
[Facing page 230.

and asked me to tell the Czarevitch that he was greatly distressed at what
he had had to do. After trying in vain to dissuade the men, he had chosen
to come with them to prevent any discourtesy on their part.
Colonel Kobylinsky[60] was annoyed to hear of the incident, and
brought back the little gun to Alexis Nicolaïevitch piece by piece. Since
then he has only played with it in his room.
Friday, June 15th.—We finished our kitchen garden some time ago
and it is now in splendid condition. We have every imaginable kind of
vegetable, and five hundred cabbages. The servants, too, have made a
garden on their side of the palace, where they can cultivate what they
like. We went to help them dig it—the Czar too.
To occupy our leisure now that we have finished our work on the
garden, we have asked and obtained permission to cut down the dead
trees in the park, so we go from place to place, followed by a guard which
moves when we move. We are beginning to be quite skilful woodcutters.
This will give us a supply of wood for next winter.
Friday, June 22nd.—As the Grand-Duchesses were losing all their
hair as the result of their illness, their heads have been shaved. When they
go out in the park they wear scarves arranged so as to conceal the fact.

Just as I was going to take their photographs, at a sign from Olga
Nicolaïevna they all suddenly removed their headdress. I protested, but
they insisted, much amused at the idea of seeing themselves
photographed like this, and looking forward to seeing the indignant
surprise of their parents. Their good spirits reappear from time to time in
spite of everything. It is their exuberant youth.
Sunday, June 24th.—The days follow one another, all alike, divided
between lessons and walks. This morning the Czar told me of a rather
amusing incident which has broken the monotony of our seclusion.
He was reading aloud yesterday evening in the red hall to the Czarina
and Grand-Duchesses. Suddenly, about eleven o’clock, a servant entered
in a great state of agitation and announced that the Commandant
requested an immediate interview with the Czar. The latter thought that
something very serious must have happened at Petrograd—a great armed
demonstration by the Bolsheviks against the Provisional Government was
expected—and he gave orders for him to be shown in. The officer
entered, accompanied by two non-commissioned officers. He explained
that he had been summoned by a shot from a sentry, who, from the park,
had noticed signals with red and green lights from the room in which the
family were sitting. General amazement. What signals? What did it all
mean? Great excitement on the part of the Czarina and Grand-Duchesses.
The officer then gave orders for the curtains to be closely drawn—it was
stiflingly hot—and was about to retire. At this moment one of the
N.C.O.’s came forward and explained the mystery. The Grand-Duchess
Anastasie Nicolaïevna was sitting on the window-ledge doing
needlework. Each time she bent forward to pick up from the table the
things she required for her work she was covering and uncovering in turn
two lamps with green and red shades by which the Czar was reading. The
officer retired in confusion.
Monday, July 2nd.—We have learned that an offensive has been
launched in the direction of Tarnopol, and is being successfully
developed.
Tuesday, July 3rd.—A Te Deum for the military successes which seem
to presage a great victory. The Czar, radiant, brought Alexis Nicolaïevitch
the evening paper and read him the communiqués.
Thursday, July 12th.—The news from the front is not good. The
offensive which had begun so well is turning against the Russians.

Sunday, July 15th.—Nothing new in our captivity. The only distraction
is going out. It is very hot, and for some days Alexis Nicolaïevitch has
been bathing in the pond round the children’s island. It is a great joy to
him.
Wednesday, July 25th.—The check is becoming more and more
serious, the retreat deeper. The Czar is greatly affected.
Thursday, August 9th.—I learn that the Provisional Government has
decided on the transfer of the Imperial family. The destination is kept
secret; we are all hoping it will be the Crimea.
Saturday, August 11th.—We have been told that we must provide
ourselves with warm clothing. So we are not to be taken south. A great
disappointment.
Sunday, August 12th. (July 30th O.S.).—Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s
birthday (he is thirteen). At the request of the Czarina, the miraculous
ikon of the Holy Virgin has been brought from the church of Znamenia.
Our departure is fixed for to-morrow. Colonel Kobylinsky has confided to
me as a great secret that we are to be transferred to Tobolsk.
Monday, August 13th.—We were told to be ready by midnight; the
train was ordered for one o’clock. Final preparations. Farewell visit to the
children’s island, kitchen garden, etc. Shortly before one in the morning
everyone collected in the semi-circular hall, which was full of luggage.
The Grand-Duke Michael arrived with Kerensky and had an interview
with the Czar, who was delighted to see his brother again before his
departure.
The train which was to take us had not yet arrived; there appears to
have been some difficulty with the railway men in Petrograd, who
suspected that city to be the destination of the Imperial family. The hours
passed in waiting, which grew more and more trying. Should we be able
to start? It began to seem doubtful. (This incident showed up the
powerlessness of the Government.) At last, about five o’clock, we were
told that all was ready. We took leave of those of our fellow-captives who
could not leave with us.[61] Our hearts were wrung at the thought of
leaving Tsarskoïe-Selo,

THE GRAND-DUCHESSES TATIANA AND ANASTASIE TAKING A WATER-BUTT TO THE
KITCHEN-GARDEN. JUNE, 1917.

THE IMPERIAL FAMILY’S SUITE AT TSARSKOÏE-SELO IN THE SUMMER OF 1917.
From left to right, behind Countess Benckendorff, seated: Prince Dolgorouky, the author, Countess
Hendrikof, Baroness de Buxhœveden, Mlle. Schneider, Count Benckendorff, and Dr. Derevenko.
[Facing page 234.

to which we were bound by so many memories, and this departure for the
unknown was marked by great sadness. Just as our cars were leaving the
park we were surrounded by a detachment of cavalry, which escorted us
as far as the little station of Alexandrovka. We took our places in the
compartments, which are very comfortable. Half an hour passed and then
the train slowly moved away. It was ten minutes to six.

CHAPTER XIX

OUR CAPTIVITY AT TOBOLSK
(AUGUST-DECEMBER, 1917)

W HAT reasons had the Council of Ministers for transporting the Imperial
family to Tobolsk?
It is difficult to say definitely. When Kerensky told the Czar of the
proposed transfer he explained the necessity by saying that the Provisional
Government had resolved to take energetic measures against the Bolsheviks;
this would result in a period of disturbance and armed conflict of which the
Imperial family might be the first victims; it was therefore his duty to put
them out of danger. It has been claimed in other quarters that it was an act of
weakness in face of the Extremists, who, uneasy at seeing in the army the
beginnings of a movement in favour of the Czar, demanded his exile to
Siberia. However this may be, the journey of the Imperial family from
Tsarskoïe-Selo to Tobolsk was effected under comfortable conditions and
without any noteworthy incidents.
Leaving on August 14th at 6 a.m., we reached Tioumen—the nearest
railway station to Tobolsk—on the evening of the 17th, and a few hours later
boarded the Rouss.
On the following day we passed the native village of Rasputin, and the
family, gathered on the deck, were able to observe the house of the staretz,
which stood out clearly from among the isbas. There was nothing to surprise
them in this event, for Rasputin had foretold that it would be so, and chance
once more seemed to confirm his prophetic words.
On the 19th, towards the end of the afternoon, we suddenly saw at a bend
in the river the crenellated silhouette of the Kremlin, which dominates
Tobolsk, and an hour later we reached our destination.
The house which was to receive us not being ready, we were forced to
remain for some days on the boat which had brought us, and it was not until
August 26th that we moved into our new quarters.

The family occupied the whole of the first floor of the Governor’s house,
a spacious and comfortable building. The suite lived in Korniloff’s house,
belonging to a rich merchant of Tobolsk, and situated on the other side of the
road almost facing ours. The guard was formed by soldiers of the former
rifle regiments of the Imperial family who had come with us from Tsarskoïe-
Selo. They were under the orders of Colonel Kobylinsky, a generous man
who had become sincerely attached to those in his charge; he did all he could
to ameliorate their lot.
At first the conditions of our captivity were very similar to those at
Tsarkoïe-Selo. We had all that was necessary. The Czar and children
nevertheless suffered from lack of space. Their exercise was confined to a
very small kitchen garden and a yard which had been formed by enclosing
with a fence a broad and little-frequented street running along the south-east
side of the house in which they lived. It was very little, and they were
exposed to the observation of the soldiers, whose barracks overlooked the
whole of the space reserved for us. On the other hand, the members of the
suite and servants were freer than at Tsarskoïe-Selo, at any rate to begin
with, and

GRAND-DUCHESS TATIANA SITTING AT THE FURTHEST POINT THE PRISONERS WERE
ALLOWED TO GO IN THE PARK OF TSARSKOÏE-SELO.

ALEXIS NICOLAÏEVITCH JOINS HIS SISTER, THE GRAND-DUCHESS TATIANA.
[Facing page 240.

were allowed to go into the town or immediate surroundings.
In September Commissary Pankratof arrived at Tobolsk, having been sent
by Kerensky. He was accompanied by his deputy, Nikolsky—like himself,
an old political exile. Pankratof was quite a well-informed man, of gentle
character, the typical enlightened fanatic. He made a good impression on the
Czar and subsequently became attached to the children. But Nikolsky was a
low type, whose conduct was most brutal. Narrow and stubborn, he applied
his whole mind to the daily invention of fresh annoyances. Immediately after
his arrival he demanded of Colonel Kobylinsky that we should be forced to
have our photographs taken. When the latter objected that this was
superfluous, since all the soldiers knew us—they were the same as had
guarded us at Tsarskoïe-Selo—he replied: “It was forced on us in the old
days, now it’s their turn.” It had to be done, and henceforward we had to
carry our identity cards with a photograph and identity number.
The religious services were at first held in the house, in the large hall on
the first floor. The priest of the Church of the Annunciation, his deacon, and
four nuns from the Yvanovsky Convent, were authorised to attend the

services. As, however, there was no consecrated altar, it was impossible to
celebrate Mass. This was a great privation for the family. Finally, on
September 21st, the festival of the Nativity of the Virgin, the prisoners were
allowed for the first time to go to the church. This pleased them greatly, but
the consolation was only to be repeated very rarely. On these occasions we
rose very early and, when everyone had collected in the yard, went out
through a little gate leading on to the public garden, which we crossed
between two lines of soldiers. We always attended the first Mass of the
morning, and were almost alone in the church, which was dimly lighted by a
few candles; the public was rigorously excluded. While going and returning
I have often seen people cross themselves or fall on their knees as Their
Majesties passed. On the whole, the inhabitants of Tobolsk were still very
attached to the Imperial family, and our guards had repeatedly to intervene to
prevent them standing under the windows or removing their hats and
crossing themselves as they passed the house.
Meanwhile our life gradually settled down along definite lines, and by
mobilising all our resources we managed to resume the education of the
Czarevitch and two youngest Grand-Duchesses. The lessons began at nine
o’clock, and were broken off from eleven to twelve for a walk, which was
always shared by the Czar. As there was no schoolroom, the lessons were
given sometimes in the large hall on the first floor, sometimes in Alexis
Nicolaïevitch’s room or mine. I lived on the ground floor in what had been
the Governor’s study. At one o’clock we all assembled for lunch. The
Czarina, when she was not well, often took her meals in her own apartments
with Alexis Nicolaïevitch. About two o’clock we used to go out again and
walk about or play until four.
The Czar was suffering a great deal from lack of physical exercise.
Colonel Kobylinsky, to whom he complained of this, had beech-trunks
brought and bought some saws and axes, and we were able to cut the wood
we required for the kitchen and stoves. This was one of our great outdoor
distractions during our captivity at Tobolsk, even the Grand-Duchesses
becoming very keen on this new pastime.
After tea, lessons were resumed until about half-past six. Dinner was an
hour later, after which we went up to the large hall for coffee. We had all
been invited to spend the evening with the family, and this soon became a
regular habit for several of us. Games were organised and ingenuity shown
in finding amusements to break the monotony of our captivity. When it

began to get very cold, and the large hall became impossible, we took refuge
in the adjoining room, which was Their Majesties’ drawing-room, the only
really comfortable apartment in the house. The Czar would often read aloud
while the Grand-Duchesses did needlework or played with us. The Czarina
regularly played one or two games of bezique with General Tatichtchef and
then took up her work or reclined in her arm-chair. In this atmosphere of
family peace we passed the long winter evenings, lost in the immensity of
distant Siberia.
One of the greatest privations during our captivity at Tobolsk was the
almost complete absence of news. Letters only reached us very irregularly
and after long delay. As for newspapers, we were reduced to a nasty local rag
printed on packing paper, which only gave us telegrams several days old and
generally distorted and cut down.
The Czar eagerly followed the development of events in Russia. He
realised that the country was rushing towards ruin. He had a moment of fresh
hope when General Kornilof offered Kerensky to march on Petrograd to put
an end to the Bolshevik agitation, which was becoming more and more
menacing. His disappointment was very great when the Provisional
Government rejected this final chance of salvation. He saw in this the only
means that remained perhaps of avoiding the imminent catastrophe. I then
for the first time heard the Czar regret his abdication. He had made this
decision in the hope that those who had wished to get rid of him would be
capable of making a success of the war and saving Russia. He had feared
that resistance on his part might give rise to a civil war in the presence of the
enemy, and had been unwilling that the blood of a single Russian should be
shed for him. But had not his departure been almost immediately followed
by the appearance of Lenin and his acolytes, the paid agents of Germany,
whose criminal propaganda had destroyed the army and corrupted the
country? It now gave him pain to see that his renunciation had been in vain,
and that by his departure in the interests of his country he had in reality done
her an ill turn. This idea was to haunt him more and more, and finally gave
rise to grave moral anxiety.
About November 15th we learnt that the Provisional Government was
overthrown and that the Bolsheviks had again come into power. But this
event did not immediately react on our life, and it was not until some months
later, as we shall see, that it occurred to them to turn their attention to us.

The weeks passed and the news which reached us grew worse and worse.
It was, however, very difficult for us to follow events and grasp their
purport, for the information at our disposal did not allow us to understand
the causes or calculate the consequences; we were, so far, so isolated from
the entire world. And even if we succeeded in getting a rough knowledge of
what was happening in Russia, the rest of Europe was almost a closed book.
Meanwhile the Bolshevik doctrines had begun their destructive work in
the detachment which was guarding us and which hitherto had been fairly
proof against them. It was composed of very varied elements: the men of the
1st and 4th Regiments were for the most part favourably disposed towards
the Imperial family, and especially towards the children. The Grand-
Duchesses, with that simplicity which was their charm, loved to talk to these
men, who seemed to them to be linked with the past in the same way as
themselves. They questioned them about their families, their villages, or the
battles in which they had taken part in the great war. Alexis Nicolaïevitch,
who to them was still “the Heir,” had also won their hearts, and they took
trouble to please him and find amusements for him. One section of the 4th
Regiment, composed almost exclusively of the older classes, was
particularly conspicuous in its attachment, and it was always a delight to the
family to see these good fellows come back on duty. On these days the Czar
and children used to go secretly to the guardhouse and converse or play
draughts with the men, whose conduct was never in a single instance
anything but strictly correct. Here they were once surprised by Commissary
Pankratof, who stood astounded on the doorstep, looking through his
spectacles at this unexpected sight. The Czar, seeing his disconcerted
appearance, motioned to him to come and sit at the table. But the
Commissary evidently thought he was out of place; muttering a few
unintelligible words, he turned on his heel and fled, discomfited.
Pankratof, as I have said, was a fanatic imbued with humanitarian
principles; he was not a bad fellow. Immediately after his arrival he had
organised classes for the soldiers to initiate them in Liberal doctrines, and
did all he could to develop their patriotism and citizenship. But his efforts
recoiled upon himself. A convinced adversary of the Bolsheviks, he was in
reality merely preparing the ground for them and, without realising it,
helping towards the success of their ideas. As will be seen, he was destined
to be the first victim.

The men of the 2nd Regiment had from the outset been distinguished by
revolutionary sentiments; at Tsarskoïe-Selo they had already been the cause
of a good deal of annoyance to their prisoners. The Bolshevik coup d’état
increased their authority and audacity; they had managed to form a
“Soldiers’ Committee,” which tended further to restrict our régime and
gradually to substitute its authority for that of Colonel Kobylinsky. We had
proof of its ill-will on the occasion of Baroness Buxhœveden’s arrival (the
end of December O.S.). She had shared our captivity at Tsarskoïe-Selo, and
it was only the state of her health that had prevented her from leaving with
us. She had no sooner recovered than she came, with Kerensky’s permission,
to rejoin the Czarina. The Soldiers’ Committee flatly refused to let her enter
the house, and she had to find accommodation in the town. This was a great
grief to the Czarina and the whole family, who had been looking forward
very impatiently to her arrival.
Thus we reached Christmas.
The Czarina and Grand-Duchesses had for many weeks been preparing
with their own hands a present for each of us and each of the servants. Her
Majesty distributed some woollen waistcoats which she had knitted herself.
With such touching thoughtfulness as this she tried to show her gratitude to
those who had remained faithful.
On December 24th the priest came to the house for Vespers; everyone
then assembled in the large hall, and the children were full of delight at the
“surprise” prepared for us. We now felt part of one large family; we did our
best to forget the preoccupations and distresses of the time in order to enjoy
to the full and in complete unity these moments of peaceful intimacy.
The next day, Christmas Day, we went to church. By the

AT TOBOLSK, WHERE THEY WERE INTERNED FROM SEPTEMBER, 1917, TO APRIL, 1918.
THE CZAR AND HIS CHILDREN ENJOY THE SIBERIAN SUNSHINE ON THE ROOF OF A
GREENHOUSE.
From left to right: The Grand-Duchesses Olga and Anastasie, the Czar and the Czarevitch, the Grand-
Duchess Tatiana, the Grand-Duchess Marie (standing). The Czarina was confined to her room,
indisposed.
[Facing page 246.

orders of the priest the deacon intoned the Mnogoletié (the prayer for the
long life of the Imperial family). This was an imprudence which was bound
to bring reprisals. The soldiers, with threats of death, demanded that the
prayer should be revoked. This incident marred the pleasant memories which
this day should have left in our minds. It also brought us fresh annoyances
and the supervision became still stricter.

CHAPTER XX

END OF OUR CAPTIVITY AT TOBOLSK
(JANUARY-MAY, 1918)

O N January 1st/14th, 1914, I resumed the diary I had given up when we
were transferred to Tobolsk. I shall give a few extracts from it as I did
when describing our captivity at Tsarskoïe-Selo.
Monday, January 14th (January 1st O.S.).—This morning we went to
church, where the new priest officiated for the first time. Father Vassilief
(the cause of the incident mentioned in the preceding chapter) has been
transferred by Archbishop Hermogenes to the monastery of Abalatsky.
Tuesday, January 15th.—At 2 p.m. there was a meeting of the
committee of our garrison. It was decided by 100 votes to 85 to prohibit
the wearing of epaulettes by officers and men.
Thursday, January 17th.—Colonel Kobylinsky came this morning. He
wore mufti rather than wear his uniform without epaulettes.
Friday, January 18th.—The priest and choir[62] arrived at 3 o’clock.
To-day is the Blessing of the Waters and the first time the new priest has
officiated in the house. When it was Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s turn to kiss
the cross held out by the priest the latter bent down and kissed his
forehead. After dinner General Tatichtchef and Prince Dolgorouky came
to beg the Czar to remove his epaulettes in order to avoid a hostile
demonstration by the soldiers. At first it seemed as though the Czar would
refuse, but, after exchanging a look and a few words with the Czarina, he
recovered his self-control and yielded for the sake of his family.
Saturday, January 19th.—We went to church this morning. The Czar
was wearing a Caucasian cloak, which is always worn without epaulettes.
Alexis Nicolaïevitch had hidden his under his “bachelik” (a sort of
Caucasian muffler). To-day the Czarina, on behalf of the Czar and
herself, invited me to take evening tea[63] with them in future, when I

don’t feel too tired after my lessons. I did not withdraw therefore at 10
o’clock when the Grand-Duchesses retired. (Alexis Nicolaïevitch always
goes to bed at nine o’clock.)
Monday, January 21st.—A heavy fall of snow last night. We began to
build a “snow mountain.”
Friday, January 25th (January 12th O.S,).—Tatiana Nicolaïevna’s
birthday. Te Deum in the house. Fine winter’s day; sunshine; 15°
Réaumur. Went on building the snow mountain as usual. The soldiers of
the guard came to help us.
Wednesday, January 30th.—To-day the friendly section of the 4th
Regiment was on duty. The Czar

THE GOVERNOR’S HOUSE AT TOBOLSK WHERE THE IMPERIAL FAMILY WERE
INTERNED.

Barracks of the detachment which guarded The Grand-Duchesses Marie and Anastasie on the
the Czar. balcony.
The guard being changed.

[Facing page 252.

and children spent several hours with the soldiers in the guard-house.
Saturday, February 2nd.—23° R. below zero. Prince Dolgorouky and I
watered the snow mountain. We carried thirty buckets of water. It was so
cold that the water froze on the way from the kitchen tap to the mountain.
Our buckets and the snow mountain “steamed.” To-morrow the children
can begin tobogganing.

Monday, February 4th.—The thermometer is said to have dropped last
night below 30° Réaumur (37° Centigrade). Terrible wind. The Grand-
Duchesses’ bedroom is a real ice-house.
Wednesday, February 6th.—It appears that on the initiative of the 2nd
Regiment the soldiers have decided that Commissary Pankratof and his
deputy, Nikolsky, must resign.
Friday, February 8th.—The soldiers’ committee has to-day decided to
replace Pankratof by a Bolshevik commissary from Moscow. Things are
going from bad to worse. It appears that there is no longer a state of war
between Soviet Russia and Germany, Austria, and Bulgaria. The army is
to be disbanded, but Lenin and Trotsky have not yet signed the peace.
Wednesday, February 13th.—The Czar tells me that the demobilisation
of the army has begun, several classes having already been disbanded. All
the old soldiers (the most friendly) are to leave us. The Czar seems very
depressed at this prospect; the change may have disastrous results for us.
Friday, February 15th.—A certain number of soldiers have already
left. They came secretly to take leave of the Czar and his family.
At tea in the evening with Their Majesties, General Tatichtchef, with a
frankness justified by the circumstances, expressed his surprise at finding
how intimate and affectionate was the family life of the Czar and Czarina
and their children. The Czar, smiling at the Czarina, said, “You hear what
Tatichtchef says?”
Then, with his usual good-humour tinged with a touch of irony, he
added:
“You have been my aide-de-camp, Tatichtchef, and had ever so many
opportunities of observing us. If you knew so little about us, how can you
expect us to blame the newspapers for what they say about us?”
Wednesday, February 20th.—The Czar tells me the Germans have
taken Reval, Rovno, etc., and are still advancing along the whole front. It
is obvious that he is deeply affected.
Monday, February 25th.—Colonel Kobylinsky has received a
telegram informing him that, from March 1st, “Nicholas Romanoff and
his family must be put on soldiers’ rations and that each member of the
family will receive 600 roubles per month drawn from the interest of their
personal estate.” Hitherto their expenses have been paid by the state. As

the family consists of seven persons, the whole household will have to be
run on 4,200 roubles a month.[64]
Tuesday, February 26th.—His Majesty asked me to help him to do his
accounts and draw up a family budget. He has saved a little from his
“toilet allowance.”
Wednesday, February 27th.—The Czar said jokingly that, since
everyone is appointing committees, he is going to appoint one to look
after the welfare of his own community. It is to consist of General
Tatichtchef, Prince Dolgorouky, and myself. We held a “sitting” this
afternoon and came to the conclusion that the personnel must be reduced.
This is a wrench; we shall have to dismiss ten servants, several of whom
have their families with them in Tobolsk. When we informed Their
Majesties we could see the grief it caused them. They must part with
servants whose very devotion will reduce them to beggary.
Friday, March 1st.—The new régime comes into force. From to-day
butter and coffee are excluded from the table as luxuries.
Monday, March 4th.—The soldiers’ committee has decided to abolish
the snow mountain we have built (it was such a source of amusement to
the children!) because the Czar and Czarina mounted it to watch the
departure of the men of the 4th Regiment. Every day now brings fresh
vexations to the Czar’s family and their suite. For a long time we have
only been allowed to go out when accompanied by a soldier; it is
probable that even this last privilege will soon be taken from us.
Tuesday, March 5th.—Yesterday the soldiers, with a hang-dog look
(for they felt it was a mean task), began to destroy the snow mountain
with picks. The children are disconsolate.
Friday, March 15th.—The townspeople, hearing of our situation, find
various ways of sending us eggs, sweetmeats, and delicacies.
Sunday, March 17th.—To-day is Carnival Sunday. Everyone is merry.
The sledges pass to and fro under our windows; sound of bells, mouth-
organs, and singing.... The children wistfully watch the fun. They have
begun to grow bored and find their captivity irksome. They walk round
the courtyard, fenced in by its high paling through which they can see
nothing. Since the destruction of their snow mountain their only
distraction is sawing and cutting wood.

The arrogance of the soldiers is inconceivable; those who have left
have been replaced by a pack of blackguardly-looking young men.
In spite of the daily increase of their sufferings, Their Majesties still
cherish hope that among their loyal friends some may be found to attempt
their release. Never was the situation more favourable for escape, for
there is as yet no representative of the Bolshevik Government at Tobolsk.
With the complicity of Colonel Kobylinsky, already on our side, it would
be easy to trick the insolent but careless vigilance of our guards. All that
is required is the organised and resolute efforts of a few bold spirits
outside. We have repeatedly urged upon the Czar the necessity of being
prepared for any turn of events. He insists on two conditions which
greatly complicate matters: he will not hear of the family being separated
or leaving Russian territory.
One day the Czarina said to me in this connection: “I wouldn’t leave
Russia on any consideration, for it seems to me that to go abroad would
be to break our last link with the past, which would then be dead for
ever.”

THE CZAR SAWING WOOD WITH ME. BEHIND, THE LITTLE GREENHOUSE ON THE ROOF
OF WHICH WE MADE TWO SEATS AT THE END OF WINTER SO THAT WE COULD ENJOY
THE SUN.

ALEXIS NICOLAÏEVITCH SITTING ON THE STEPS OF THE GOVERNOR’S HOUSE.
STANDING BY HIM IS THE SON OF DR. DEREVENKO, WHO WAS ALLOWED TO COME
AND PLAY WITH HIM WHEN WE FIRST WENT TO TOBOLSK.
[Facing page 256.

Monday, March 18th.—During the first week of Lent the family will
perform its devotions as usual. There is a service morning and evening.
As their different occupations prevent the attendance of the choir, the
Czarina and Grand-Duchesses sing with the deacon.
Tuesday, March 19th.—After lunch the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk was
discussed. It has just been signed. The Czar was very depressed, saying:
“It is such a disgrace for Russia and amounts to suicide. I should never
have thought the Emperor William and the German Government could
stoop to shake hands with these miserable traitors. But I’m sure they will
get no good from it; it won’t save them from ruin!”
A little later, when Prince Dolgorouky remarked that the newspapers
were discussing a clause in which the Germans demanded that the
Imperial family should be handed over to them unharmed, the Czar cried:
“This is either a manœuvre to discredit me or an insult.”
The Czarina added in a low voice: “After what they have done to the
Czar, I would rather die in Russia than be saved by the Germans!”
Friday, March 22nd.—At a quarter past nine, after the evening service,
everyone went to Confession—children, servants, suite, and finally Their
Majesties.
Saturday, March 23rd.—A detachment of over a hundred Red Guards
has arrived from Omsk; they are the first Maximalist soldiers to take up
garrison duty at Tobolsk. Our last chance of escape has been snatched
from us. His Majesty, however, tells me he has reason to believe that
there are among these men many officers who have enlisted in the ranks;
he also asserts, without telling me definitely the source of his
information, that there are three hundred officers at Tioumen.
Tuesday, April 9th.—The Bolshevik commissary, who has come with
the detachment from Omsk, has insisted on being allowed to inspect the
house. The soldiers of our guard have refused permission. Colonel
Kobylinsky is very uneasy and fears a conflict. Precautionary measures;
patrols, sentries doubled. A very disturbed night.

Wednesday, April 10th.—A “full sitting” of our guard, at which the
Bolshevik commissary reveals the extent of his powers. He has the right
to have anyone opposing his orders shot within twenty-four hours and
without trial. The soldiers let him enter the house.
Friday, April 12th.—Alexis Nicolaïevitch confined to bed, as since
yesterday he has had a violent pain in the groin caused by a strain. He has
been so well this winter. It is to be hoped it is nothing serious.
A soldier of our detachment who had been sent to Moscow has
returned to-day and brought Colonel Kobylinsky a memorandum from
the Central Executive Committee of the Bolshevik Government, ordering
him to be much stricter with us. General Tatichtchef, Prince Dolgorouky,
and Countess Hendrikof are to be transferred to our house and treated as
prisoners. The arrival is also announced of a commissary with
extraordinary powers, accompanied by a detachment of soldiers.
Saturday, April 13th.—All who have been living in Kornilof’s house,
Countess Hendrikof, Mlle. Schneider, General Tatichtchef, Prince
Dolgorouky, and Mr. Gibbes[65] move to our house. Only Doctors Botkin
and Derevenko are left at liberty. Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s pains have
increased since yesterday.
Monday, April 15th.—Alexis Nicolaïevitch in great pain yesterday and
to-day. It is one of his severe attacks of hæmophilia.
Tuesday, April 16th.—Colonel Kobylinsky, officer of the guard, and
some soldiers have been to search the house. They have taken away the
Czar’s dagger which he wore with his Cossack uniform.
Monday, April 22nd.—The commissary from Moscow arrived to-day
with a small detachment; his name is Yakovlef. He has shown his papers
to the commandant and soldiers’ committee. In the evening he took tea
with Their Majesties. Every one is restless and distraught. The
commissary’s arrival is felt to be an evil portent, vague but real.
Tuesday, April 23rd.—Commissary Yakovlef came at eleven o’clock.
After an inspection of the whole house he went to see the Czar, who
accompanied him to the room of Alexis Nicolaïevitch who is in bed. Not
having been able to see the Czarina, who was not ready to receive him, he
came again a little later with the regimental doctor and paid a second visit
to Alexis Nicolaïevitch. (He wanted to be assured by his doctor that the

boy was really ill.) As he was going away he asked the commandant
whether we had much luggage. Can this mean we are to move?
Wednesday, April 24th.—We are all in a state of mental anguish. We
feel we are forgotten by everyone, abandoned to our own resources and at
the mercy of this man. Is it possible that no one will raise a finger to save
the Imperial family? Where are those who have remained loyal to the
Czar? Why do they delay?
Thursday, April 25th.—Shortly before three o’clock, as I was going
along the passage, I met two servants sobbing. They told me that
Yakovlef has come to tell the Czar that he is taking him away. What can
be happening? I dare not go up without being summoned, and went back
to my room. Almost immediately Tatiana Nicolaïevna knocked at my
door. She was in tears, and told me Her Majesty was asking for me. I
followed her. The Czarina was alone, greatly upset. She confirmed what I
had heard, that Yakovlef has been sent from Moscow to take the Czar
away and is to leave to-night.
“The commissary says that no harm will come to the Czar, and that if
anyone wishes to accompany him there will be no objection. I can’t let
the Czar go alone. They want to separate him from his family as they did
before....[66]
“They’re going to try to force his hand by making him anxious about
his family.... The Czar is necessary to them; they feel that he alone
represents Russia.... Together we shall be in a better position to resist
them, and I ought to be at his side in the time

AT THE MAIN DOOR OF THE GOVERNOR’S HOUSE DURING A WALK IN THE COURT.
The four Grand-Duchesses. The Czarevitch. The officer of the Guard. The Czar.

THE CZARINA’S ROOM.
PICTURES OF THE CHILDREN ON THE WALL.
[Facing page 260.

of trial.... But the boy is still so ill.... Suppose some complication sets
in.... Oh, God, what ghastly torture!... For the first time in my life I don’t
know what I ought to do; I’ve always felt inspired whenever I’ve had to
take a decision, and now I can’t think.... But God won’t allow the Czar’s
departure; it can’t, it must not be. I’m sure the thaw will begin to-
night....”[67]
Tatiana Nicolaïevna here intervened:
“But mother, if father has to go, whatever we say, something must be
decided....”
I took up the cudgels on Tatiana Nicolaïevna’s behalf, remarking that
Alexis Nicolaïevitch was better, and that we should take great care of
him....
Her Majesty was obviously tortured by indecision; she paced up and
down the room, and went on talking, rather to herself than to us. At last
she came up to me and said:
“Yes, that will be best; I’ll go with the Czar; I shall trust Alexis to
you....”
A moment later the Czar came in. The Czarina walked towards him,
saying:
“It’s settled; I’ll go with you, and Marie will come too.”
The Czar replied: “Very well, if you wish it.”
I came down to my room, and the whole day has been spent in getting
ready. Prince Dolgorouky and Doctor Botkin will accompany Their
Majesties, as also will Tchemadourof (the Czar’s valet), Anna Demidova
(the Czarina’s maid), and Sednief (footman to the Grand-Duchesses). It
has been decided that eight officers and men of our guard are to go with
them.
The family have spent the whole afternoon at the bedside of Alexis
Nicolaïevitch.
This evening at half-past ten we went up to take tea. The Czarina was
seated on the divan with two of her daughters beside her. Their faces were
swollen with crying. We all did our best to hide our grief and to maintain
outward calm. We felt that for one to give way would cause all to break
down. The Czar and Czarina were calm and collected. It is apparent that
they are prepared for any sacrifices, even of their lives, if God in his

inscrutable wisdom should require it for the country’s welfare. They have
never shown greater kindness or solicitude.
This splendid serenity of theirs, this wonderful faith, proved
infectious.
At half-past eleven the servants were assembled in the large hall. Their
Majesties and Marie Nicolaïevna took leave of them. The Czar embraced
every man, the Czarina every woman. Almost all were in tears. Their
Majesties withdrew; we all went down to my room.
At half-past three the conveyances drew up in the courtyard. They
were the horrible tarantass.[68] Only one was covered. We found a little
straw in the backyard and spread it on the floor of the carriages. We put a
mattress in the one to be used by the Czarina.
At four o’clock we went up to see Their Majesties and found them just
leaving Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s room. The Czar and Czarina and Marie
Nicolaïevna took leave of us. The Czarina and the Grand-Duchesses were
in tears. The Czar seemed calm and had a word of encouragement for
each of us; he embraced us. The Czarina, when saying good-bye, begged
me to stay upstairs with Alexis Nicolaïevitch. I went to the boy’s room
and found him in bed, crying.
A few minutes later we heard the rumbling of wheels. The Grand-
Duchesses passed their brother’s door on their way to their rooms, and I
could hear them sobbing....
Saturday, April 27th.—The man who drove the Czarina for the first
stage has brought a note from Marie Nicolaïevna; the roads are
founderous, travelling conditions terrible. How will the Czarina be able to
stand the journey? How heartrending it all is!
Sunday, April 28th.—Colonel Kobylinsky has received a telegram
saying that the whole party arrived safely at Tioumen at half-past nine on
Saturday evening.
The “field chapel” has been moved to the large hall, where the priest
will be able to celebrate Mass, as there is a consecrated altar.
In the evening a second telegram arrived, sent after leaving Tioumen:
“Travelling in comfort. How is the boy? God be with you.”
Monday, April 29th.—The children have received a letter from the
Czarina from Tioumen. The journey has been very trying. Horses up to
their chests in water crossing the rivers. Wheels broken several times.

Wednesday, May 1st.—Alexis Nicolaïevitch is up. Nagorny carried
him to his wheeled chair; he was wheeled about in the sun.
Thursday, May 2nd.—Still no news since they left Tioumen. Where
are they? They could have reached Moscow by Tuesday!
Friday, May 3rd.—Colonel Kobylinsky has received a telegram saying
that the travellers have been detained at Ekaterinburg. What has
happened?
Saturday, May 4th.—A sad Easter eve. We are in low spirits.
Sunday, May 5th.—Easter Day. Still no news.
Tuesday, May 7th.—At last the children have had a letter from
Ekaterinburg saying that all are well but not explaining why they are held
up. What agony can be read between the lines!
Wednesday, May 8th.—The officers and men of our guard who
accompanied Their Majesties have returned from Ekaterinburg. They say
that on arrival at Ekaterinburg the Czar’s train was surrounded by Red
Guards and that the Czar, Czarina, and Marie Nicolaïevna have been
incarcerated in Ipatief’s house.[69] Prince Dolgorouky is in prison, and
they themselves were only released after two days’ detention.
Saturday, May 11th.—Colonel Kobylinsky has been removed and we
are left to the Tobolsk Soviet.
Friday, May 17th.—The soldiers of our guard have been replaced by
Red Guards brought from Ekaterinburg by Commissary Rodionof, who
has come to fetch us. General Tatichtchef and I both feel we ought to

THE PRIEST CELEBRATING MASS IN THE DRAWING-ROOM OF THE GOVERNOR’S
HOUSE A FEW DAYS AFTER THE DEPARTURE OF THEIR MAJESTIES. MAY, 1918.

THE RIVER STEAMER “ROUSS,” ON WHICH THE CZAR AND HIS FAMILY WERE
CONVEYED FROM TIOUMEN TO TOBOLSK IN AUGUST, 1917, AND THE CHILDREN FROM
TOBOLSK TO TIOUMEN IN MAY, 1918.
[Facing page 264.

delay our departure as long as possible; but the Grand-Duchesses are so
eager to see their parents again that we don’t feel morally justified in
opposing their wishes.
Saturday, May 18th.—Vespers. The priest and nuns have been stripped
and searched by order of the commissary.
Sunday, May 19th (May 6th, O.S.).—The Czar’s birthday.... Our
departure is fixed for to-morrow. The commissary refuses to allow the
priest to come; he has forbidden the Grand-Duchesses to lock their doors
at night.
Monday, May 20th.—At half-past eleven we left the house and went
on board the Rouss. She is the boat which brought us here with the Czar
and Czarina eight months ago. Baroness Buxhœveden has been granted
permission to rejoin us. We left Tobolsk at five o’clock. Commissary
Rodionof has shut Alexis Nicolaïevitch in his cabin with Nagorny. We
protested: the child is ill and the doctor ought to have access to him at any
time.
Wednesday, May 22nd.—We reached Tioumen this morning.

CHAPTER XXI

EKATERINBURG
THE MURDER OF THE IMPERIAL FAMILY
DURING THE NIGHT OF JULY 16-17th, 1918

O N our arrival at Tioumen on May 22nd we were at once taken, under a
strong escort, to the special train that was to take us to Ekaterinburg.
Just as I was getting into the train with my pupil I was separated from
him and put in a fourth-class carriage, guarded by sentries like the others.
We reached Ekaterinburg in the night, the train being stopped at some
distance from the station.
About nine o’clock the next morning several carriages were drawn up
alongside our train, and I saw four men go towards the children’s carriage.
A few minutes passed and then Nagorny, the sailor attached to Alexis
Nicolaïevitch, passed my window, carrying the sick boy in his arms; behind
him came the Grand-Duchesses, loaded with valises and small personal
belongings. I tried to get out, but was roughly pushed back into the carriage
by the sentry.
I came back to the window. Tatiana Nicolaïevna came last, carrying her
little dog and struggling to drag a heavy brown valise. It was raining, and I
saw her feet sink into the mud at every step. Nagorny tried to come to her
assistance; he was roughly pushed back by one of the commissaries.... A few
minutes later the carriages drove off with the children in the direction of the
town.
How little I suspected that I was never to see them again, after so many
years among them! I was convinced that they would come back and fetch us
and that we should be united without delay.
But the hours passed. Our train was shunted back into the station, and
then I saw General Tatichtchef, Countess Hendrikof, and Mlle. Schneider
being taken away. A little later it was the turn of Volkof, the Czarina’s valet-
de-chambre, de Kharitonof, the chef, Troup, the footman, and little Leonide
Sednief, a kitchen boy of fourteen.

With the exception of Volkof, who managed to escape later, and little
Sednief, whose life was spared, not one of those who were led off that day
was destined to escape alive from the hands of the Bolsheviks.
We were still kept waiting. What was happening? Why didn’t they come
for us too? We gave ourselves up to all sorts of hypotheses, when, about five
o’clock, Commissary Rodionof, who had come to Tobolsk to fetch us,
entered our carriage and told us we were not wanted and were free.
Free! What was this? We were to be separated from the others? Then all
was over! The excitement that had sustained us up to now gave place to deep
depression. What was to be done? What was to be the next move? We were
overwhelmed.
Even to-day I cannot understand what prompted the Bolsheviks to this
decision to save our lives. Why, for instance, should Countess Hendrikof be
taken to prison while Baroness de Buxhœveden, also a lady-in-waiting to the
Czarina, was allowed to go free? Why they and not ourselves? Was there
confusion of names or functions? A mystery!
On the next and following days I and my colleague went to

IPATIEF’S HOUSE AT EKATERINBURG, IN WHICH THE IMPERIAL FAMILY WERE
INTERNED AND SUBSEQUENTLY MASSACRED.
Seen from the Vosnessensky Prospekt after the first fence had been erected.
[Facing page 270.

see the English and Swedish consuls[70]—the French consul was away; at all
costs something had to be done to help the prisoners. The two consuls
relieved our minds by telling us that proceedings had already been taken and
that they did not think there was any imminent danger.
I walked past Ipatief’s house, of which the tops of the windows could be
seen above the wall of boards that hemmed it in. I had not yet lost all hope of
effecting an entry, for Dr. Derevenko, who had been allowed to visit the boy,
had heard Dr. Botkin ask Commissary Avdief, the commandant of the guard,
on behalf of the Czar, that I should be allowed to rejoin them. Avdief had
replied that he would refer the matter to Moscow. Meanwhile, my
companions and I, except Dr. Derevenko, who had taken lodgings in the
town, camped in the fourth-class carriage which had brought us. We were
destined to remain there for more than a month!
On the twenty-sixth we were ordered to leave the territory of the Perm
Government—which includes Ekaterinburg—without delay and return to
Tobolsk. Care had been taken that we should only have one document
between us, to keep us together and so facilitate supervision. But the trains
were no longer running. The anti-Bolshevik movement of the Russian and
Czech volunteers[71] was spreading rapidly, and the line was exclusively
reserved for the military units that were being hurried to Tioumen. This
meant further delay.
One day when I was passing Ipatief’s house, accompanied by Dr.
Derevenko and Mr. Gibbes, we saw two carriages drawn up and surrounded
by a large number of Red Guards. What was our horror at recognising in the
first Sednief (the valet-de-chambre of the Grand-Duchesses) sitting between
two guards. Nagorny was going to the second carriage. He was just setting
foot on the step with his hand on the side of the carriage when, raising his
head, he saw us all there standing motionless a few yards from him. For a
few seconds he looked fixedly at us, then, without a single gesture that might
have betrayed us, he took his seat. The carriages were driven off, and we saw
them turn in the direction of the prison.
These two good fellows were shot shortly afterwards; their sole crime had
been their inability to hide their indignation on seeing the Bolshevik
commissaries seize the little gold chain from which the holy images hung
over the sick bed of Alexis Nicolaïevitch.
A few more days passed, and then I learned through Dr. Derevenko that
the request made on my behalf had been refused.

On June 3rd our carriage was coupled to one of the many trains loaded
with starving people from Russia coming to look for food in Siberia. We
made for Tioumen, where, after various wanderings, we finally arrived on
the fifteenth. A few hours later I was placed under arrest by Bolshevik
headquarters, where I had been forced to apply for a visa that was
indispensable to my companions and myself. It was only by a lucky
combination of circumstances that I came to be released in the evening and
was able to get back to the railway carriage, in

YOUROVSKY, FROM A PHOTOGRAPH PRODUCED AT THE ENQUIRY.

THE GRAND-DUCHESSES’ ROOM AS I SAW IT ON ENTERING IPATIEF’S HOUSE. ON THE
FLOOR ARE THE ASHES FROM THE STOVES.
[Facing page 272.

which they were waiting for me. The following days were days of
indescribable anxiety, at the mercy of any chance that might call attention to
us. Probably what saved us was that we were lost in the crowd of refugees
who filled Tioumen station, and so managed to pass unnoticed.

On July 20th the Whites, as the anti-Bolshevik troops were called,
captured Tioumen and saved us from the fanatics who had so nearly claimed
us as victims. A few days later the papers published a reproduction of the
proclamation that had been placarded in the streets of Ekaterinburg,
announcing that the sentence of death passed on the ex-Czar Nicholas
Romanoff had been carried out on the night of July 16th-17th and that the
Czarina and her children had been removed to a place of safety.

At last, on July 25th, Ekaterinburg fell in its turn. Hardly was
communication re-established—which took a long time as the permanent
way had suffered severely—when Mr. Gibbes and I hastened to the town to
search for the Imperial family and those of our companions who had
remained at Ekaterinburg.
Two days after my arrival I made my first entry into Ipatief’s house. I
went through the first-floor rooms, which had served as the prison; they
were in an indescribable state of disorder. It was evident that every effort had
been made to get rid of any traces of the recent occupants. Heaps of ashes
had been raked out of the stoves. Among them were a quantity of small
articles, half burnt, such as tooth-brushes, hairpins, buttons, etc., in the midst
of which I found the end of a hair-brush on the browned ivory of which
could still be seen the initials of the Czarina, A. F. (Alexandra-Feodorovna.).
If it was true that the prisoners had been sent away, they must have been
removed just as they were, without any of the most essential articles of
toilet.
I then noticed on the wall in the embrasure of one of the windows of
Their Majesties’ room the Empress’s favourite charm, the swastika,[72]
which she had put up everywhere to ward off ill-luck. She had drawn it in
pencil, and added, underneath, the date, 17/30 April, the day of their
incarceration in the house. The same symbol, but without the date, was
drawn on the wallpaper, on a level with the bed, occupied doubtless by her
or Alexis Nicolaïevitch. But my search was to no purpose, I could not find
the slightest clue to their fate.
I went down to the bottom floor, the greater part of which was below the
level of the ground. It was with intense emotion that I entered the room in
which perhaps—I was still in doubt—they had met their death. Its
appearance was sinister beyond expression. The only light filtered through a
barred window at the height of a man’s head. The walls and floor showed
numerous traces of bullets and bayonet scars. The first glance showed that
an odious crime had been perpetrated there and that several people had been
done to death. But who? How?
I became convinced that the Czar had perished and, granting that, I could
not believe that the Czarina had survived him. At Tobolsk, when
Commissary Yakovlef had come to take away the Czar, I had seen her throw
herself in where the danger seemed to her greatest. I had seen her, broken-
hearted after hours of mental torture, torn desperately between her feelings

as a wife and a mother, abandon her sick boy to follow the husband whose
life seemed in danger. Yes, it was possible they might have died together, the
victims of these brutes. But the children? They too massacred? I could not
believe it. My whole being revolted at the idea. And yet everything proved
that there had been many victims. Well, then?...
During the following days I continued my investigations in Ekaterinburg
and its suburbs—the monastery, everywhere I could hope to find the
slightest clue. I saw Father Storojef, who had been the last to conduct
religious service in Ipatief’s house, on Sunday, the 14th, two days before the
night of terror. He too, alas, had very little hope.
The enquiry proceeded very slowly. It was begun in extremely difficult
circumstances, for, between July 17th and 25th the Bolshevik commissaries
had had time to efface nearly every trace of their crime. Immediately after
the taking of Ekaterinburg by the Whites, the military authorities had
surrounded the house with a guard and a judicial enquiry had been opened,
but the threads had been so skilfully entangled that it was very difficult to
sort them out.
The most important deposition was that of some peasants from the village
of Koptiaki, twenty versts north-west of Ekaterinburg. They came to give
evidence that on the night of July 16th-17th the Bolsheviks had occupied a
clearing in a forest near their village, where they had remained several days.
They brought with them objects which they had found near the shaft of an
abandoned mine, not far from which could be seen traces of a large fire.
Some officers visited the clearing and found other objects, which, like the
first, were recognised as having belonged to the Imperial family.
The enquiry had been entrusted to Ivan Alexandrovitch Serguéief, a
member of the Ekaterinburg tribunal. It followed a normal course, but the
difficulties were very great. Serguéief was more and more inclined to admit
the death of all the members of the family. But the bodies could still not be
found, and the depositions of a certain number of witnesses supported the
hypothesis that the Czarina and the children had been removed to another
place. These depositions—as was subsequently established—emanated from
Bolshevik agents deliberately left in Ekaterinburg to mislead the enquiry.
Their end was partially attained, for Serguéief lost precious time and was
long in realising that he was on the wrong track.
The weeks passed without bringing any new information. I then decided
to return to Tioumen, the cost of living at Ekaterinburg being very high.

Before starting, however, I obtained from Serguéief a promise that he would
recall me if any new fact of importance came to light in the course of the
enquiry.
At the end of January, 1919, I received a telegram from General Janin,
whom I had known at Mohilef when he was chief of the French Military
Mission at Russian G.H.Q. He invited me to join him at Omsk. Some days
later I left Tioumen, and on February 13th arrived at the Military Mission
sent by France to the Omsk Government.[73]
Admiral Koltchak, realising the historic importance of the enquiry into
the disappearance of the Imperial family, and wishing to know the result, had
in January charged General Ditériks to bring him from Ekaterinburg a copy
of the evidence and all the clues that had been found. On February 5th he
summoned Nicholas Alexiévitch Sokolof, “Examining

IPATIEF’S HOUSE, FROM THE VOSNESSENSKY STREET.
On the ground floor, the window between two trees is that of the room in which the murders took
place. Above it is the window of the Grand-Duchesses’ room. The four windows in pairs at the
angle of the upper floor are those of the room occupied by the Czar, the Czarina, and the
Czarevitch.

THE CZARINA’S FAVOURITE LUCKY CHARM, THE “SWASTIKA,” WHICH SHE DREW IN
THE EMBRASURE OF ONE OF THE WINDOWS IN HER ROOM AT EKATERINBURG,
ADDING THE DATE, 17/30 APRIL, 1918.
On the left, photograph of the inscription under glass with four seals. On the right, the inscription.
[Facing page 276.

Magistrate,”[74] for business of particular importance, and invited him to
conduct the enquiry. Two days later the Minister of Justice appointed him to
carry on Serguéief s work.
It was at this juncture that I made the acquaintance of M. Sokolof. At our
first interview I realised that his mind was made up and that he had no
further hope. I could not believe such horrors. “But the children—the
children?” I cried to him. “The children have suffered the same fate as their
parents. There is not a shadow of doubt in my mind on that point.” “But the
bodies?” “The clearing must be searched; that is where we shall find the key
to the mystery, for the Bolsheviks cannot have spent three days and nights
here simply to burn a few clothes.”
Alas! these conclusions were soon to be borne out by the deposition of
one of the principal murderers, Paul Medvedief, who had just been taken
prisoner at Perm. As Sokolof was at Omsk it was Serguéief who interrogated
him on February 25th at Ekaterinburg. He admitted formally that the Czar,
Czarina and the five children, Dr. Botkin, and the three servants had been
killed in the basement of Ipatief’s house during the night of July 16th-17th.
He could not, however, or would not, give any hint as to what had been done
with the bodies after the murder.

I worked for several days with M. Sokolof; then he left for Ekaterinburg
to continue the enquiry opened by Serguéief.
In April, General Ditériks, who was returning from Vladivostok—where
he had been sent by Admiral Koltchak on a special mission—came to join
him and assist his efforts. Thenceforward the enquiry made rapid progress.
Hundreds of persons were interrogated, and, as soon as the snow had gone,
work was begun on a large scale in the clearing in which the Koptiaki
peasants had found articles belonging to the Imperial family. The mine-shaft
was emptied and thoroughly examined. The ashes and soil of part of the
clearing were passed through sieves, and the whole of the surrounding area
carefully examined. They succeeded in determining the site of two large
fires and, more vaguely, the traces of a third. This methodical research soon
brought discoveries of extreme importance.
Devoting himself wholeheartedly to the work he had undertaken, and
displaying untiring patience and diligence, M. Sokolof was able in a few
months to reconstruct every circumstance of the crime with remarkable
accuracy.

CHAPTER XXII

THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE CRIME ESTABLISHED BY THE
ENQUIRY

I N the following pages I shall describe the circumstances of the murder of
the Imperial family as they appear from the depositions of the witnesses
and evidence examined by the enquiry. From the six thick manuscript
volumes in which it is contained I have extracted the essential facts of this
drama about which, alas! there can be no longer any doubt. The impression
left by reading these documents is that of a ghastly nightmare, but I do not
feel justified in dwelling on the horror.
About the middle of May, 1918, Yankel Sverdlof, President of the Central
Executive Committee at Moscow, yielding to the pressure of Germany,[75]
sent Commissary Yakovlef to Tobolsk to arrange for the transfer of the
Imperial family. He had received orders to take them to Moscow or
Petrograd. In carrying out his mission he met with resistance which he did
his best to overcome, as the enquiry has established. This resistance had
been organised by the divisional government of the Ural, whose
headquarters were at Ekaterinburg. It was they who, unknown to Yakovlef,
prepared the trap which enabled them to seize the Emperor en route. But it
appears to have been established that this plan had been secretly approved by
Moscow. It is more than probable, indeed, that Sverdlof was playing a
double game, and that, while pretending to accede to the pressure of General
Baron von Mirbach in Moscow, he had arranged with the Ekaterinburg
commissaries not to let the Czar escape. However this may be, the
installation of the Czar at Ekaterinburg was carried out on the spur of the
moment. In two days the merchant Ipatief was evicted from his house and
the construction of a strong wooden fencing rising to the level of the second-
floor windows begun.
To this place the Czar, Czarina, Grand-Duchess Marie Nicolaïevna, Dr.
Botkin, and three servants accompanying them were brought on April 30th.

Also Anna Demidova, the Czarina’s maid, Tchemadourof, the Czar’s valet,
and Sednief, the Grand-Duchesses’ footman.
At first the guard was formed by soldiers picked at random and
frequently changed. Later it consisted exclusively of workmen from the
Sissert workshops and the factory of Zlokazof Brothers. They were under the
command of Commissary Avdief, commandant of the “house destined for a
special purpose,” as Ipatief’s house was named.
The conditions of the imprisonment were much more severe than at
Tobolsk. Avdief was an inveterate drunkard, who gave rein to his coarse
instincts, and, with the assistance of his subordinates, showed great
ingenuity in daily inflicting fresh humiliations upon those in his charge.
There was no alternative but to accept the privations, submit to the
vexations, yield to the exactions and caprices of these low, vulgar
scoundrels.
On their arrival in Ekaterinburg on May 23rd, the Czarevitch and his
three sisters were at once taken to Ipatief’s house,

THE ROOM ON THE GROUND FLOOR OF IPATIEF’S HOUSE IN WHICH THE IMPERIAL
FAMILY AND THEIR COMPANIONS WERE PUT TO DEATH.
[Facing page 282.

where their parents were awaiting them. After the agony of separation this
reunion was a tremendous joy, in spite of the sadness of the present and the

uncertainty of the future.
A few hours later Kharitonof (the chef), old Troup (footman), and little
Leonide Sednief (scullery-boy) were also brought. General Tatichtchef,
Countess Hendrikof, Mlle. Schneider, and Volkof, the Czarina’s valet-de-
chambre, had been taken direct to the prison.
On the twenty-fourth, Tchemadourof, who had been taken ill, was
transferred to the prison hospital; there he was forgotten, and so,
miraculously, escaped death. A few days later Nagorny and Sednief were
also removed. The number of those who had been left with the prisoners
decreased rapidly. Fortunately Dr. Botkin, whose devotion was splendid, was
left, and also a few servants whose faithfulness was proof against anything:
Anna Demidova, Kharitonof, Troup, and little Leonide Sednief. During these
days of suffering the presence of Dr. Botkin was a great comfort to the
prisoners; he did all he could for them, acted as intermediary between them
and the commissaries, and did his best to protect them against the coarse
insults of their guards.
The Czar, Czarina, and Czarevitch occupied the room in the angle formed
by the square and Vosnessensky Lane; the four Grand-Duchesses the
adjoining room, the door of which had been removed; at first, as there was
no bed, they slept on the floor. Dr. Botkin slept in the drawing-room and the
Czarina’s maid in the room in the angle of Vosnessensky Lane and the
garden. The other prisoners were installed in the kitchen and adjacent hall.
Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s ill-health had been aggravated by the fatigue of the
journey; he spent the greater part of the day lying down, and when they went
out to take the air it was the Czar who carried him as far as the garden.
The family and servants took their meals with the commissaries, who
occupied the same floor as themselves, and so lived in constant proximity
with these coarse men, who more often than not were drunk.
The house had been surrounded by a second fence of boards; it had been
turned into a veritable prison fortress. There were sentries stationed outside
and within, machineguns in the building and garden. The room of the
Commissary Commandant—the first on entering the house—was occupied
by Commissary Avdief, his adjutant Mochkine, and some workmen. The rest
of the guard lived in the basement, but the men often came upstairs and
strolled into the rooms of the Imperial family as they liked. The courage of
the prisoners was, however, sustained in a remarkable way by religion. They

had kept that wonderful faith which at Tobolsk had been the admiration of
their entourage and which had given them such strength, such serenity in
suffering. They were already almost entirely detached from this world. The
Czarina and Grand-Duchesses could often be heard singing religious airs,
which affected their guards in spite of themselves.
Gradually these guards were humanised by contact with their prisoners.
They were astonished at their simplicity, attracted by their gentleness,
subdued by their serene dignity, and soon found themselves dominated by
those whom they thought they held in their power. The drunken Avdief
found himself disarmed by such greatness of soul; he grew conscious of his
own infamy. The early ferocity of these men was succeeded by profound
pity.
The Soviet authorities in Ekaterinburg comprised:
(a) The Divisional Council of the Urals, consisting of about thirty
members under the presidency of Commissary Bieloborodof.
(b) The Presidium, a sort of executive committee of several members:
Bieloborodof, Golochtchokine, Syromolotof, Safarof, Voïkof, etc.
(c) The Tchrezvytchaïka. The popular title of the “Extraordinary
Commission for Combating Counter-Revolution and Speculation,” with its
centre at Moscow and branches throughout Russia. This is a formidable
organisation which is the very foundation of the Soviet régime. Each section
receives its orders direct from Moscow and carries them out through its own
resources. Every Tchrezvytchaïka of any importance commands the services
of a band of nondescript agents, generally Austro-German prisoners of war,
Letts, Chinese, etc., who are in reality nothing more than highly-paid
executioners.
In Ekaterinburg the Tchrezvytchaïka was all-powerful. Its most influential
members were Commissaries Yourovsky, Golochtchokine, etc.

Avdief was under the immediate control of the other commissaries,
members of the Presidium and Tchrezvytchaïka. They were not long in
realising the change which had come about in the feelings of the guards
towards their prisoners, and resolved to adopt drastic measures. At Moscow,
too, there was uneasiness, as was proved by the following telegram sent
from Ekaterinburg by Bieloborodof to Sverdlof and Golochtchokine (who
was then at Moscow): “Syromolotof just left for Moscow to organise

according to instructions from centre. Anxiety unnecessary. Useless to
worry. Avdief revoked. Mochkine arrested. Avdief replaced by Yourovsky.
Inside guard changed, replaced by others.”
This telegram is dated July 4th.
On this day Avdief and his adjutant Mochkine were arrested and replaced
by Commissary Yourovsky, a Jew, and his subordinate Nikouline. The guard
formed—as has already been mentioned—exclusively of Russian workmen,
was transferred to a neighbouring house, that of Popof.
Yourovsky brought with him ten men—nearly all Austro-German
prisoners of war—“selected” from among the executioners of the
Tchrezvytchaïka. Henceforward these formed the inside guard, the outside
sentries being still furnished by the Russian guard.
The “house destined for a special purpose” had become a branch of the
Tchrezvytchaïka, and the lives of the prisoners became one long martyrdom.

At this time the death of the Imperial family had already been decided
upon in Moscow. The telegram quoted above proves this. Syromolotof left
for Moscow “to organise according to instructions from centre”; he was to
return with Golochtchokine, bringing instructions and directions from
Sverdlof. Meanwhile Yourovsky made his arrangements. On several days in
succession he went out on horseback. He was seen wandering about the
neighbourhood looking for a place suitable for his plans, in which he could
dispose of the bodies of his victims. And this same man, with inconceivable
cynicism, on his return visited the bedside of the Czarevitch!
Several days pass; Golochtchokine and Syromolotof have come back. All
is ready.

MINE-SHAFT WHERE THE ASHES WERE THROWN.

THE SEARCH IN THE MINE-SHAFT.

[Facing page 286.

On Sunday, July 14th, Yourovsky summons a priest, Father Storojef, and
authorises a religious service. The prisoners are already condemned to death
and must not be refused the succour of religion.
The next day he gives orders for the removal of little Leonide Sednief to
Popof’s house, where the Russian guard are quartered.
On the sixteenth, about 7 p.m., he orders Paul Medvedief, in whom he
has every confidence—Medvedief was in control of the Russian workmen
—to bring him the twelve Nagan revolvers with which the Russian guard
are armed. When this order has been carried out he tells him that all the
Imperial family will be put to death that same night, directing him to inform
the Russian guard later. Medvedief informs them about 10 p.m.
Shortly after midnight, Yourovsky enters the rooms occupied by the
members of the Imperial family, wakes them up, together with their
entourage, and tells them to get ready to follow him. The pretext he alleges
is that they are to be taken away, that there are disturbances in the town, and
meanwhile they will be safer on the floor below.
Everyone is soon ready. They take a few small belongings and some
cushions and then go down by the inner staircase leading to the court from
which they enter the ground-floor rooms. Yourovsky goes in front with
Nikouline, followed by the Czar, carrying Alexis Nicolaïevitch, the Czarina,
the Grand-Duchesses, Dr. Botkin, Anna Demidova, Kharitonof, and Troup.
The prisoners remain in the room indicated by Yourovsky. They are
persuaded that the carriages or cars which are to take them away are being
fetched, and as the wait may be long they ask for chairs. Three are brought.
The Czarevitch, who cannot stand because of his leg, sits down in the
middle of the room. The Czar takes his place on his left, Dr. Botkin
standing on his right a little to the rear. The Czarina sits down near the wall
(to the right of the door by which they entered), not far from the window. A
cushion has been placed on her chair and that of Alexis Nicolaïevitch.
Behind her she has one of her daughters, probably Tatiana. In the corner on
the same side Anna Demidova—still holding two cushions in her arms. The
three other Grand-Duchesses are standing with their backs to the wall
furthest from the door, and in the corner to their right are Kharitonof and
old Troup.

The wait is prolonged. Suddenly Yourovsky re-enters the room with
seven Austro-Germans and two of his friends, Commissaries Ermakof and
Vaganof, accredited executioners of the Tchrezvytchaïka. Medvedief is also
present. Yourovsky comes forward and says to the Czar: “Your men have
tried to save you but haven’t succeeded, and we are forced to put you to
death.” He immediately raises his revolver and fires point-blank at the Czar,
who falls dead. This is the signal for a general discharge of revolvers. Each
of the murderers has chosen his victim. Yourovsky has reserved for himself
the Czar and Czarevitch. For most of the prisoners death is instantaneous.
But Alexis Nicolaïevitch is moaning feebly. Yourovsky finishes him off
with a shot from his revolver. Anastasie Nicolaïevna is only wounded, and
begins to scream as the murderers approach; she is killed by their bayonets.
Anna Demidova, too, has been spared, thanks to the cushions which she
holds in front of her. She rushes about, and finally falls under the bayonets
of the assassins.
The depositions of the witnesses have made it possible for the enquiry to
reconstruct the ghastly scene of the massacre in all its details. These
witnesses are Paul Medvedief,[76] one of the murderers; Anatole Yakimof,
who was certainly present at the drama, although he denies it, and Philip
Proskouriakof, who describes the crime from the story of other spectators.
All three were members of the guard at Ipatief’s house.

When all is over, the commissaries remove from the victims their jewels,
and the bodies are carried, with the help of sheets and the shafts of a sledge,
to a motor-wagon which is waiting at the courtyard door, between the two
wooden fences.
They have to hurry for fear of the dawn. The funeral procession crosses
the still-sleeping town and makes for the forest. Commissary Vaganof rides
ahead, as a chance encounter must be avoided. Just as they are approaching
the clearing for which they are making, he sees a wagon driven by peasants
coming towards him. It is a woman of the village of Koptiaki, who set out
in the night with her son and daughter-in-law to sell fish in the town. He
orders them to turn round and go home. To make doubly sure he goes with
them, galloping alongside the cart, and forbids them under pain of death to
turn round or look behind them. But the peasant woman has had time to
catch a glimpse of the great dark object coming up behind the horseman.

When she gets back to the village she tells what she has seen. The puzzled
peasants start out to reconnoitre, and run into a cordon of sentries stationed
in the forest.
However, after great difficulties, for the roads are very bad, the motor-
wagon reaches the clearing. The bodies are placed on the ground and partly
undressed. It is then that-the commissaries discover a quantity of jewellery
that the Grand-Duchesses carry concealed under their clothes. They at once
seize them, but, in their haste, let a few fall on the ground, where they are
trodden into the soil. The bodies are then cut in pieces and placed on great
bonfires, which are made to burn more fiercely by the application of
benzine. The parts which resist the flames are destroyed with sulphuric
acid. For three days and three nights the murderers toil at their labour of
destruction under the direction of Yourovsky and his two friends Ermakof
and Vaganof. One hundred and seventy-five kilogrammes of sulphuric acid
and more than 300 litres of benzine are brought to the clearing.
At last, on July 20th, all is finished. The murderers efface all traces of
the fires, and the ashes are thrown into a mine-shaft or scattered about the
neighbourhood of the clearing, so that nothing may reveal what has taken
place.
. . . . . .
Why did these men take so much trouble to efface all traces of their
deed? Why, since they professed to be acting as the servants of justice, did
they hide like criminals? And from whom were they hiding?
It is Paul Medvedief who explains this in his evidence. After the crime
Yourovsky came up to him and said, “Keep the outside sentries at their
posts in case there is trouble with the people!” And during the following
days the sentries continued to mount guard round the empty house as if
nothing had happened, as if the fences still shut in the prisoners.

M. SOKOLOFF EXAMINING THE ASHES OF THE FIRE NEAREST TO THE MINE-SHAFT.

M. SOKOLOFF EXAMINING THE TRACES OF ONE OF THE FIRES AT THE FOOT OF AN
OLD PINE.

[Facing page 290.

Those who must be deceived, must not know, are the Russian people.
Another fact proves this: the precaution taken on July 4th of sending
away Avdief and the Russian guard. The commissaries no longer had
confidence in these workmen from the Sissert workshops and the factory of
Zlokazof, who had, however, rallied to their cause and enlisted voluntarily
to guard “bloody Nicholas.” They knew that none but paid assassins,
convicts, or foreigners would consent to carry through the infamous task
they were proposing. These assassins were Yourovsky (a Jew), Medvedief,
Nikouline, Ermakof, Vaganof, Russian convicts, and seven Austro-
Germans.
Yes, it was from the Russian people that they were hiding, the men
whose agents they professed to be. It was of them they were afraid; of their
vengeance.

At last, on July 20th, they decided to speak and announce the death of
the Emperor to the people in a proclamation published in the following
form:
DECISION
of the Presidium of the Divisional Council of Deputies of Workmen,
Peasants, and Red Guards of the Urals:
In view of the fact that Czecho-Slovakian bands are threatening the
Red capital of the Urals, Ekaterinburg; that the crowned executioner may
escape from the tribunal of the people (a White Guard plot to carry off
the whole Imperial family has just been discovered), the Presidium of
the Divisional Committee, in pursuance of the will of the people, has
decided that the ex-Czar Nicholas Romanoff, guilty before the people of
innumerable bloody crimes, shall be shot.
The decision of the Presidium of the Divisional Council was carried
into execution on the night of July 16th-17th.
Romanoff’s family has been transferred from Ekaterinburg to a place
of greater safety.
The Presidium of the Divisional Council
of Deputies of Workmen, Peasants, and

Red Guards of the Urals.
DECISION
of the Presidium of the Central Executive Committee of All the
Russias of July 18th, a.c.
The Central Executive Committee of the Councils of Deputies of
Workmen, Peasants, Red Guards, and Cossacks, in the person of their
president, approve the action of the Presidium of the Council of the
Urals.
The President of the Central Executive Committee,
Y. Sverdlof.
In this document mention is made of the sentence of death passed, it is
alleged, by the Presidium of Ekaterinburg, on the Czar Nicholas II. A lie!
The crime, we know, was decided on in Moscow by Sverdlof, his
instructions being brought to Yourovsky by Golochtchokine and
Syromolotof.
Sverdlof was the head and Yourovsky the arm; both were Jews.
The Czar was neither condemned nor even judged—and by whom could
he have been?—he was assassinated. And what of the Czarina, the children,
Dr. Botkin, and the three servants who died with them? But what does it
matter to the murderers? They are sure of impunity; the bullet killed, the
flame destroyed, and the earth covered what the fire could not devour. Oh,
they are very easy in their minds; no one will talk, for they are united by
infamy. And it seems to be with reason that Commissary Voïkof can
exclaim, “The world will never know what we have done with them!”

These men were mistaken.
After months of groping, the enquiry commission undertook methodical
investigation in the forest. Every inch of ground was searched, scrutinised,
examined, and soon the mine-shaft, the soil of the clearing, and the grass of
the vicinity revealed their secret. Hundreds of articles and fragments, for the
most part trodden into the ground, were discovered, identified, and
classified by the court of enquiry. Amongst other things, they found in this
way:

The buckle of the Czar’s belt, a fragment of his cap, the little portable
frame containing the portrait of the Czarina—the photograph had
disappeared—which the Czar always carried about him, etc.
The Czarina’s favourite ear-rings (one broken), pieces of her dress, the
glass of her spectacles, recognisable by its special shape, etc.
The buckle of the Czarevitch’s belt, some buttons, and pieces of his
cloak, etc.
A number of small articles belonging to the Grand-Duchesses: fragments
of necklaces, shoes, buttons, hooks, press-buttons, etc.
Six metal corset busks. “Six”—a number which speaks for itself when
the number of the female victims is remembered: the Czarina, the four
Grand-Duchesses, and A. Demidova, the Czarina’s maid.
Dr. Botkin’s false teeth, fragments of his eyeglasses, buttons from his
clothes, etc.
Finally charred bones and fragments of bones, partly destroyed by acid
and occasionally bearing the mark of a sharp instrument or saw; revolver
bullets—doubtless those which had remained embedded in the bodies—and
a fairly large quantity of melted lead.
A pathetic list of relics, leaving, alas! no hope, and showing up the truth
in all its brutality and horror. Commissary Voïkof was mistaken: the world
now knows what they did with them.

Meanwhile the murderers were growing uneasy. The agents they had left
at Ekaterinburg to set the enquiry on false trails kept them in touch with its
progress. This they followed step by step. And when they understood finally
that the truth was about to be revealed, that the whole world would soon
know what had happened, they became afraid, and tried to throw on to
others the responsibility for their crime. It was then that they accused the
socialist-revolutionaries of being the authors of the crime and of having
tried this means of compromising the Bolshevik party. In September, 1919,
twenty-eight persons were arrested by them at Perm, falsely accused of
having participated in the murder of the Imperial family, and tried. Five of
them were condemned to death and executed.
This odious farce forms one more illustration of the cynicism of these
men who did not hesitate to send innocent people to

DR. BOTKIN, WHO WAS KILLED WITH THE IMPERIAL FAMILY.

GROUP TAKEN AT TOBOLSK, WHEN WE WERE COMPELLED TO BE PHOTOGRAPHED.
Left to right, in front: Mlle. Schneider and Countess Hendrikof (shot at Perm). Behind: General
Tatichtchef (shot at Ekaterinburg), the author, Prince Dolgorouky (shot at Ekaterinburg).
[Facing page 294.

their death rather than incur the responsibility for one of the greatest crimes
of history.
. . . . . .
It remains to mention the tragedy of Alapaevsk, which is closely
connected with that of Ekaterinburg, and caused the death of several other
members of the Imperial family.
The Grand-Duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna, sister of the Czarina, the
Grand-Duke Sergius Michaïlovitch, cousin of the Czar, Princes Jean,
Constantin, and Igor, sons of the Grand-Duke Constantin, and Prince Palée,
son of the Grand-Duke Paul, had been arrested in the spring of 1918 and

taken to the little town of Alapaevsk, situated 150 versts north of
Ekaterinburg. A nun, Barbe Yakovlef, the Grand-Duchess’s companion, and
S. Remes, secretary of the Grand-Duke Sergius, shared their captivity. Their
prison was the school-house.
In the night of July 17th-18th, twenty-four hours after the Ekaterinburg
crime, they were fetched and, under pretext of being removed to another
town, were driven about twelve versts from Alapaevsk. There, in a forest,
they were put to death. Their bodies were thrown into the shaft of an
abandoned mine, where they were found, in October, 1918, covered with
the earth thrown up by the explosion of hand-grenades by which the
sufferings of the victims had been terminated.
The autopsy revealed traces of death by shooting only on the body of the
Grand-Duke Sergius, and the enquiry has failed to establish exactly how his
companions were killed. It is probable that they were beaten down with
rifle-butts.
This crime of unexampled brutality was the work of Commissary
Safarof, member of the Ekaterinburg Presidium, who, however, was acting
entirely on the orders of Moscow.

Some days after the capture of Ekaterinburg, when order was being
restored in the town and the dead buried, two bodies were found not far
from the prison. On one of them was found a receipt for 80,000 roubles
made out to Citizen Dolgorouky, and, according to the descriptions of
witnesses, it seems certain that this was the body of Prince Dolgorouky.
There is every reason to believe that the other was the body of General
Tatichtchef.
Both died, as they had expected, for their Czar. General Tatichtchef said
to me one day at Tobolsk: “I know I shan’t come out alive. I only ask one
thing, not to be separated from the Czar and to be allowed to die with him.”
Even this supreme consolation was denied him.
Countess Hendrikof and Mlle. Schneider were removed from
Ekaterinburg a few days after the murder of the Imperial family and taken
to Perm. There they were shot in the night of September 3rd-4th, 1918.
Their bodies were found and identified in May, 1919.
As for Nagorny, Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s sailor, and the footman, Ivan
Sednief, they were put to death in the neighbourhood of Ekaterinburg in the

beginning of June, 1918. Their bodies were found two months later at the
place of execution.
All, from General to seaman, did not hesitate to sacrifice their lives and
go bravely to meet death. This seaman, however, a humble peasant from the
Ukraine, had only to say one word to be saved. He had only to deny his
Czar. This word remained unspoken.
For a long time, with simple and sincere faith, they had devoted their
lives to those they loved, who had been able to inspire those who
surrounded them with so much affection, courage, and self-sacrifice.

EPILOGUE

T HE summer of 1919 was marked by the great reverses which were to
bring, a few months later, the downfall of Admiral Koltchak’s
government. The Bolshevik troops had retaken Perm and were
threatening Ekaterinburg. The work undertaken in the clearing at Koptiaki
had to be abandoned before its completion. On July 12th, N. Sokolof, heart-
broken, decided to leave for Omsk. There he spent the month of August,
and then, seeing that the situation was growing still worse, he went on to
Tchita, whilst I remained at Omsk.
A few weeks after his departure, two Russian officers came to the French
Military Mission and asked to speak to me. They told me that General D
—— had an important communication to make to me, and begged me to be
so kind as to go and see him. We got into the car which was waiting, and a
few moments later I found myself in his presence.
General D—— informed me that he wanted to show me a boy who
claimed to be the Czarevitch. I knew in fact that a rumour was spreading in
Omsk that the Czarevitch was still alive. He was announced to be in a small
town of Altaï. I had been told that the inhabitants had greeted him with
enthusiasm, the schoolchildren had made a collection on his behalf, and the
governor of the station had offered him, on his knees, bread and salt. In
addition, Admiral Koltchak had received a telegram asking him to come to
the assistance of the pretended Czarevitch. I had paid no attention to these
stories.
Fearing that these circumstances might give rise to difficulties, the
Admiral had had the “Pretender” brought to Omsk; and General D—— had
called for me, thinking that my evidence would settle the difficulty and put
a stop to the legend that was beginning to grow up.
The door of the next room was opened a little, and I was able to observe,
unknown to him, a boy, taller and stronger than the Czarevitch, who seemed
to me fifteen or sixteen years old. His sailor’s costume, the colour of his
hair, and the way it was arranged were vaguely reminiscent of Alexis
Nicolaïevitch. There the resemblance ended.
I told General D—— the result of my observations. The boy was
introduced to me. I put several questions to him in French: he remained

dumb. When a reply was insisted upon he said that he understood
everything I had said but had his own reasons for only speaking Russian. I
then addressed him in that language. This, too, brought no results. He said
he had decided to answer no one but Admiral Koltchak himself. So our
interview ended.[77]
Chance had brought across my path the first of the countless pretenders
who doubtless for many years to come will be a source of trouble and
agitation among the ignorant and credulous masses of the Russian
peasantry.

In March, 1920, I rejoined General Ditériks and N. Sokolof at Kharbine,
whither they had drifted, like myself, after the collapse of Admiral
Koltchak’s government. They were in a state of great agitation, for the
situation in Manchuria was growing daily more precarious, and it was
expected that at any moment the Chinese eastern railway might fall into the
hands of the Reds. Bolshevik spies were already beginning to swarm over
the station and its surroundings. What was to be done with the documents of
the enquiry? Where could they be put in safety? General Ditériks and N.
Sokolof had appealed to the British High Commissioner before his
departure for Pekin, asking him to take to Europe the relics of the Imperial
family and the evidence of the enquiry. He had asked for instructions from
his Government. The reply was a long time coming. It came at last.... It was
in the negative!
I then appealed personally to General Janin, informing him of the
situation.[78]
“I am quite ready to help you,” he told me. “I can do it on my own
responsibility, as there is not time to refer the matter to my Government.
But it shall not be said that a French General refused the relics of one who
was the faithful ally of France. Ask General Ditériks to furnish me with a
written request expressing his certainty of my consent; I should consider
doubt as a reflection on me.”
The letter was sent, and General Ditériks came to an understanding with
General Janin as to the arrangements for transmitting the precious objects to
the person named by him in Europe.
Two days later, General Ditériks, his two orderly officers, N. Sokolof,
and myself took on our shoulders the heavy valises prepared beforehand

and carried them to General Janin’s train, which was standing a short
distance from the station. In single file we were approaching the platform
when those in the rear suddenly saw several figures start up out of the
shadows and accost us, shouting: “Where are you going? What have you
got in those bags?” As we hurried on without reply they made as if to stop
us and ordered us to open our valises. The distance that remained was
fortunately not very great; we dashed forward at full speed, and a moment
later reached the General’s carriage, the sentries having already run up to
meet us.
At last all the evidence was in safety. It was time, for, as had just been
proved, we were marked down. An hour later we slipped out of the train
one after the other and made our way unobserved between the carriages of
others standing near.
On the next day General Ditériks brought General Janin the box
containing the relics of the Imperial family.
This happened on March 19th, 1920.
. . . . . .
There was nothing now to keep me in Siberia. I felt that I had fulfilled
the last duty towards those to whom I was attached by such poignant
memories. More than two years had passed since I had been separated from
them at Ekaterinburg.
Ekaterinburg! As I was leaving Russia, with what emotion I lived again,
down to the least details, the painful scenes which this name called up in
my mind! Ekaterinburg to me meant the despair of feeling my every effort
vain; cruel and brutal separation; for them it was to be the last stage of their
long Calvary, two months of suffering to be endured before the supreme
deliverance.
It was the period when Germany was determined to triumph at any price
and believed that victory was at last within her grasp; and while William
fraternised with Lenin, his armies were making one more thrust at Paris.
In this total collapse of Russia there were still two points of resistance; in
this abysmal night two fires remained where the flame of faith still burned
bright. There was, on the one hand, General Alexeief’s gallant little army of
volunteers, struggling desperately against the Soviet regiments stiffened by
German officers. On the other, behind the wooden enclosures which
imprisoned him, the Czar, too, was leading his last fight. Supported by the

Czarina, he had refused all compromise. Nothing remained but to sacrifice
their lives; they were ready to do this rather than bargain with the enemy
who had ruined their country by violating its honour.
And death came, but death refused to separate those whom life had so
closely bound together, and it took them all seven, united in one faith and
one love.
I feel that events have spoken for themselves. Anything I might be able
to add now—intensely as my feelings have been quickened by recalling
those days of anguish relived sometimes from hour to hour—would appear
mere vain literature and misplaced sentimentality compared with the
poignant significance of the facts.
I must, however, assert here this conviction: it is impossible that those of
whom I have spoken should have suffered their martyrdom in vain. I know
not when it will be, nor how; but one day or other, without any doubt, when
brutality has bled itself to death in the excess of its fury, humanity will draw
from the memory of their sufferings an invincible force for moral
reparation.
Whatever revolt may rankle in the heart, and however just vengeance
may be, to hope for an expiation in blood would be an insult to their
memory.
The Czar and Czarina died believing themselves martyrs to their
country: they have died martyrs to humanity. Their real greatness is not to
be measured by the prestige of their Imperial dignity, but by the wonderful
moral heights to which they gradually attained. They have become a force,
an ideal; and in the very outrage they have suffered we find a touching
testimony to that wonderful serenity of soul against which violence and
passion can avail nothing and which triumphs unto death.

THE END

PRINTED BY THE ANCHOR PRESS, LTD., TIPTREE, ESSEX, ENGLAND

FOOTNOTES:
[1] To give some idea of what I mean, it is only necessary to record that in one of these
books (which is based on the evidence of an eyewitness of the drama of Ekaterinburg, the

authenticity of which is guaranteed) there is a description of my death! All the rest is on a par.
Everyone desiring information about the end of the reign of Nicholas II. should read the
remarkable articles recently published in the Revue des Deux Mondes by M. Paleologue, the
French Ambassador at Petrograd.
[2] It was in 1909 that my duties as tutor to Duke Sergius of Leuchtenberg came to an end.
I had thus more time for my duties at the Court.
[3] An Imperial sporting estate in the Government of Grodno. This forest and the Caucasus
are the only places where the aurochs, or European bison, is found. They still rove these
immense forests, which occupy an area of more than three thousand acres.
[4] An ancient hunting-seat of the kings of Poland.
[5] He was generally carried by Derevenko, formerly a sailor on the Imperial yacht
Standard, to whom this duty had been assigned several years before.
[6] He had the same surname as Derevenko, the sailor whom I have mentioned above. A
constant cause of confusion.
[7] About 85 per cent. of bleeders die in their childhood or early youth. The chances of a
fatal issue diminish greatly as they attain manhood. That is easily understood. An adult knows
how to exercise the care his condition requires, and the causes of trauma are thus greatly
lessened. Although hæmophilia is incurable, it does not prevent many of its victims from
reaching an advanced old age. The children of Alexis Nicolaïevitch would not have been
affected by this terrible malady, as it is only transmitted by women.
[8] Queen Victoria did not like the Germans and had a particular aversion for the Emperor
William II., which she handed on to her granddaughter, who always preferred England, her
country on her mother’s side, to Germany. Yet she always remained greatly attached to the
friends and relations she had left there.
[9] She was extremely anxious to improve the lot of poor women by building maternity and
other hospitals. She hoped to establish professional schools, and so on.
[10] Her continual fear of an attempt on the life of the Czar or her son always helped to
wear down the Czarina’s nervous vitality.
[11] Relations between the Czarina and Mlle. Tioutcheva were never again what they had
been, and the latter resigned her post in the spring of 1912.
[12] Son of the famous Professor Sergius Botkin and Court Physician.
[13] The regiment which acted as the Czar’s bodyguard. It comprised representatives of all
the regiments of the Guard.
[14] At the time my pupil was learning Russian, French, arithmetic, history, geography and
religious knowledge. He did not begin English until later, and never had German lessons.
[15] Her Majesty talked English with them, the Czar Russian only. The Czarina talked
English or French with the members of her suite. She never spoke in Russian (though she
spoke it pretty well ultimately) except to those who knew no other language. During the whole
period of my residence with the Imperial family I never heard one of them utter a word of
German, except when it was inevitable, as at receptions, etc.
[16] It was thus that I learned that from January 1st, 1914, to the day of his death in
December, 1916, Rasputin only saw Alexis Nicolaïevitch three times.
[17] Kerensky’s “Extraordinary Commission of Enquiry” established the falsity of the
libellous reports about her relations with Rasputin. In this connection see the report of M.

Roudnief, one of the members of that Commission: “La vérité sur la famille russe” (Paris,
1920). What he says was confirmed during our captivity at Tsarskoïe-Selo by Colonel
Korovitchenko, who will come into this book later on.
[18] Now Crown Prince of Rumania.
[19] Now Queen of Rumania.
[20] Now King of Rumania.
[21] Who could have foreseen that if the marriage had taken place she would have escaped
the dreadful fate in store for her!
[22] A few weeks later the King of Saxony was the only prince in the German
Confederation—with the exception of the Grand-Duke of Hesse, the Czarina’s brother—who
tried to prevent a rupture with Russia. He was averse to associating himself with any
employment of force against a nation whose guest he had just been. Yet it did not prevent him
from indulging in the most fiery speeches once war had been declared.
[23] A small steam-yacht with paddles. The draught of the Standard was too great to allow
her to fetch us from Peterhof.
[24] This subcutaneous hæmorrhage is particularly painful when it occurs in a joint.
[25] Rasputin was taken to the hospital at Tioumen and operated upon by a specialist sent
from St. Petersburg. The operation was a wonderful success, and a week later the patient was
out of danger. His recovery was considered miraculous. Neither fire not steel could avail
against one who was obviously under the direct protection of the Almighty!
[26] The Czar used to say that diplomacy is the art of making white appear black. Apropos
of this subject, he once quoted me Bismarck’s definition of an ambassador, “A man sent to
another country to tell lies for the benefit of his own,” and he added: “Thank Heaven they’re
not all trained in his school, but diplomats have a gift for complicating the most simple
questions.”
[27] Austria delayed the issue of the ultimatum until it was a practical impossibility for
news of it to reach St. Petersburg before M. Poincaré left.
[28] In the winter of 1918, when I was at Tioumen, I saw copies of these very telegrams.
Later on I found it impossible to get hold of the text again.
[29] The German General Staff knew only too well that in view of the extreme complexity
of the Russian mobilisation (the immense size of the country, the poor railways, etc.), it could
not be countermanded without such a disorganisation of the services as would prevent it being
resumed for three weeks. A start of three weeks for Germany meant certain victory.
[30] I had these details from the Grand-Duchess Anastasie Nicolaïevna, who described the
scene to me next morning.
[31] Alexis Nicolaïevitch had not recovered from his accident when he made his condition
worse by an imprudent act. He was thus unable to accompany his parents to St. Petersburg—a
great blow to them.
[32] I cannot say that the Czarina had any personal affection for France, a country with
which she had no ties and no particular temperamental affinity. She did not understand the
French mind, and took all the literary acrobatics of our “immoralistes” quite seriously. On the
other hand, she thoroughly enjoyed the great nineteenth-century poets.
[33] He was the grandson of the Czar Nicholas I., and had been appointed Generalissimo of
the Russian armies immediately after the declaration of war.

[34] This is the gate by which the Czars always entered to go to the Kremlin when they
visited Moscow. It leads from the city to the Red Square, which lies against the eastern wall of
the Kremlin.
[35] In the 39 Governments of Russia the executive authorities were assisted by the
provincial assemblies (zemstvos), who looked after the economic interests of the Government,
the establishment of schools, hospitals, etc. There were also district zemstvos in the same
Governments.
[36] Madame Wyroubova survived her injuries, but her convalescence was a very long and
dreary process and she was always a cripple after her accident.
[37] By a ukase of August 31st, 1914, the Czar had decreed that St. Petersburg should
henceforth be called Petrograd.
[38] It was the same sentiment which made him say to an officer of his suite after his
abdication: “Just to think that, now I am Czar no longer, they won’t even let me fight for my
country!” The words reveal the very depths of his soul.
[39] The French army in its march on Moscow occupied Mohileff on July 19th, and
Marshal Davout lived for several days in the same house which the Czar and Czarevitch had
made their quarters.
[40] Professor Fiodrof accompanied the Czar on all his journeys after the latter took over
the supreme command. Dr. Botkin and Dr. Derevenko had remained behind at Tsarskoïe-Selo.
[41] I should like to record a slight incident at the beginning of spring when the Czar was at
Tsarskoïe-Selo between his visits to the front. It illustrates the kind of feelings the Czar
entertained for Germany and tried to instil into his son. The Czarevitch was playing in the park
that day, and the Czar and the Grand-Duchesses were also there. He slipped behind his
youngest sister, who had not seen him coming, and threw a huge snowball at her. His father had
witnessed the act. He called the boy to him and talked to him severely. “You ought to be
ashamed of yourself, Alexis! You’re behaving like a German, to attack anyone from behind
when they can’t defend themselves. It’s horrid and cowardly. Leave that sort of behaviour to
the Germans!”
[42] I was able to ascertain this for myself at the end of 1915. At the house of some friends
one day I met a young officer whose political opinions were favourable to the Court. He told us
with intense indignation that on the Czarina’s orders someone had taken gifts and money to the
German officers being treated at the same hospital as he had been in. This envoy had not even
entered the rooms occupied by the Russian officers. Astonished at his story, I asked for details.
An enquiry was ordered. It completely confirmed the story I had been told, but it was
impossible to trace the individual who had succeeded, by the use of forged papers, in making
the authorities believe he had an official mission. Pure chance had brought me into contact with
one of the many provocations organised by German spies with German money.
[43] At the time I am writing I find what I have said fully confirmed in the following
passage from an article by M. Paleologue, French Ambassador at Petrograd: La Russie des
Tsars pendant la Grande Guerre (Revue des Deux Mondes of March 15th, 1921):
“I have several times heard the Czarina charged with having preserved sympathies,
predilections, and a warm corner for Germany when she was on the throne. The unfortunate
woman in no way merited these strictures, which she knew of and made her so unhappy.
Alexandra Feodorovna was German neither in spirit nor in sentiment. She never was.”
Further on he says:
“Her education, bringing-up, her intellectual and moral outlook were entirely English. She
was English in appearance and bearing, in a certain element of reserve and Puritanism, in the

intractable and militant austerity of her conscience, and, lastly, in many of her personal habits.
In any case, that was all that was left of her Western origin. The basis of her character had
become entirely Russian. In spite of the hostile legend which was growing up round her name,
I did not doubt her patriotism. She had a fervent love of Russia.”
[44] It was only subsequently that I learned that, to overcome the resistance he met with at
Bucharest, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, Sturmer (who had succeeded Sazonoff), had
promised that Russian troops would be sent to Rumania. He had not referred to G.H.Q. first.
[45] History will one day settle what part Sturmer played. If he did not actually work for a
rapprochement with Germany, though everything seems to show that he did, he none the less
did his country irreparable harm through his criminal negligence and utter lack of scruples.
[46] The very education of a sovereign makes him entirely unfitted for the task before him,
and yet it is impossible to make good the defect afterwards. The larger the part he plays in
government the less he knows of what is going on. To keep him away from his people he is
given nothing but mutilated, distorted, and “cooked” reports. No one can realise the resisting
power of those about a throne, the invincible apathy of a bureaucracy steeped in traditional
observance and routine! Whatever strength of mind, whatever tenacity a sovereign may display
in finding out the truth, does he ever really succeed? Napoleon had been through the school of
life, and raised himself to a throne by sheer genius and audacity, but his fate was the same as
that of other rulers. In the last years of his reign did he still know what was happening in
France? Had he still a sense of reality?
[47] It really seems that a perverse fate intervened to protect Rasputin. One day the Czar
was given a document in which the excesses of the staretz were set forth highly
circumstantially. In reading it the Czar observed that on the day and hour at which one of the
acts mentioned in the document were alleged to have taken place Rasputin had actually been at
Tsarskoïe-Selo. Nothing more was required to convince the Czar that the whole report was
simply a tissue of lies.
[48] The Grand-Duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna had founded a small religious community,
of which she was the Superior, at Moscow. She lived there retired from the world, devoting all
her time to prayer and good works.
[49] I had all these details from the lips of Mlle. Schneider, reader to the Czarina, who had
once been in the household of the Grand-Duchess Elizabeth, who had always remained very
fond of her.
[50] The circumstances of Rasputin’s death are to be found in the newspapers of the time. I
will briefly recapitulate them here. His death was the result of a plot in which some of the
participants were the Grand-Duke Dimitri Pavlovitch, first cousin of the Czar, Prince
Yussoupoff, whose wife was the niece of Nicholas II., M. Purichkevitch, a monarchist deputy
in the Duma, and Dr. Lazarevsky, who accompanied him. The Grand-Duke wished to show by
his presence that it was not a case of an act of rebellion against the Czar, but merely the
execution of a miscreant whom the nation had judged and found guilty of abusing the
confidence of his sovereign.
Rasputin was killed on the night of December 30th. Prince Yussoupoff had gone to fetch
him in his car very late in the evening, and brought him to his house. They first tried to poison
him, but as the poison was slow in taking effect, Prince Yussoupoff and the deputy killed him
with revolvers. His corpse was thrown into the Neva and was picked up two days later.
[51] I am referring, of course, to the articulate portion of the nation. The untutored masses
cared nothing about him, and among those who knew of his existence a large number were
favourable to him. Many considered his death an act of vengeance on the part of the courtiers

who were jealous of their privileges. “The first time that one of ourselves gets to the Czar, he is
killed by the courtiers,” they said.
To the moujik the great criminals were those who came between the sovereign and his
people, and prevented him from extending his favours to them. There was a popular saying that
“the Czar gives, but his servants withhold,” in which the peasant expressed his faith in the
goodness of his Czar and his hatred of those around him.
[52] Ludendorff, My War Memories, vol. ii. (Hutchinson and Co., London). What
Ludendorff did not mention, and for good reason, was the untiring efforts Germany had made
to produce this revolution which had broken out so unexpectedly.
[53] Is not this idea illustrated in the popular saying which betrays the simple faith of the
Russian peasant and his feeling of impotence: “God is a very long way up; the Czar a very long
way off.”
[54] Ludendorff exaggerates the rôle of the Entente in the Russian Revolution when he
writes: “In March, 1917, a Revolution, the work of the Entente, overthrew the Czar.” The
movement was supported by the Allies, but it was not their work. Ludendorff shows well
enough what were its immediate results for Germany. “The Revolution meant a fatal loss of
military power to Russia, weakened the Entente and gave us considerable relief in our heavy
task. The General Staff could at once effect important economies of troops and ammunition,
and could also exchange divisions on a much greater scale.” And further on: “In April and May,
1917, it was the Russian Revolution which saved us in spite of our victory on the Aisne and in
Champagne.” (Ludendorff, My War Memories, vol. ii.).
Thus, by the admission of the Germans themselves, if there had been no Russian
Revolution the war would have ended in the autumn of 1917 and millions of human lives
would have been spared. Do we realise what would have been the force of a treaty of Versailles
signed by the Entente, including Russia! Germany, seized in a vice, would not have been able
to escape the fate of the vanquished. The consequences of the Russian Revolution
(Bolshevism) have thrown Russia into the arms of Germany. She is still there. Germany alone
is in a position to organise and exploit her immense resources. It is in Russia that Germany is
preparing her revenge against the Entente.
[55] Russia had been engaged in a reorganisation of the army which increased the number
of her divisions and greatly augmented her striking force.
[56] Professor Fiodorof, realising that every hour’s delay meant less chance of averting
imminent disaster, went to find General V——, who was one of the most prominent members
of the Czar’s staff. He found him perched on a ladder engaged in fixing a nail in the wall on
which to hang a picture. Fiodorof told him his fears and begged him to see the Czar at once.
But the General called him a “revolution maniac,” and, picking up his hammer, continued the
operation which had been interrupted by his tiresome visitor.
[57] It was a great misfortune for the Czar Nicholas II. and the Czarina Alexandra
Feodorovna that they ascended the throne so young. Like Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette,
they could have said, “Guard us, protect us, O God! We are reigning too young!”
History will ultimately give them their due. What was not written about Louis XVI. at the
time of the French Revolution? What accusations were levelled against him? Was there any
calumny of which he was not the victim? Yet the children in France learn to-day that “he was
honest and kind, and desired to do good” (Malet, Révolution et Empire, p. 312). It will be the
same with Nicholas II., with the difference that he was a victim to his devotion to his country
because he rejected all compromise with the enemy.
[58] Another Imperial residence, twelve miles south-west of Petrograd.

[59] No one can have any idea of what the Czarina suffered during these days when she
was despairing at her son’s bedside and had no news of the Czar. She reached the extreme
limits of human resistance in this last trial, in which originated that wonderful and radiant
serenity which was to sustain her and her family to the day of their death.
[60] Colonel Kobylinsky shortly before had replaced Colonel Korovitchenko as
Commandant of the palace.
[61] These were Count and Countess Benckendorf, whom their great age and uncertain
state of health prevented from following us; Baroness Buxhœveden, who was kept back by
illness and was to join us at Tobolsk as soon as she could, and a certain number of servants.
Kerensky had asked the Czar whether he wished Count Benckendorf to be replaced. The Czar
had replied that he would be very glad for General Tatichtchef to come and share his captivity.
On learning his Czar’s wish General Tatichtchef only allowed himself time to put his affairs in
order, and a few hours later started, valise in hand, for Tsarskoïe-Selo. We found him in the
train at the moment of departure. General Tatichtchef held no Court appointment; he was one
of the Czar’s numerous aides-de-camp.
[62] The four nuns who used to come to sing at first had been replaced by the choir of one
of the Tobolsk churches.
[63] For this tea, which the Czarina poured out herself, Their Majesties were attended by
Countess Hendrikof, lady-in-waiting, General Tatichtchef, Prince Dolgorouky, and, when their
duties permitted, Mlle. Schneider and Doctor Botkin. I am now the sole survivor of these
evening tea-parties at Tobolsk.
[64] At that time the value of the rouble was about one-fifth of the normal.
[65] My colleague Mr. Gibbes had joined us at Tobolsk during September.
[66] The Czarina was alluding to the Czar’s abdication.
[67] When the thaw set in the river was impassable for several days; it was some time
before the ferry could be re-started.
[68] Vehicles used by the peasants, and consisting of a large wicker basket hung from two
long poles which take the place of springs. There are no seats; the passengers sit or lie on the
floor.
[69] House belonging to a rich merchant of the town.
[70] I must pay a tribute to the very courageous conduct of the British consul, Mr. Preston,
who did not shrink from open conflict with the Bolshevik authorities at the risk of
compromising his personal safety.
[71] In May, 1918, the Czecho-Slovakian troops (consisting of volunteers, former prisoners
of war), who had by then been developed by Kerensky into two strong divisions, were strung
along the Trans-Siberian railway between Samara and Vladivostok; preparations were being
made to pass them into France. The German G.H.Q., in an attempt to prevent these troops from
rejoining the allied forces in Europe, ordered the Bolsheviks to disarm them. Following on an
ultimatum that was rejected by the Czechs, fighting broke out between them and the Bolshevik
troops under German officers. The Russian volunteer formations lost no time in joining up with
the Czecho-Slovakian troops. Such was the origin of the movement which began at Omsk and
soon spread over the whole of Siberia.
[72] The swastika is an Indian religious symbol consisting of a cross of equal limbs, their
extremities bent to the left.

[73] The Allies had resolved to exploit the anti-Bolshevik movement which had developed
in Siberia and to make immediate use of the Czecho-Slovakian troops by creating on the Volga
a new front against the Germano-Bolshevik troops, which might create a diversion and hold
back part of the German forces freed by the treaty of Brest-Litovsk. Hence the despatch by
France and England of civil and military missions to Siberia. The anti-Bolshevik Government
of Omsk was at that time controlled by Admiral Koltchak.
[74] There were three categories of Examining Magistrates: (a) Examining Magistrates for
ordinary business; (b) Examining Magistrates for important business; (c) Examining
Magistrates for business of particular importance.
[75] Germany’s aim was the restoration of the monarchy in favour of the Czar or
Czarevitch, on condition that the treaty of Brest-Litovsk was recognised and Russia should
become Germany’s ally. This plan failed, thanks to the resistance of the Czar Nicholas II., who
was probably the victim of his fidelity to his allies.
[76] Medvedief was taken prisoner at the capture of Perm by the anti-Bolshevik troops in
February, 1919. He died a month later at Ekaterinburg of exanthematic typhus. He claimed to
have been present at only part of the drama and not to have fired himself. (Other witnesses
affirm the contrary.) It is the classic defence of all the assassins.
[77] Shortly after my departure the bogus Czarevitch ultimately confessed the imposture.
[78] The French Military Mission had been gradually evacuated eastwards and was then at
Kharbine.

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