CHAPTER XXI

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

ON our arrival at Tioumen on May 22nd we were at once taken, under a strong escort, to the special train that was to take us to Ekaterinburg. Just as I was getting into the train with my pupil I was separated from him and put in a fourth-class carriage, guarded by sentries like the others. We reached Ekaterinburg in the night, the train being stopped at some distance from the station.

About nine o’clock the next morning several carriages were drawn up alongside our train, and I saw four men go towards the children’s carriage.

A few minutes passed and then Nagorny, the sailor attached to Alexis Nicolaïevitch, passed my window, carrying the sick boy in his arms; behind him came the Grand-Duchesses, loaded with valises and small personal belongings. I tried to get out, but was roughly pushed back into the carriage by the sentry.

I came back to the window. Tatiana Nicolaïevna came last, carrying her little dog and struggling to drag a heavy brown valise. It was raining, and I saw her feet sink into the mud at every step. Nagorny tried to come to her assistance; he was roughly pushed back by one of the commissaries.... A few minutes later the carriages drove off with the children in the direction of the town.

How little I suspected that I was never to see them again, after so many years among them! I was convinced that they would come back and fetch us and that we should be united without delay.

But the hours passed. Our train was shunted back into the station, and then I saw General Tatichtchef, Countess Hendrikof, and Mlle. Schneider being taken away. A little later it was the turn of Volkof, the Czarina’s valet-de-chambre, de Kharitonof, the chef, Troup, the footman, and little Leonide Sednief, a kitchen boy of fourteen.

With the exception of Volkof, who managed to escape later, and little Sednief, whose life was spared, not one of those who were led off that day was destined to escape alive from the hands of the Bolsheviks.

We were still kept waiting. What was happening? Why didn’t they come for us too? We gave ourselves up to all sorts of hypotheses, when, about five o’clock, Commissary Rodionof, who had come to Tobolsk to fetch us, entered our carriage and told us we were not wanted and were free.

Free! What was this? We were to be separated from the others? Then all was over! The excitement that had sustained us up to now gave place to deep depression. What was to be done? What was to be the next move? We were overwhelmed.

Even to-day I cannot understand what prompted the Bolsheviks to this decision to save our lives. Why, for instance, should Countess Hendrikof be taken to prison while Baroness de Buxhœveden, also a lady-in-waiting to the Czarina, was allowed to go free? Why they and not ourselves? Was there confusion of names or functions? A mystery!

On the next and following days I and my colleague went to

see the English and Swedish consuls[70]—the French consul was away; at all costs something had to be done to help the prisoners. The two consuls relieved our minds by telling us that proceedings had already been taken and that they did not think there was any imminent danger.

I walked past Ipatief’s house, of which the tops of the windows could be seen above the wall of boards that hemmed it in. I had not yet lost all hope of effecting an entry, for Dr. Derevenko, who had been allowed to visit the boy, had heard Dr. Botkin ask Commissary Avdief, the commandant of the guard, on behalf of the Czar, that I should be allowed to rejoin them. Avdief had replied that he would refer the matter to Moscow. Meanwhile, my companions and I, except Dr. Derevenko, who had taken lodgings in the town, camped in the fourth-class carriage which had brought us. We were destined to remain there for more than a month!

On the twenty-sixth we were ordered to leave the territory of the Perm Government—which includes Ekaterinburg—without delay and return to Tobolsk. Care had been taken that we should only have one document between us, to keep us together and so facilitate supervision. But the trains were no longer running. The anti-Bolshevik movement of the Russian and Czech volunteers[71] was spreading rapidly, and the line was exclusively reserved for the military units that were being hurried to Tioumen. This meant further delay.

One day when I was passing Ipatief’s house, accompanied by Dr. Derevenko and Mr. Gibbes, we saw two carriages drawn up and surrounded by a large number of Red Guards. What was our horror at recognising in the first Sednief (the valet-de-chambre of the Grand-Duchesses) sitting between two guards. Nagorny was going to the second carriage. He was just setting foot on the step with his hand on the side of the carriage when, raising his head, he saw us all there standing motionless a few yards from him. For a few seconds he looked fixedly at us, then, without a single gesture that might have betrayed us, he took his seat. The carriages were driven off, and we saw them turn in the direction of the prison.

These two good fellows were shot shortly afterwards; their sole crime had been their inability to hide their indignation on seeing the Bolshevik commissaries seize the little gold chain from which the holy images hung over the sick bed of Alexis Nicolaïevitch.

A few more days passed, and then I learned through Dr. Derevenko that the request made on my behalf had been refused.

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

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

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

At last, on July 25th, Ekaterinburg fell in its turn. Hardly was communication re-established—which took a long time as the permanent way had suffered severely—when Mr. Gibbes and I hastened to the town to search for the Imperial family and those of our companions who had remained at Ekaterinburg.

Two days after my arrival I made my first entry into Ipatief’s house. I went through the first-floor rooms, which had served as the prison; they were in an indescribable state of disorder. It was evident that every effort had been made to get rid of any traces of the recent occupants. Heaps of ashes had been raked out of the stoves. Among them were a quantity of small articles, half burnt, such as tooth-brushes, hairpins, buttons, etc., in the midst of which I found the end of a hair-brush on the browned ivory of which could still be seen the initials of the Czarina, A. F. (Alexandra-Feodorovna.). If it was true that the prisoners had been sent away, they must have been removed just as they were, without any of the most essential articles of toilet.

I then noticed on the wall in the embrasure of one of the windows of Their Majesties’ room the Empress’s favourite charm, the swastika,[72] which she had put up everywhere to ward off ill-luck. She had drawn it in pencil, and added, underneath, the date, 17/30 April, the day of their incarceration in the house. The same symbol, but without the date, was drawn on the wallpaper, on a level with the bed, occupied doubtless by her or Alexis Nicolaïevitch. But my search was to no purpose, I could not find the slightest clue to their fate.

I went down to the bottom floor, the greater part of which was below the level of the ground. It was with intense emotion that I entered the room in which perhaps—I was still in doubt—they had met their death. Its appearance was sinister beyond expression. The only light filtered through a barred window at the height of a man’s head. The walls and floor showed numerous traces of bullets and bayonet scars. The first glance showed that an odious crime had been perpetrated there and that several people had been done to death. But who? How?

I became convinced that the Czar had perished and, granting that, I could not believe that the Czarina had survived him. At Tobolsk, when Commissary Yakovlef had come to take away the Czar, I had seen her throw herself in where the danger seemed to her greatest. I had seen her, broken-hearted after hours of mental torture, torn desperately between her feelings as a wife and a mother, abandon her sick boy to follow the husband whose life seemed in danger. Yes, it was possible they might have died together, the victims of these brutes. But the children? They too massacred? I could not believe it. My whole being revolted at the idea. And yet everything proved that there had been many victims. Well, then?...

During the following days I continued my investigations in Ekaterinburg and its suburbs—the monastery, everywhere I could hope to find the slightest clue. I saw Father Storojef, who had been the last to conduct religious service in Ipatief’s house, on Sunday, the 14th, two days before the night of terror. He too, alas, had very little hope.

The enquiry proceeded very slowly. It was begun in extremely difficult circumstances, for, between July 17th and 25th the Bolshevik commissaries had had time to efface nearly every trace of their crime. Immediately after the taking of Ekaterinburg by the Whites, the military authorities had surrounded the house with a guard and a judicial enquiry had been opened, but the threads had been so skilfully entangled that it was very difficult to sort them out.

The most important deposition was that of some peasants from the village of Koptiaki, twenty versts north-west of Ekaterinburg. They came to give evidence that on the night of July 16th-17th the Bolsheviks had occupied a clearing in a forest near their village, where they had remained several days. They brought with them objects which they had found near the shaft of an abandoned mine, not far from which could be seen traces of a large fire. Some officers visited the clearing and found other objects, which, like the first, were recognised as having belonged to the Imperial family.

The enquiry had been entrusted to Ivan Alexandrovitch Serguéief, a member of the Ekaterinburg tribunal. It followed a normal course, but the difficulties were very great. Serguéief was more and more inclined to admit the death of all the members of the family. But the bodies could still not be found, and the depositions of a certain number of witnesses supported the hypothesis that the Czarina and the children had been removed to another place. These depositions—as was subsequently established—emanated from Bolshevik agents deliberately left in Ekaterinburg to mislead the enquiry. Their end was partially attained, for Serguéief lost precious time and was long in realising that he was on the wrong track.

The weeks passed without bringing any new information. I then decided to return to Tioumen, the cost of living at Ekaterinburg being very high. Before starting, however, I obtained from Serguéief a promise that he would recall me if any new fact of importance came to light in the course of the enquiry.

At the end of January, 1919, I received a telegram from General Janin, whom I had known at Mohilef when he was chief of the French Military Mission at Russian G.H.Q. He invited me to join him at Omsk. Some days later I left Tioumen, and on February 13th arrived at the Military Mission sent by France to the Omsk Government.[73]

Admiral Koltchak, realising the historic importance of the enquiry into the disappearance of the Imperial family, and wishing to know the result, had in January charged General Ditériks to bring him from Ekaterinburg a copy of the evidence and all the clues that had been found. On February 5th he summoned Nicholas Alexiévitch Sokolof, “Examining

Magistrate,”[74] for business of particular importance, and invited him to conduct the enquiry. Two days later the Minister of Justice appointed him to carry on Serguéief s work.

It was at this juncture that I made the acquaintance of M. Sokolof. At our first interview I realised that his mind was made up and that he had no further hope. I could not believe such horrors. “But the children—the children?” I cried to him. “The children have suffered the same fate as their parents. There is not a shadow of doubt in my mind on that point.” “But the bodies?” “The clearing must be searched; that is where we shall find the key to the mystery, for the Bolsheviks cannot have spent three days and nights here simply to burn a few clothes.”

Alas! these conclusions were soon to be borne out by the deposition of one of the principal murderers, Paul Medvedief, who had just been taken prisoner at Perm. As Sokolof was at Omsk it was Serguéief who interrogated him on February 25th at Ekaterinburg. He admitted formally that the Czar, Czarina and the five children, Dr. Botkin, and the three servants had been killed in the basement of Ipatief’s house during the night of July 16th-17th. He could not, however, or would not, give any hint as to what had been done with the bodies after the murder.

I worked for several days with M. Sokolof; then he left for Ekaterinburg to continue the enquiry opened by Serguéief.

In April, General Ditériks, who was returning from Vladivostok—where he had been sent by Admiral Koltchak on a special mission—came to join him and assist his efforts. Thenceforward the enquiry made rapid progress. Hundreds of persons were interrogated, and, as soon as the snow had gone, work was begun on a large scale in the clearing in which the Koptiaki peasants had found articles belonging to the Imperial family. The mine-shaft was emptied and thoroughly examined. The ashes and soil of part of the clearing were passed through sieves, and the whole of the surrounding area carefully examined. They succeeded in determining the site of two large fires and, more vaguely, the traces of a third. This methodical research soon brought discoveries of extreme importance.

Devoting himself wholeheartedly to the work he had undertaken, and displaying untiring patience and diligence, M. Sokolof was able in a few months to reconstruct every circumstance of the crime with remarkable accuracy.

CHAPTER XXII

THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE CRIME ESTABLISHED BY THE ENQUIRY

IN the following pages I shall describe the circumstances of the murder of the Imperial family as they appear from the depositions of the witnesses and evidence examined by the enquiry. From the six thick manuscript volumes in which it is contained I have extracted the essential facts of this drama about which, alas! there can be no longer any doubt. The impression left by reading these documents is that of a ghastly nightmare, but I do not feel justified in dwelling on the horror.

About the middle of May, 1918, Yankel Sverdlof, President of the Central Executive Committee at Moscow, yielding to the pressure of Germany,[75] sent Commissary Yakovlef to Tobolsk to arrange for the transfer of the Imperial family. He had received orders to take them to Moscow or Petrograd. In carrying out his mission he met with resistance which he did his best to overcome, as the enquiry has established. This resistance had been organised by the divisional government of the Ural, whose headquarters were at Ekaterinburg. It was they who, unknown to Yakovlef, prepared the trap which enabled them to seize the Emperor en route. But it appears to have been established that this plan had been secretly approved by Moscow. It is more than probable, indeed, that Sverdlof was playing a double game, and that, while pretending to accede to the pressure of General Baron von Mirbach in Moscow, he had arranged with the Ekaterinburg commissaries not to let the Czar escape. However this may be, the installation of the Czar at Ekaterinburg was carried out on the spur of the moment. In two days the merchant Ipatief was evicted from his house and the construction of a strong wooden fencing rising to the level of the second-floor windows begun.

To this place the Czar, Czarina, Grand-Duchess Marie Nicolaïevna, Dr. Botkin, and three servants accompanying them were brought on April 30th. Also Anna Demidova, the Czarina’s maid, Tchemadourof, the Czar’s valet, and Sednief, the Grand-Duchesses’ footman.

At first the guard was formed by soldiers picked at random and frequently changed. Later it consisted exclusively of workmen from the Sissert workshops and the factory of Zlokazof Brothers. They were under the command of Commissary Avdief, commandant of the “house destined for a special purpose,” as Ipatief’s house was named.

The conditions of the imprisonment were much more severe than at Tobolsk. Avdief was an inveterate drunkard, who gave rein to his coarse instincts, and, with the assistance of his subordinates, showed great ingenuity in daily inflicting fresh humiliations upon those in his charge. There was no alternative but to accept the privations, submit to the vexations, yield to the exactions and caprices of these low, vulgar scoundrels.

On their arrival in Ekaterinburg on May 23rd, the Czarevitch and his three sisters were at once taken to Ipatief’s house,

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

A few hours later Kharitonof (the chef), old Troup (footman), and little Leonide Sednief (scullery-boy) were also brought. General Tatichtchef, Countess Hendrikof, Mlle. Schneider, and Volkof, the Czarina’s valet-de-chambre, had been taken direct to the prison.

On the twenty-fourth, Tchemadourof, who had been taken ill, was transferred to the prison hospital; there he was forgotten, and so, miraculously, escaped death. A few days later Nagorny and Sednief were also removed. The number of those who had been left with the prisoners decreased rapidly. Fortunately Dr. Botkin, whose devotion was splendid, was left, and also a few servants whose faithfulness was proof against anything: Anna Demidova, Kharitonof, Troup, and little Leonide Sednief. During these days of suffering the presence of Dr. Botkin was a great comfort to the prisoners; he did all he could for them, acted as intermediary between them and the commissaries, and did his best to protect them against the coarse insults of their guards.

The Czar, Czarina, and Czarevitch occupied the room in the angle formed by the square and Vosnessensky Lane; the four Grand-Duchesses the adjoining room, the door of which had been removed; at first, as there was no bed, they slept on the floor. Dr. Botkin slept in the drawing-room and the Czarina’s maid in the room in the angle of Vosnessensky Lane and the garden. The other prisoners were installed in the kitchen and adjacent hall.

Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s ill-health had been aggravated by the fatigue of the journey; he spent the greater part of the day lying down, and when they went out to take the air it was the Czar who carried him as far as the garden.

The family and servants took their meals with the commissaries, who occupied the same floor as themselves, and so lived in constant proximity with these coarse men, who more often than not were drunk.

The house had been surrounded by a second fence of boards; it had been turned into a veritable prison fortress. There were sentries stationed outside and within, machineguns in the building and garden. The room of the Commissary Commandant—the first on entering the house—was occupied by Commissary Avdief, his adjutant Mochkine, and some workmen. The rest of the guard lived in the basement, but the men often came upstairs and strolled into the rooms of the Imperial family as they liked. The courage of the prisoners was, however, sustained in a remarkable way by religion. They had kept that wonderful faith which at Tobolsk had been the admiration of their entourage and which had given them such strength, such serenity in suffering. They were already almost entirely detached from this world. The Czarina and Grand-Duchesses could often be heard singing religious airs, which affected their guards in spite of themselves.

Gradually these guards were humanised by contact with their prisoners. They were astonished at their simplicity, attracted by their gentleness, subdued by their serene dignity, and soon found themselves dominated by those whom they thought they held in their power. The drunken Avdief found himself disarmed by such greatness of soul; he grew conscious of his own infamy. The early ferocity of these men was succeeded by profound pity.

The Soviet authorities in Ekaterinburg comprised:

(a) The Divisional Council of the Urals, consisting of about thirty members under the presidency of Commissary Bieloborodof.

(b) The Presidium, a sort of executive committee of several members: Bieloborodof, Golochtchokine, Syromolotof, Safarof, Voïkof, etc.

(c) The Tchrezvytchaïka. The popular title of the “Extraordinary Commission for Combating Counter-Revolution and Speculation,” with its centre at Moscow and branches throughout Russia. This is a formidable organisation which is the very foundation of the Soviet régime. Each section receives its orders direct from Moscow and carries them out through its own resources. Every Tchrezvytchaïka of any importance commands the services of a band of nondescript agents, generally Austro-German prisoners of war, Letts, Chinese, etc., who are in reality nothing more than highly-paid executioners.

In Ekaterinburg the Tchrezvytchaïka was all-powerful. Its most influential members were Commissaries Yourovsky, Golochtchokine, etc.

Avdief was under the immediate control of the other commissaries, members of the Presidium and Tchrezvytchaïka. They were not long in realising the change which had come about in the feelings of the guards towards their prisoners, and resolved to adopt drastic measures. At Moscow, too, there was uneasiness, as was proved by the following telegram sent from Ekaterinburg by Bieloborodof to Sverdlof and Golochtchokine (who was then at Moscow): “Syromolotof just left for Moscow to organise according to instructions from centre. Anxiety unnecessary. Useless to worry. Avdief revoked. Mochkine arrested. Avdief replaced by Yourovsky. Inside guard changed, replaced by others.”

This telegram is dated July 4th.

On this day Avdief and his adjutant Mochkine were arrested and replaced by Commissary Yourovsky, a Jew, and his subordinate Nikouline. The guard formed—as has already been mentioned—exclusively of Russian workmen, was transferred to a neighbouring house, that of Popof.

Yourovsky brought with him ten men—nearly all Austro-German prisoners of war—“selected” from among the executioners of the Tchrezvytchaïka. Henceforward these formed the inside guard, the outside sentries being still furnished by the Russian guard.

The “house destined for a special purpose” had become a branch of the Tchrezvytchaïka, and the lives of the prisoners became one long martyrdom.

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

Several days pass; Golochtchokine and Syromolotof have come back. All is ready.

On Sunday, July 14th, Yourovsky summons a priest, Father Storojef, and authorises a religious service. The prisoners are already condemned to death and must not be refused the succour of religion.

The next day he gives orders for the removal of little Leonide Sednief to Popof’s house, where the Russian guard are quartered.

On the sixteenth, about 7 p.m., he orders Paul Medvedief, in whom he has every confidence—Medvedief was in control of the Russian workmen—to bring him the twelve Nagan revolvers with which the Russian guard are armed. When this order has been carried out he tells him that all the Imperial family will be put to death that same night, directing him to inform the Russian guard later. Medvedief informs them about 10 p.m.

Shortly after midnight, Yourovsky enters the rooms occupied by the members of the Imperial family, wakes them up, together with their entourage, and tells them to get ready to follow him. The pretext he alleges is that they are to be taken away, that there are disturbances in the town, and meanwhile they will be safer on the floor below.

Everyone is soon ready. They take a few small belongings and some cushions and then go down by the inner staircase leading to the court from which they enter the ground-floor rooms. Yourovsky goes in front with Nikouline, followed by the Czar, carrying Alexis Nicolaïevitch, the Czarina, the Grand-Duchesses, Dr. Botkin, Anna Demidova, Kharitonof, and Troup.

The prisoners remain in the room indicated by Yourovsky. They are persuaded that the carriages or cars which are to take them away are being fetched, and as the wait may be long they ask for chairs. Three are brought. The Czarevitch, who cannot stand because of his leg, sits down in the middle of the room. The Czar takes his place on his left, Dr. Botkin standing on his right a little to the rear. The Czarina sits down near the wall (to the right of the door by which they entered), not far from the window. A cushion has been placed on her chair and that of Alexis Nicolaïevitch. Behind her she has one of her daughters, probably Tatiana. In the corner on the same side Anna Demidova—still holding two cushions in her arms. The three other Grand-Duchesses are standing with their backs to the wall furthest from the door, and in the corner to their right are Kharitonof and old Troup.

The wait is prolonged. Suddenly Yourovsky re-enters the room with seven Austro-Germans and two of his friends, Commissaries Ermakof and Vaganof, accredited executioners of the Tchrezvytchaïka. Medvedief is also present. Yourovsky comes forward and says to the Czar: “Your men have tried to save you but haven’t succeeded, and we are forced to put you to death.” He immediately raises his revolver and fires point-blank at the Czar, who falls dead. This is the signal for a general discharge of revolvers. Each of the murderers has chosen his victim. Yourovsky has reserved for himself the Czar and Czarevitch. For most of the prisoners death is instantaneous. But Alexis Nicolaïevitch is moaning feebly. Yourovsky finishes him off with a shot from his revolver. Anastasie Nicolaïevna is only wounded, and begins to scream as the murderers approach; she is killed by their bayonets. Anna Demidova, too, has been spared, thanks to the cushions which she holds in front of her. She rushes about, and finally falls under the bayonets of the assassins.

The depositions of the witnesses have made it possible for the enquiry to reconstruct the ghastly scene of the massacre in all its details. These witnesses are Paul Medvedief,[76] one of the murderers; Anatole Yakimof, who was certainly present at the drama, although he denies it, and Philip Proskouriakof, who describes the crime from the story of other spectators. All three were members of the guard at Ipatief’s house.

When all is over, the commissaries remove from the victims their jewels, and the bodies are carried, with the help of sheets and the shafts of a sledge, to a motor-wagon which is waiting at the courtyard door, between the two wooden fences.

They have to hurry for fear of the dawn. The funeral procession crosses the still-sleeping town and makes for the forest. Commissary Vaganof rides ahead, as a chance encounter must be avoided. Just as they are approaching the clearing for which they are making, he sees a wagon driven by peasants coming towards him. It is a woman of the village of Koptiaki, who set out in the night with her son and daughter-in-law to sell fish in the town. He orders them to turn round and go home. To make doubly sure he goes with them, galloping alongside the cart, and forbids them under pain of death to turn round or look behind them. But the peasant woman has had time to catch a glimpse of the great dark object coming up behind the horseman. When she gets back to the village she tells what she has seen. The puzzled peasants start out to reconnoitre, and run into a cordon of sentries stationed in the forest.

However, after great difficulties, for the roads are very bad, the motor-wagon reaches the clearing. The bodies are placed on the ground and partly undressed. It is then that-the commissaries discover a quantity of jewellery that the Grand-Duchesses carry concealed under their clothes. They at once seize them, but, in their haste, let a few fall on the ground, where they are trodden into the soil. The bodies are then cut in pieces and placed on great bonfires, which are made to burn more fiercely by the application of benzine. The parts which resist the flames are destroyed with sulphuric acid. For three days and three nights the murderers toil at their labour of destruction under the direction of Yourovsky and his two friends Ermakof and Vaganof. One hundred and seventy-five kilogrammes of sulphuric acid and more than 300 litres of benzine are brought to the clearing.

At last, on July 20th, all is finished. The murderers efface all traces of the fires, and the ashes are thrown into a mine-shaft or scattered about the neighbourhood of the clearing, so that nothing may reveal what has taken place.

. . . . . .

Why did these men take so much trouble to efface all traces of their deed? Why, since they professed to be acting as the servants of justice, did they hide like criminals? And from whom were they hiding?

It is Paul Medvedief who explains this in his evidence. After the crime Yourovsky came up to him and said, “Keep the outside sentries at their posts in case there is trouble with the people!” And during the following days the sentries continued to mount guard round the empty house as if nothing had happened, as if the fences still shut in the prisoners.

Those who must be deceived, must not know, are the Russian people.

Another fact proves this: the precaution taken on July 4th of sending away Avdief and the Russian guard. The commissaries no longer had confidence in these workmen from the Sissert workshops and the factory of Zlokazof, who had, however, rallied to their cause and enlisted voluntarily to guard “bloody Nicholas.” They knew that none but paid assassins, convicts, or foreigners would consent to carry through the infamous task they were proposing. These assassins were Yourovsky (a Jew), Medvedief, Nikouline, Ermakof, Vaganof, Russian convicts, and seven Austro-Germans.

Yes, it was from the Russian people that they were hiding, the men whose agents they professed to be. It was of them they were afraid; of their vengeance.

At last, on July 20th, they decided to speak and announce the death of the Emperor to the people in a proclamation published in the following form:

In this document mention is made of the sentence of death passed, it is alleged, by the Presidium of Ekaterinburg, on the Czar Nicholas II. A lie! The crime, we know, was decided on in Moscow by Sverdlof, his instructions being brought to Yourovsky by Golochtchokine and Syromolotof.

Sverdlof was the head and Yourovsky the arm; both were Jews.

The Czar was neither condemned nor even judged—and by whom could he have been?—he was assassinated. And what of the Czarina, the children, Dr. Botkin, and the three servants who died with them? But what does it matter to the murderers? They are sure of impunity; the bullet killed, the flame destroyed, and the earth covered what the fire could not devour. Oh, they are very easy in their minds; no one will talk, for they are united by infamy. And it seems to be with reason that Commissary Voïkof can exclaim, “The world will never know what we have done with them!”

These men were mistaken.

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

The buckle of the Czar’s belt, a fragment of his cap, the little portable frame containing the portrait of the Czarina—the photograph had disappeared—which the Czar always carried about him, etc.

The Czarina’s favourite ear-rings (one broken), pieces of her dress, the glass of her spectacles, recognisable by its special shape, etc.

The buckle of the Czarevitch’s belt, some buttons, and pieces of his cloak, etc.

A number of small articles belonging to the Grand-Duchesses: fragments of necklaces, shoes, buttons, hooks, press-buttons, etc.

Six metal corset busks. “Six”—a number which speaks for itself when the number of the female victims is remembered: the Czarina, the four Grand-Duchesses, and A. Demidova, the Czarina’s maid.

Dr. Botkin’s false teeth, fragments of his eyeglasses, buttons from his clothes, etc.

Finally charred bones and fragments of bones, partly destroyed by acid and occasionally bearing the mark of a sharp instrument or saw; revolver bullets—doubtless those which had remained embedded in the bodies—and a fairly large quantity of melted lead.

A pathetic list of relics, leaving, alas! no hope, and showing up the truth in all its brutality and horror. Commissary Voïkof was mistaken: the world now knows what they did with them.

Meanwhile the murderers were growing uneasy. The agents they had left at Ekaterinburg to set the enquiry on false trails kept them in touch with its progress. This they followed step by step. And when they understood finally that the truth was about to be revealed, that the whole world would soon know what had happened, they became afraid, and tried to throw on to others the responsibility for their crime. It was then that they accused the socialist-revolutionaries of being the authors of the crime and of having tried this means of compromising the Bolshevik party. In September, 1919, twenty-eight persons were arrested by them at Perm, falsely accused of having participated in the murder of the Imperial family, and tried. Five of them were condemned to death and executed.

This odious farce forms one more illustration of the cynicism of these men who did not hesitate to send innocent people to