The Last Tsar (28 page)

When the agitated Duma chairman walked out of the study, Volkov said: “You were with His Excellency for exactly twenty-six minutes.”

Rodzianko handed his briefcase to the footman who was waiting to carry it to his carriage, waved his hand hopelessly, and said, “It doesn’t matter now, it’s finished.”

But Rodzianko was wrong. This conversation did make an impression. Nicholas yielded.

On the twentieth of February the prime minister, old Golitsyn, returned home from Tsarskoe Selo unusually happy and cheerful. Nicholas himself had suddenly expressed a wish to discuss the question of an accountable ministry. He announced to Golitsyn that he was preparing to appear before the Duma and proclaim his will: to give Russia a ministry that would answer to the Russian parliament.

But on the evening of the same day Golitsyn was called to the palace again. Nicholas informed the astonished prime minister that he was leaving for Headquarters.

Between these two events, of course, there had been a conversation with Alix. That vigilant warrior would not allow him to repeat the concessions of 1905.

By that time Nicholas was very tired. Old Golitsyn sensed his desperate weariness. Subsequently he explained Nicholas’s departure for Headquarters, which stunned everyone, as the sovereign’s desire “to avoid more reports, meetings, and conversations.”

Yes, he was running away—running away from everything: her hysteria, fat Rodzianko, the Duma’s fury. From the demands of his mother, his relatives, his friends, and his country.

“Long the weary slave, I conceived a flight.”

Rodzianko described in his memoirs how one time Nicholas, having heard his report, walked over to the window.

“Why is it like this, Mikhail Vladimirovich? I was in the woods today—it’s quiet there and you forget everything—all these squabbles … the human bustle. I felt so good deep down. It’s closer to nature there … closer to God.”

Once in his diary Nicholas wrote, “Dangled my foot in a stream.” A tired, lonely man, childlike, splashing his foot in the water.

She was right: his profound loneliness.

Now he wanted to run away from everyone to his loneliness. So he ran to the woods, taking long walks down an empty road.

He explained to her that he would be away for a short time and would be back by March 1, so he was not even taking Baby with him. But she felt a horror at his trip. The empire had exactly ten days to live.

She: “Feb. 22nd 1917.… Such deep sadness and alarm at letting you leave without dear Baby—such terrible times for us now!—and even harder apart, I can’t stroke you so tired & worried. God truly has sent you a terrible & heavy cross.… Our dear Friend in another world prays for you, too now even closer to us, but I would so love to hear His consoling & heartening voice.… Lovy, be firm, because the Russians need you to be—at every turn you show love & kindness—now let them feel your fist, as they themselves ask. So many of late have told, that we need the knout. Its strange, but that is the Slav nature.… They must learn to fear you, love is not enough. Tho’ a child adores his father, he must fear his anger. I embrace you tight and hug your tired head. Oh the lonely nights to come—no Sunny or Sunshine with you. Feel my arms hold you, my lips press tenderly to yours. Eternally together, always inseparable.”

Russia was the fist and the knout. These were all very old ideas. Here is the monologue of a Russian monarchist quoted by French Ambassador Maurice Paléologue:

“The tsars founded Russia, and the harshest and cruelest were the best. Without Ivan the Terrible, without Peter the Great, without Nicholas I, there would be no Russia. The Russian people are the most submissive of all when they are sternly mastered, but they are incapable of ruling themselves. No sooner is the bridle loosened than they lapse into anarchy; they need a master, an unlimited master; they walk a straight path only when they feel an iron fist over
their head.… The knout, we owe it to the Tatars, and it is the best thing they left us.”

He (telegram): “Feel again firm, but very lonely. Thank you and Baby for telegrams. Am terribly sad. Kiss you all tenderly.”

She: “Feb. 23rd.… Well now, Olga & Alexei both have measles & Olga’s face is all covered with rash. Baby suffers more in the mouth—a bad cough and sore eyes. They lie in the dark.… We are all in summer skirts & white robes, and when we receive somebody (not afraid) we put on dresses. If the others are not to avoid this, I hope they get it quickly. That way is more fun for them & does not last so long.”

Alexei had caught the measles from a little cadet who had been excused from school especially to play with the heir. Many there had already had the measles, but the empress did not know that. Now, in her white robe, the empress was rushing among her sick and soon to be sick children and Anya. The measles cut her off from the not very distant capital. She now received reports through the valet Volkov. The fall of the empire began with this illness.

He: “Headquarters. 23 February, 1917.… The day was sunny and cold and I was met by the usual public with Alexeyev [the chief of staff] at the head.… We had a good talk together for about half an hour. After that I put my room in order and got your telegram telling me of Olga and Baby having measles. I could not believe my eyes—this news was so unexpected.… In any case, it is very tiresome and disturbing for you, my darling. Perhaps you will cease to receive so many people?”

He was hoping that the measles would put a damper on her temperament and she would cease getting so fired up about affairs and putting such steady pressure on him.

“… You write I should be a firm master—that is quite true. Rest assured I have not forgotten, but it is not at all necessary to snap at people right and left each minute. Often a calm, sharp comment or reply is quite enough to show whoever it is his place.”

She: “Feb. 24th. Strikes now in Petrograd—80,000 workers have struck, lines of the hungry have formed outside the bakeries. Not enough bread in town.”

He: “Headquarters. 24 February.… I am sending you and Alexei Orders from the King and Queen of the Belgians in memory of the war.… He will be so pleased with a new little cross!”

She: “Feb. 24nd. My precious one.… There were riots yesterday, on Vasilievsky Island and Nevsky Prospect because some poor people stoned a bakery, tearing Filippov’s bakery to pieces & the Cossacks were called in. I learned all unofficially.… At 10 went
to see Ania (she probably has measles too).… Am going from room to room, from sick bed to sick bed.… Went out for a minute to light candles for everyone.”

He: “Headquarters. 24 February.… And so we have now three children and Anya ill with measles!… Moreover, the rooms in Tsarskoe must be disinfected, and most likely you will not want to go to Peterhof—where can we live then? We shall think this out in peace on my return home, which I hope will be soon! My brain is resting here—no Ministers, no troublesome questions demanding thought, I consider that this is good for me, but only for my brain. My heart is suffering from the separation.”

In Petrograd, on the morning of February 25, 1917, Duma Chairman Rodzianko went to see Prime Minister Golitsyn and demand his resignation. The offended Golitsyn showed him the decree disbanding the Duma, which the tsar had signed beforehand. Golitsyn could use it at any time.

Both Golitsyn and Rodzianko realized, however, that the Duma would not obey, for the government’s power no longer existed.

On Znamenskaya Square crowds had already gathered, shouting, “Long live the republic.” Cossacks had driven out the police. The crowd was fraternizing with the troops.

She: “Feb. 25th. My precious, beloved treasure, The city’s strikes and riots are more than provoking … its a movement of hooligans, boys and girls running around shouting about no bread—just to stir up excitement—as are the workers preventing others from working. If the days were very cold, they would probably all be sitting home, but all this will pass & calm down, if only the Duma behaves.… I had a feeling when you were leaving things would go badly.… Write me a greeting for Ania—it would be nice for her.… Forgive this gloomy letter, but all round are so many tiresome requests.”

Only on the evening of the twenty-fifth did Nicholas learn about the riots that had been going on in the city for three days.

On the twenty-sixth he received a telegram from the war minister: the soldiers were refusing to fire on the rioters and were going over to the insurrectionists.

Nicholas sent a telegram to Khabalov, commander of the Petersburg Military District, ordering him to put an immediate halt to the riots.

Nicholas’s diary:

“26 February. Sunday.… Mass at 10. Report ended promptly.
… Wrote Alix and walked down the Bobruisky Road to the chapel. The day was clear and frosty.… In the evening played dominoes.”

Everyone remarked on his strange indifference at that terrible time.

She: “Febr. 26th.… What joy to receive your letter, covered it with kisses and will kiss it often.… Much talk about the riots in town (I think more than 200,000 people …), but I already wrote this yesterday, forgive me, I am silly. A coupon simply must be brought in for bread (as it is now in every country; after all, it is already set up for sugar and everyone is calm and gets enough), we have idiots.… The whole trouble is this bawling public, those well-dressed people, wounded soldiers, & so on, girl students & the like, inciting the others. Lili [Lili Dehn, the wife of an aide-de-camp and naval officer, was the empress’s friend and, unlike Anya, the soul of good sense and order] talks to drivers to find out news & they have told that students have come and said if they go out in the morning they will be shot at—what rotten types! Naturally the drivers & carters are striking, but they say its not like 1905 because everyone adores you & only wants bread.… What warm weather—vexing that the children cannot even go for a ride in an open car. It seems though that all will be well. The sun is shining brightly—I feel such peace at His dear grave. He died to save us.… Baby is one great rash, covered like a leopard, Olga has large flat spots. Ania too is covered with rash. All their throats & eyes hurt—I have to go back to them in the dark. I bless & kiss you over & over.”

He: “Headquarters. 26 February.… Please do not overtire yourself, running about among the sick ones.… Yesterday I visited the ikon of the Holy Virgin and prayed fervently for you, my love, for the dear children, for our country, and also for Anya.… This morning, during the service, I felt an excruciating pain in the chest, which lasted for a quarter of an hour. I could hardly stand the service out, and my forehead was covered with drops of perspiration, I cannot understand what it could have been, because I had no palpitation of the heart; but later it disappeared, vanishing suddenly when I knelt before the image of the Holy Virgin.”

On February 26 Rodzianko sent the tsar a desperate telegram: “There is anarchy in the capital. The government is paralyzed, transportation, food, and fuel have reached a pathetic state. Military units are firing on each other. There is random shooting on the streets. You must immediately name someone who has the country’s trust to form a new government.… Any delay is akin to death. I pray God that in this hour accountability does not fall on the wearer of the crown.” The telegram arrived in the night, but Chief of Staff Alexeyev
decided not to wake the tsar, not showing him the telegram until morning.

On the morning of February 27, Rodzianko addressed a second telegram to the tsar: “The situation is growing worse. You must take measures immediately, for tomorrow will be too late. The final hour has come when the fate of the Homeland and the dynasty shall be decided.”

In Petrograd the offices of the secret police were in flames, and the crowd would not let the fire be put out; regiments were on their way to the Tauride Palace, where the Provisional Committee of the Duma was in session. To furled flags and music they were swearing an oath to the new government. At that point General Khabalov decided, finally, to post notices declaring a state of siege in the city—but the authorities were unable to obtain paste or brushes.

The district court was burning, and they were already hunting down policemen.

What strange entries at this time in Nicholas’s diary. If Alix got her information “from the drivers Ania spoke with,” then he, who had all the information and read Rodzianko’s desperate telegrams—what was his excuse for his astounding inaction? Weary indifference? But then what was the meaning of “the excruciating pain in the chest”?

It does make sense, of course.

As he was leaving Tsarskoe Selo that last time on February 22, he assumed a storm was possible—a storm everyone was promising him. And he decided in advance
not to fight the storm
. He could not and would not make war on society anymore. He knew, though, that she would not let him concede peacefully. Just as they would not accept his concessions if she remained. Rasputin and the rumors of treason had compromised her too badly. He was left with only one choice: either her or the throne. He chose her. He chose his private life with his family, so that his unhappy, half-mad wife would not be driven even more insane, so that he could openly seek treatment for his mortally ill son. He decided to give up the throne—and this decision almost killed him. His “excruciating pain in the chest” was the result of that decision, the result of the torture he had repressed within himself.

Subsequently, discussing the activities of Nicholas’s chief of staff, Alexeyev, who oddly was in no hurry to familiarize the tsar with the panicky information from the capital, people have suspected Alexeyev of complicity in a plot. A strange figure, this chief of staff. He had come from simple people, had earned everything for himself,
and under Nicholas was the actual commander-in-chief. He was Rasputin’s enemy and forbade him to come to Headquarters—but Nicholas did not give him up to Alix’s fury. They were similar in their temperaments, the chief of staff and the tsar, reserved and taciturn. And they liked each other. They understood. That was why Alexeyev was in no hurry with the alarming telegrams: he had figured Nicholas out, and he was tacitly supporting him.