The government, now led by Kerensky, sent a new regiment of soldiers to guard the palace, but nothing in their hostile manner reassured us. “If only your dear papa were here,” the Empress kept saying to the girls, but one day passed and a second. We had nearly given up hope, fearing that the Tsar had been arrested and taken to Moscow, when we heard a commotion at the gate of the palace. The Empress called out joyfully, “Alexei! Girls! It’s your papa!” It was true. There at the gate of the palace was the Tsar.
The soldiers stopped him. “This is outrageous!” the Empress said. “They are keeping the Tsar from entering his own palace.” I believed that but for Mama’s calming words, the Empress would have rushed out and attacked the guards. At last the gates were opened, and a moment later the girls rushed into their papa’s arms.
The Tsar, with his arms around the girls, exclaimed, “My little fledglings. You look like plucked birds.” He looked up at Mama and me. “Irina, Katya, I am so grateful to you for coming at this time. Now that I am with my beloved family, nothing else matters.”
Indeed, the Tsar did look as though a burden had fallen away. His carriage was more upright, his face had more color, and his step was brisker than when I had last seen him. It was almost as if once the terrible step of abdication had been taken, there was nothing he could not face.
The Empress spoke of the abdication immediately. “How could you have done it, Nicky? They must have forced you. The country is surely still behind you.”
“No, my dear, it is not. There is mutiny in the army.” He paused, and his face took on a look of great sadness. “My own generals sent me a letter begging me to abdicate. That decided me.” He bowed his head. “I pleaded with them to allow me to enlist in the army as a plain soldier. ‘If I cannot rule Russia, at least let me fight for her,’ I said. But they refused me even that.”
The Empress asked, “But then is Alexei to be the Tsar?”
“At first that’s what I asked, but they pointed out to me that our family would probably be exiled from Russia. If Alexei were Tsar, we would have to leave him behind. Who would care for him as you have, my dear? It could not be done. He would be ill in no time.”
“Then who?” The Empress thought for a moment and said, “Your younger brother, Mikhail.”
“Yes. I named Mikhail, but he refused.”
The Empress was shocked. “He would not become the Tsar! How can that be? The greatest honor in the world.”
The Tsar took her hand. “My dear, the world has changed. There is much danger and no honor in being the Tsar. Our country has decided it can do without one.”
After that we heard no more about the abdication. What might have been said in private between the Tsar and the Empress we could only guess.
The telephone was taken away from us, and all letters going out or coming in were censored. We found the soldiers’ dirty fingerprints on the heavy cream-colored stationery of the Tsar’s mother and the Empress’s sister.
Many of the palace staff, once numbering hundreds, were dismissed. Instead of impeccably uniformed footmen treading silently along the corridors, we saw rowdy soldiers, their caps askew, their shirts hanging over their pants. They tramped up and down the hallways, poking into our rooms and watching our every move. We even caught one of them stealing a bracelet from Olga’s room. We didn’t dare complain, for we would have been accused of suggesting that a member of the revolutionary army was dishonest. For that we might have been sent off to prison.
Until her father told her to stop, Stana made faces behind the soldiers’ backs. “They are not part of some game, my dear,” the Tsar said. “Whatever their faults, our lives depend upon them.”
We learned that was true one evening, when we heard the sound of shots. We ran to the windows. Below us were hundreds of angry demonstrators. The unruly mob had marched all the way from St. Petersburg to take revenge on the Tsar and the Empress. Their clumsily lettered signs read DEATH TO THE TSAR and EXECUTE THE GERMAN SPY. The Tsar took one look and then strode hastily to his room, coming back with his regimental sword drawn. He held the sword so tightly, we could see the blood drain from his fingers.
The mob pushed against the gates. The soldiers guarding the palace leveled their guns. Instead of our tormentors, the soldiers became our protectors. At first the mob could not believe that the soldiers would fire on them. When bullets exploded over their heads in a warning, the mob drew back. For two hours they stood outside the gates, screaming insults at the royal family and taunting the soldiers. At last they turned back toward St. Petersburg.
The Tsar went out at once to thank the soldiers. Instead of accepting the Tsar’s gratitude, they angrily confiscated his sword.
Our days of imprisonment dragged on. Pierre remained with us to teach us French and literature and to care for Alexei. His once-soft face had hardened. He no longer read us romantic poems. Instead he told us stories of brave heroes who showed great courage.
The Tsar himself took over the teaching of geography. He was an excellent instructor, patient and thorough. For every country we studied he had a story. As a young man the Tsar had been sent all over the world. He had killed tigers in India and climbed the pyramids in Egypt. He had met the King of Siam and nearly been killed in Japan by a samurai’s sword. The Tsar showed us the scar on his forehead. When we looked at the map he spread out before us, we did not see flat bits of different colors but whole countries full of exciting adventure.
We were enchanted by the stories he told us. We saw the pleasure the telling gave him, for in the stories he was not a deposed and imprisoned man but a young tsarevich traveling all over the world on imperial yachts and elegant trains, welcomed by kings and queens.
The Easter of 1917 was a chilly one, with snowflakes still swirling about. Stana and I begged onion skins and beets from Toma so that we could dye Easter eggs. Only a few eggs could be spared. Because they were precious, we took pains with our efforts, carefully stenciling in wax all of our names. When the eggs were dipped into the dye, the name stood out in white. On her papa’s egg Stana had written “Tsar Nikolai II.”
Under heavy guard we were allowed to visit the Cathedral of St. Catherine for the Easter vigil. The service went on for many hours, but it was not too long for us, for we were delighted to be free of our palace prison. At the end of the service everyone received a candle for the traditional procession around the church celebrating the moment of Christ’s resurrection. I looked forward to the procession, for the sight of all those small tongues of flame flickering in the darkness of the Russian night never ceased to thrill me.
It was not to be. The soldiers said it would cause trouble if we took part in the procession, and they sent all of us, like bad children, off to the palace. Watching the disappointed Tsar give in to his tormentors, his step heavy, his head down, I thought of our last Easter together, when the Tsar had fulfilled his Easter duty by planting a kiss on the cheek of each and every one of the thousand soldiers in his regiment. It had taken him the whole of Easter Sunday. And how they had cheered him!
Things improved the moment we stepped into the palace. “I smell kulich,” Alexei cried, and ran toward the dining room. There it was, like a golden crown, a rich Easter cake. Toma was hovering at the door to see our response. Alexei ran to her and threw his arms around her.
When she could catch her breath, she announced, “All during Lent when we were fasting, I hoarded the eggs and butter. It took two dozen eggs and only the good Lord knows how much butter to make this cake. Now sit down and enjoy the feast.”
I saw how pleased she was to see happy smiles for once. There were platters of ham with horseradish sauce, kasha, and sauerkraut, and a beautiful paskha, so smooth and sweet, it slid down our throats. After dinner we broke the eggs we had dyed and gave one another warm kisses. One person would exclaim, “Khristos voskres; Christ has risen,” to which another person would respond in turn, “Voistinu voskres; indeed, He has risen!”
Though we protested, the Tsar t
ook some slices of kulich and paskha down to the guards. I heard him say, “Christ has risen,” and I heard the guards respond, “Indeed, He has risen!”
The next day the Tsar called us together. With something of his old regal bearing he announced, “I have just learned that the Minister of Justice, Alexander Kerensky, will visit us today.”
“That brute!” the Empress said. “He is the one who has imprisoned us.”
The Tsar took her hand. “My dear, I understand how you feel, but that is just the response that we must guard against. Kerensky is the leader of the revolutionary government in Russia. The whole country does his bidding. For the sake of Russia we must do everything we can to make his job easier, and Sunny, we need him on our side.”
The Empress was indignant, but his pet name for her helped to calm her. “But why, Nicky, why should we lift a finger to help him?”
“There are two reasons. First of all I believe he means us no harm. We have been imprisoned for our own protection. Second, the Bolsheviks are breathing down Kerensky’s neck. If the Bolshevik leader, Lenin, takes over the government, then, my dear, we are all finished and Russia as well.”
His solemn words impressed even the Empress, and we all resolved to be on our good behavior, but we were frightened of our meeting with this man, who held our fate and the fate of Russia in his hands.
The moment I heard the Tsar say his name, I remembered how Misha looked up to Kerensky. That made me feel a little better. There had been nothing more than the briefest notes from Misha. To Mama he said only that he was well and keeping out of trouble. To me he wrote that he was devoting his time to organizing the university students into a revolutionary committee. I didn’t dare to share his letters with Stana, for the girls were loyal to their father and hated the revolution with all their hearts.
We knew at once when Kerensky arrived at the palace. The soldiers’ caps were slapped on their heads, their shirts tucked into trousers, and their tunics straightened. As we waited, a servant whispered to us that Kerensky was having all our rooms searched. There was fire in the Empress’s eyes.
At last the double doors to the sitting room swung open. I don’t know what I expected, perhaps a great bear of a man all dressed in revolutionary red. Instead, a very normal-sized man, in his mid-thirties, looking like a schoolmaster, walked into the room. He was severe and formal and appeared very uncomfortable, running his hand through his hair, which was cut short like the bristles on a brush. After a moment’s hesitation he shook the Tsar’s outstretched hand and acknowledged each of us with a stiff bow. He made a little polite conversation.
“You are comfortable here? Well cared for?” he asked.
The Tsar said, “Very comfortable, thank you.”
I could see that it was all the Empress could do to follow her husband’s instructions, for she looked as if she longed to pick up a vase and hit Mr. Kerensky over the head.
As Kerensky left, he said, “I regret that I must return to carry on an investigation that will take some little time.”
The investigation began the following week, and it centered around the Empress and the accusations against her as a German spy. The Tsar and the Empress were separated and repeatedly questioned. The palace was even searched for a wireless radio that the Empress might be using to send secret messages to Germany!
For weeks the Tsar and the Empress were forbidden to speak to each other. “If you disobey this rule,” Kerensky told them, “we will have to send the Empress away.” We all knew that meant prison. The Tsar and the Empress spoke not a word, though their eyes never left each other’s face.
The investigation went on and on. The Tsar, who would willingly have borne any insults against himself, found it hard to keep his temper when the Empress was under suspicion. At first Kerensky was hostile toward both of them, but as he spent more time at the palace, his behavior toward the Tsar and the Empress grew kinder. I thought he might be seeing them as a frightened mother and father, living a simple life, tender with their children and courteous to everyone from the highest to the lowest on the palace staff.
Alexei was having more nosebleeds, and the Empress was always at his side. Kerensky must have found it difficult to believe the dignified woman who so gently nursed her ill son could be the German spy pictured in cartoons as bathing in the blood of revolutionaries. At last he gave up the investigation and dismissed all charges of treason. Kerensky said to the Tsar, “Sir, your wife does not lie.”
To which the Tsar replied, “That, sir, is something I have always known.”
Kerensky continued his visits to the palace. One day, while we were all having tea together, Kerensky brought us bad news. He did not even wait to take the Tsar aside, but in front of all of us he announced that Lenin had returned from exile. “He’s in St. Petersburg, leading the Bolsheviks in demonstrations against our new government and against the war as well. The man is nothing but trouble.”
The Tsar was disgusted. “An end to the war would mean a surrender to Germany. The Germans will divide Russia like a birthday cake.”
Kerensky said, “The Germans know that. It was the Germans who sent Lenin back here. He came in one of their trains. He owes them much for that, but as long as I am in charge, we will never give in to the Germans.”
Speaking in a low voice, Kerensky said to the Tsar, “I must tell you that I have abolished the death penalty.”
“But that is absolute foolishness,” the Tsar said. “If you cannot put deserting soldiers and dangerous criminals to death, there will be chaos in the army and looting in the streets.”
Kerensky nibbled at his lower lip. In an even quieter voice he said, “I did it not for the deserters and the criminals, sir, but for you.”
Angrily the Tsar replied, “If you have abolished the death penalty to save my life, let me tell you there was no need. I am ready to give my life for the good of my country.”
After Kerensky left us, we looked at one another and were silent. The Empress was pale. The Tsar took her hand. It was several moments before any of us could speak.
In his past visits, Kerensky had reassured the imperial family that plans were under way for them to leave Russia for England, where the Tsar’s cousin, King George V, would take them in, but this time he had said nothing of England. We began to give up hope of an escape.
A few days later I happened to be near a room where Kerensky sat alone going over some papers. I lingered for a moment at the door, trying to get up my courage to speak with him. Kerensky looked up and smiled at me. When he saw the expression on my face, he said, “Is there something you want?”
“Please, sir,” I said, my voice cracking with nervousness, “I have a cousin, Mikhail Sergeyevich Gnedich, who is a revolutionary. I wonder if you know him. He often speaks of you.”
Kerensky smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t know the lad. There are many young men at the university who support us. Perhaps he is one of them. I will seek him out.” He smiled. “And are you a revolutionary?”
“I have seen much suffering in Russia,” I said. “I know there must be changes, but the imperial family are like my own.”
A sad smile came over Kerensky’s face. “Loyalty is a good thing. I wish I had more of it among my supporters.” With that he turned back to his papers, and I hurried away.
The May breezes were soft, but they did us little good. We were limited to two walks a day in the palace gardens, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. All our activity was confined to a small area. Because we had suffered all winter from a lack of vegetables, we went to work digging and planting a garden. It was a relief to be outside. At first the soldiers made insulting remarks about the Tsar as a gardener, but after they saw how hard and with what good results we all labored, the taunts ended. One or two of the soldiers who had been farmers lent advice and sometimes a hand.
As spring turned into summer, the little flags of the radishes appeared. Next came the lettuce and spinach like a line of green soldiers. Soon Toma was o
ut exclaiming with pleasure and filling her apron. Even the Empress sat outside in a chair, a blanket over her knees, cheering us on.
In the middle of July there was bad news from St. Petersburg. Lenin had tried to take the government away from Kerensky. He had failed and fled the country, but his mischief lived on. Half a million people marched to protest against the war. An urgent message came to the palace from Kerensky: “Pack and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. You are no longer safe this close to St. Petersburg.”
Our fear grew as we waited to hear where we would be sent. The girls hoped it would be to their palace in the Crimea, but when Kerensky’s message arrived, it was brief: “Take your fur coats and warm boots.”
The Tsar and the Empress exchanged looks.
“They are sending us to Siberia,” the Tsar said. We all fell silent.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SIBERIA
Summer 1917–Spring 1918
When I was very young, I had looked forward to my eighteenth year as the year I would be allowed to go to parties. I had imagined a year filled with pleasure: ballet, theater, shopping for pretty clothes, and gossiping with friends. Instead, I would soon be on a train to Siberia. Still, when I thought of what the Tsar had lost, I could not feel sorry for myself. My seventeenth birthday came and went unnoticed. On August twelfth we celebrated Alexei’s thirteenth birthday. Because the future was so uncertain, we put our worries aside and did all we could to make the day a happy one for Alexei. I made him a sailor’s middy blouse from one of my own blouses. Stana sewed her best ribbons on his sailor’s cap. Alexei put on his sailor’s blouse and marched us up and down the halls of the palace, much to the bewilderment of the soldiers.
The next day was our last at the Alexander Palace. Though no one spoke of it, we knew we would never again see the place where we had all been so happy. The soldiers took pity on us. For the first and last time we were allowed to stroll about the park. The acres that had once been close-cropped green lawns were now a hayfield. The water in the pond was green and slimy. Still, we hardly noticed, for the pictures we carried in our minds of what had been were more real to us than the ruins that lay around us. We wandered about, seeing the happy ghosts of our younger selves everywhere. Before they returned to the palace, Stana and her sisters picked the few flowers they could find in the abandoned gardens.
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