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.
(SEPTEMBER—DECEMBER, 1915)
THE 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
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
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.
THE 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.
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]
(DECEMBER, 1916)
THE 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....
(MARCH, 1917)
RASPUTIN 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.