The Last Tsar (22 page)

The Bolshevik leaders were scattered across the world: Lenin, Zinoviev, and Trotsky were in hopeless emigration. Actually, no one
in Russia gave them the slightest thought now, except maybe the police.

Apathy and hopelessness had gripped the exiled revolutionaries. A most curious company gathered that year in Turukhansk exile: a certain young Georgian spent entire days on his cot, his face to the wall. He had stopped taking care of himself, had even stopped washing his dishes, and the dog licked his plate. His name was Joseph, and one of his party names was Stalin. In just four years he would be living behind the Kremlin Wall, right where the tsar and his family were now.

Here was another resident of Turukhansk exile. He too had fallen into a severe depression. Then, in September 1914, another exiled Bolshevik, Sverdlov, ran into him here. Sverdlov was linked with him not only by a commonality of views but also by an old and fond friendship. It was with chagrin that Sverdlov wrote his wife: “I spent a few days with George. He’s not doing very well.… It is absolutely impossible for him to live away from turbulent activity. We need to find some outlet for his energy.”

“George” was one of Goloshchekin’s party names. Thus two old friends met in Turukhansk—Goloshchekin and Sverdlov, the two future organizers of the execution of the tsar and his family.

And Ekaterinburg, where the last tsar parted with his life, would be renamed Sverdlovsk after one of these two friends now in exile.

Grand Duke Nicholas Nikolaevich became commander-in-chief, and soon afterward the Tsar of All the Russias set out for the front to join the army, to Headquarters at Baranovitchi.

The tsar went to war, and the tsaritsa wrote him letters. “The tsar went to war”—that is how fairy tales used to start. Once upon a time, in another century, preparing to become the rulers of the country, they had written each other endless letters. Now, on the eve of his farewell to the throne, everything was repeating itself. Between these two streams of letters lay their entire life. A life that did not require them to resort to the pen, for in twenty years of marriage they had rarely been apart. And here it was: war.

As once before, they wrote each other in English. Many years had passed since she had come to Russia, but she still thought in the language of her grandmother Victoria. She placed a cross at the end of her letters: “Save and protect.”

In their letters, they carried on a conversation. Here I take snatches from their vanished speech.

She: “Ts[arskoe] S[elo], Sept. 19th 1914. My own, my very own sweet One. I am so happy for you that you can at last manage to go, as I know how deeply you have been suffering all this time—yr. restless sleep has been even a proof of it.… Except all I go through with you & our beloved country & men I suffer for my ‘small old home’ & her troops & Ernie.… egoistically I suffer horribly to be separated—we are not accustomed to it & I do so endlessly love my very own precious Boysy dear. Soon 20 years that I belong to you & what bliss it has been….

“Sept. 20th 1914. Oh, my love! It was hard bidding you goodbye and seeing that lonely pale face with big sad eyes at the waggon-window—my heart cried out, take me with you.… I came home and then broke down, prayed—then lay down and smoked to get myself into order. When eyes looked more decent I went up to Alexei and lay for a time near him on the sopha in the dark.”

He: “Headquarters, 22 September, 1914.… How terrible it was parting from you and the dear children, though I knew that it was not for long. The first night I slept badly, because the engines jerked the train roughly at each station. I arrived here the next day at 5.30; it was cold and raining hard. Nicolasha met me at the station at Baranovitchi….

“[The officers] made a long and interesting report to me in their train, where, as I expected, the heat was terrible!…

“Beloved mine, I kiss you again and again.… I am quite free and have time to think of my Wify and my family. It is strange, but it is so.”

She: “Sept. 24th, 1914.… Sweetheart, I hope you sleep better now, I cannot say that of myself, the brain seems to be working all the time and never wanting to rest. Hundreds of ideas and combinations come bothering one—I reread your dear letters several times and try to think its Lovy speaking to me. Somehow we see so little of each other, you are so much occupied and one does not like to bother with questions when you are tired after your reports and then we are never alone together….

“25th.… This miserable war, when will it ever end. William, I
feel sure must at times pass through hideous moments of despair, when he grasps that it was he, and especially his antirussian set, wh. began the war and is dragging his country into ruin. All those little states, for years they will continue suffering from the aftereffects. It makes my heart bleed when I think of how hard Papa and Ernie struggled to bring our little country to its present state of prosperity.… Prayers and implicit trust in God’s mercy alone, give one strength to bear all. And our Friend helps you carry yr. heavy cross and great responsibilities—and all will come right, as the right is on our side.” (“Our Friend,” “Gr.,” or “He”—this is what she called the Holy Devil in her correspondence. This third party was constantly present. She would mention him hundreds of times in her letters.)

Nicholas returned to Tsarskoe Selo. And soon again—“the tsar went to war.” As always, in the train car he found her letter. It was a ritual.

She: “Oct. 20th.… Twenty years to-morrow that you reign & I became orthodox! How the years have flown, how much we have lived through together….

“Oct. 22nd 1914.… How vile one having thrown bombs from aeroplans on to King Albert’s [the Belgian king] Villa.… thank God no harm was done but I have never known one trying to kill a sovereign because he is one’s enemy during the war!” (They were still living in the nineteenth century, and the new iron age shocked them.)

“Oct. 24th 1914.… There were many wounded … one officer had been 4 days in Olga’s hospital and said there was not such a second sister.”

Now the empress was working in the hospital alongside her daughters.

“Oct. 27th 1914.… Oh this miserable war! At moments one cannot bear it any more, the misery & bloodshed break one’s heart.… All over the world losses! Well, some good must come out of it, & they wont all have shed their blood in vain. Life is difficult to understand—It must be so—have patience; that is all one can say—One does so long for quiet happy times again! But we shall have long to wait.”

He: “27 October, 1914.… At last I am able to write a few lines.… I found old Petyusha [Prince Peter of Oldenburg, husband to the tsar’s sister Olga].… They spent three hours under the fire of the Austrian heavy artillery.… Petya conducted himself with the utmost coolness and requests an award for himself; I therefore gave him the Arms of St. George, which made him nearly mad [with joy].
… I had the pleasure of spending the whole of Saturday with Misha, who has become quite his old self and is again charming.”

Yes, Michael Alexandrovich and his wife, who now bore the title Countess Brasova, were back. Misha would receive the Cross of St. George, commanding an irregular cavalry. They were alike, Nicky and Misha. They both loved their wives very much, and Misha, like Nicky, worried about his wife’s nerves; Countess Brasova had not forgiven her humiliation. Her salon would open the doors wide to the Duma’s left-wing deputies. “In court circles she is even accused of betraying tsarism.… She says things for which someone else would have been sentenced to twenty years in Siberia,” wrote Paléologue.

Again Nicky is at Tsarskoe Selo, only soon, once again….

She: “Nov. 17th 1914.… Once more the hour of separation has come—& always equally hard to bear … when you are gone … a bit of my life gone—we make one.… You always bring revival as our Friend says … comforting to know His prayers follow you—It is good you can have a thorough talk with N[icholas Nikolaevich] & tell him your opinion of some people & give him some ideas.”

News had already reached “our Friend” that the commander-in-chief was gathering evidence against him. He complained to “Mama”—and now Alix asked Nicholas to suggest “a few ideas” to the commander-in-chief.

She: “Our last night together, its horribly lonely without you—and so silent—nobody lives in this story. Holy angels guard you.”

He: “18 November, 1914. My beloved Sunny and darling Wify.… I have read your sweet, tender letter with moist eyes. This time I succeeded in keeping myself in hand at the moment of parting, but it was a hard struggle.… My love, I miss you terribly—more than I can express in words.… I shall try to write very often, as, to my amazement, I have come to the conclusion that I can write while the train is in motion. My hanging trapeze has proved very practical and useful. I swung on it many times and climbed up it before meals. It is really an excellent thing for the train, it stirs up the blood and the whole organism.”

From the letter of Konstantin Sheboldaev, a pensioner who had worked for the Ministry of Internal Affairs:

“When I arrived in Sverdlovsk I was shown the Ipatiev house. At that time it was already a special attraction, for the select—visit the
house where the tsar’s family was shot. By the way, near the fence they showed me the place where he had his trapeze. When he arrived he immediately hung it and began swinging. His feet went high over the fence. At that moment they immediately decided to put up a double fence.”

She: “No. 19.… Nov. 20th 1914. There is a belated gnat flying around my head whilst I am writing to you.… Dearest Beloved—I kiss yr. cushion morn and evening and bless it and long for its treasured master.… It’s quite mild weather. Baby is going in his motor and then Olga … will take him to the big palace to see the officers who are impatient for him. I am too tired to go and we have at 5¼ an amputation … in the big hospital.… My nose is full of hideous smells from those blood-poisoning wounds.”

General Samsonov’s army perished in the swamps. The terrible defeats and losses were cooling popular enthusiasm. The wounded, the refugees, the sweat, blood, and dirt. All Europe was heaped in this.

She: “Nov. 24th 1914.… The news from out there make one so anxious—I don’t listen to the gossip of town which makes one otherwise quite serious, but only believe what Nicolasha lets know. Nevertheless I begged A[nya] to wire to our Friend that things are very serious and we beg for his prayers….

“Nov. 25th 1914.… In great haste a few lines. We were occupied all morning—during an operation a soldier died—it was too sad—the first such time it had happened to the Princess … the girlies were brave—they and Ania had never seen a death.… It made us all so sad as you can imagine—how near death always is.”

At that time he was on his way to the Caucasus via the larger Cossack villages.

He: “25 November, 1914, in the train. My beloved, darling Sunny!… We [he had taken with him on his journey Nikolai Pavlovich Sablin, his aide-de-camp and one of the closest members of his retinue] are passing through picturesque country which is new to me, with beautiful high mountains on one side and steppes on the other.… I sat for a long time at the open door of the carriage and
breathed in the warm fresh air with delight. At each station the platforms are crowded with people, especially children … they are charming with their tiny
papakha
[fur caps] on their heads.… The train is jolting terribly, so you must excuse my writing. After the hospitals I looked in for a minute at the Kouban Girls’ Institute and at a large orphanage dating from the last war, all of them Cossack girls.… They look well and unconstrained, here and there a pretty face.… This country of the Cossacks is magnificent and rich; a large number of orchards. They are beginning to be wealthy, above all they have an inconceivably high number of small infants. All future subjects. This all fills me with joy and faith in God’s mercy; I must look forward in peace and confidence to what lies in store for Russia.”

She: “Nov. 28th 1914. My very own precious One! [I am] glad you two sinners had pretty faces to look at—I see more other parts of the body, less ideal ones!!”

Again he returned and left.

She: “Dec. 14th 1914.… Sunbeam [Alexei] has just gone out in the donkey sledge—he kisses you—he can put the foot down.… How horrid it was saying goodbye to you in Moscou, seeing you stand there amongst heaps of people.… I had to bow and look at them too and smile and could not keep my eyes fixed on you as should have wished to….

“Dec. 15th 1914. My beloved Darling,… and now Botkin got the news from the regiment that his son was killed as he could not surrender—a German officer, prisoner told the news; poor man is quite broken down.… My heart is still enlarged and aches, as does my head.… I press you to my heart and kiss you over and over again.”

Evgeny Sergeyevich Botkin was the son of the very famous Sergei Botkin, physician to Alexander II and Alexander III, whose sons also became doctors: the famous Sergei and the much more modest but unusually good and sincere Evgeny Sergeyevich.

The empress was complaining more and more of her sick heart. She spent hours in bed trying to vanquish the dull pain in her heart. The most famous European luminaries were summoned to the palace. They did not find heart disease in the tsaritsa, but they did diagnose nervous ailments and ordered a change of regimen.

Alix could not stand it when anyone disagreed with her. This applied to diagnoses of her illness as well. That is why the easygoing Evgeny Sergeyevich was invited to become her personal physician. On one hand, this continued the tradition of Botkins as personal physicians; on the other, the obliging Evgeny Sergeyevich immediately
prescribed for the tsaritsa familiar medicine: lie undisturbed. He did this not because he did not understand her condition. The familiar diagnosis
calmed
her; contradicting Alix meant increasing what was for her perilous agitation.