SIBERIA
THE reasons for the summary and unexpected transference of all the prisoners to Siberia, entailing, as it did, fatal consequences that are now part of history, were explained by Mr. Kerensky to the ex-Emperor with careful precision, and have been similarly repeated to this day by apologists of the regime responsible for it. It was due, the Premier insisted, to the concern felt by the Provisional Government for the physical safety of the ex-Tzar and his family. The Cabinet had decided to suppress with a firm hand the increasing disorder in the country and come to grips with the growing challenge of Bolshevism. Such a step would very probably lead to popular rioting, which, in turn, would have to be met with armed force ; should serious strife ensue, the royal family would be among the first victims demanded by the mob. He had experienced one such manifestation already. At Moscow, as early as March 20, extremists had interrupted Kerensky during his first speech in that city and demanded the execution of the Tzar. Kerensky had shouted in reply “I will not be the Marat of the Russian Revolution !”
One abortive attempt, moreover, had actually been made to kidnap the Tsar and imprison him in the Russian Bastille, the fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul. A certain Maslovsky, a Social Revolutionary of the Left, had presented himself one day, in the uniform of a colonel, to Khobylinsky, the responsible officer in charge of the Summer Palace, and presented an order requiring the Commandant to deliver up Nicholas Romanov. The document purported to be issued by the Executive Committee of Workmen and Soldiers, bore an authentic seal, and was signed by Tcheidze, a member in good standing of the Duma. Maslovsky declared he was empowered to conduct the Emperor immediately to St. Peter and St. Paul. Khobylinsky refused to acknowledge such authority ; Maslovsky lost his head, stormed about, poured abuse on Khobylinsky, and threatened vaguely that blood would flow. But Khobylinsky held his ground and Maslovsky made off in a rage.
Those who have ever seen two Russians of the revolutionary period, each armed with class-consciousness and a “mandate” arguing their respective rights and jurisdiction, will readily visualize this scene at the gate of the Summer Palace.
With a view to averting similar dangers in the uncertain future, Mr. Kerensky had dispatched two confidential agents, Verchinin and Makarov, to Siberia for the purpose of selecting a spot sufficiently remote from Moscow where the prisoners would not be exposed to the threat of mob violence. They chose Tobolsk, a town of twelve thousand inhabitants, on the right bank of the River Irtysh, near the mouth of the Tobol, some two thousand miles from Petrograd. It was a tranquil spot, undisturbed by the revolution : then, too, it boasted a comfortable Governor’s Palace which had been prepared for the ex-Tzar and his family.
But why, asks Nicholas Sokolov, the judge who conducted the judicial inquiry into the circumstances of the murder, did not Mr. Kerensky send the family to South Russia — to the Crimea, for example, where so many royalists had found safe refuge ? If Mr. Kerensky was sincere in his protestations of concern for the safety of his charges, why did he not send them to the one region from which escape to a foreign land was still possible ? All the relatives of the imperial family who reached the Crimea were eventually saved.
Mr. Kerensky replies that a voyage through the heart of Russia, then in the hands of revolting peasants and Bolshevist workmen, was impossible. But was not a journey by rail and water from Petrograd to Tobolsk equally perilous ? counters judge Sokolov. No, answers Mr. Kerensky : the regions to the east were not aflame with revolution and peasant uprisings as was South Russia. Judge Sokolov is not satisfied, and his final report suggests that there was but one reason for the choice of Siberia — the dethroned Autocrat of All the Russias must be made to taste the bitterness and dreariness of exile in Siberia, must be made to experience the icy blasts of that House of Dead Souls to which he and his ancestors had banished so many Russians !
On August 14, at 6.10 in the morning, the journey was begun, but not until the ex-Tzar had spent a dismal night sitting in a large salon on the ground floor, waiting patiently for the train which had been promised for the previous evening. The Tzarevitch celebrated his thirteenth birthday on the eve of the departure. Forty-six court attendants voluntarily accompanied the family, making, in all, a party of fifty-three persons, exclusive of the military escort. It took two trains to accommodate the voyagers, their baggage, the government representatives, the jailers, and soldiers. By rail to Tiumen, thence by river steamer to Tobolsk, the trip consumed five days and ended at four o’clock in the afternoon of August 19. Pierre Gilliard, who accompanied the exiles, relates an incident that must have awakened memories that stabbed. On the eighteenth the boat passed Pokrovskoie, the birthplace of Rasputin. The house of the staretz was plainly visible among the izbas. Did the Tzarina, standing an exile on the deck, recall the prophecy of Rasputin : “My death will be your death”?
Life at Tobolsk during the first month was another idyll of domestic calm and undisturbed tranquillity. The ex-Tzar breakfasted, studied, walked, lunched, exercised, dined, taught history to Alexis, and held family reunions in the evening to an extent never possible before. Special religious services were held for the royal family in the town church and they were permitted to leave the house for that purpose. The children prepared and enacted dramatic pieces in French and English. The townspeople showed themselves courteous and sympathetic, frequently sending gifts, particularly fresh food, and saluting the members of the family respectfully or blessing them with the sign of the cross when they appeared at the windows of the Palace. It was, only the unending monotony, the drab Siberian monotony, that oppressed, together with the almost complete absence of news.
The first rift appeared in September 1917. Two new Commissars, Pankratov and Nikolsky, arrived, with authority from the Provisional Government to supersede the humane Khobylinsky, who remained, however, in a subordinate capacity. Had his regime been too mild ? In any case, the new Commandants, who were Social Revolutionaries, one of a genial but fanatical and the other of a vulgar mentality, instituted a propaganda which rapidly demoralized the guards and initiated a progressive persecution of the prisoners. Insulting inscriptions began to appear on the walls and fences. The soldiers now refused to return the salute which Nicholas scrupulously accorded each in passing. Permission to attend divine service in the outside church was withdrawn. Nicholas was ordered to remove his epaulettes. The harmless “snow mountain,” which the whole family had built as a joint recreation and which gave them much distraction, was demolished.
It is not within the scope of the present chapter to trace, step by step, the declining fortunes of the Kerensky Government and the corresponding rise of the Bolshevist power. Suffice it to say, at this point, that the reasons for the increasing severity in the treatment of the royal hostages became apparent in distant Tobolsk about the middle of November. The Petrograd experimentation in democracy was at an end ; Russia’s one short summer of freedom had passed and a change of masters was at hand. While the Duma theorized and perorated interminably, Lenin mounted to the balcony of the Kshesinskaia Palace — owned by a ballet dancer once the favorite of Nicholas II — and shouted his political platform in four promises : ‘Peace, land, bread, power.’ Magic words, easily understood by all ! Under the irresistible appeal of universal formulæ, never intended to be fulfilled, popular imagination, already surfeited with war and hungry for booty, was whipped to easy mutiny. Petrograd seethed again. Constitutional Democracy was swept into the discard and Militant Communism emerged an undisputed victor. It was a second Russian Revolution, which left Nicholas Romanov and his family in the hands of his most relentless personal enemies.1
When a Bolshevik draws his sword in class warfare, he throws away the scabbard. Vœ victis !
The long-postponed liquidation of a three-hundred-years-old account was about to begin. The punishment started in the kitchen. First coffee, cream, milk, butter, and sugar were removed from the table of the prisoners at Tobolsk. News of the signing of the humiliating Treaty of Brest-Litovsk reached Siberia toward the middle of the following March. Nicholas was saddened and embittered. “It is such a disgrace for Russia,” he said, “and amounts to suicide. I should never have thought the Emperor William could stoop to shake hands with these miserable traitors. But I’m sure they will get no good from it ; it won’t save them from ruin.” The ex-Tzar indignantly repudiated the suggestion made in the newspapers that Germany had demanded of the Soviets to hand over to them the person of the Tzar unharmed. “That is either a manœuvre to discredit me or an insult.” Pierre Gilliard adds that the Tzarina said in a low voice, “After what they have done to the Tzar, I would rather die in Russia than be saved by the Germans.” Then follows a most significant entry in Gilliard’s journal of the captivity : —
Friday, March 22 : At a quarter past nine, after the evening service, everyone went to Confession — children, servants, suite, and finally Their Majesties.
But it was not until April 22 that the real prologue to the tragedy began. On the evening of that day still another figure appears on the scene in the person of Vassili Vassilievich Jakolev, in command of a troop of one hundred and fifty horsemen, including an experienced telegraph operator. It was late and dark when he arrived ; nothing could be done then, so the latest arrival from Moscow passed the night in the Kornilov house opposite the Tzar’s prison. On the morning of the twenty-third, he introduced himself to Khobylinsky as an “Extraordinary Commissar,” producing three documents from the Tzik, the Central Executive Committee of the new Soviet Government. The first two papers, addressed to Khobylinsky and the guard, respectively, required entire and immediate submission to any order of Jakolev, who was authorized to shoot them on the spot should they disobey. The third document declared that Jakolev was charged with a mission of “particular importance.” These orders were signed by Sverdlov, Chairman of the Central Executive Committee, and by another Soviet official, Ovanessov.
The nature of the particularly important mission was revealed at two o’clock on the afternoon of April 25, when Jakolev appeared before the ex-Tzar ; having asked the Empress to leave the room, which she refused to do, Jakolev began : —
“ I have to tell you that I am the special representative of the Moscow Central Executive Committee, and my mission is to take all your family out of Tobolsk, but as your son is ill I have received a second order which says that you alone must leave.”
Nicholas replied : “ I will not go anywhere.”
Jakolev protested : “ I beg of you not to refuse. I am compelled to execute the order. In case of your refusal I must take you by force or resign. In the latter case they would probably decide to send a less scrupulous sort of man to take my position. Be calm ; I am responsible with my life for your security. If you do not want to go alone you could take with you the people you desire. Be ready ; we are leaving to-morrow at four o’clock.”
No indication was vouchsafed as to the ultimate destination ; but Khobylinsky was able to deduce from certain hints let fall by Jakolev as to time and distance that it was Moscow. He communicated his belief to the royal pair. “Then,” said Nicholas, “they are trying to make me sign the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. I will let them cut off my hand rather than do it.” “I shall go with him !” cried the Empress, in a violent agitation. “If I am not with him they will force him to sign something as they did before.” She mentioned Rodzianko, evidently referring to the abdication at Pskov.
Alexandra suspected a German intrigue and declared to Gilliard that afternoon, in a tempest of emotion : “ They will take him away, alone, in the night. . . . I cannot abandon him at such a moment. . . . I know they are preparing some ignominy. . . . They will make him sign a peace at Moscow. . . . The Germans are behind it, knowing that only a treaty signed by the Tzar has any value. My duty is never to permit that nor abandon him. But how can I leave Alexis [who was ill again] ? What would become of him without me ?”
Torn between love of son and fear for the safety of husband, — or was it apprehension that he might again show a weakness detrimental to the dynastic rights of Alexis ? — she paced distractedly back and forth, like a caged tigress, wringing her hands and talking to herself. Gilliard records : —
I remember with precision the next phrase she spoke. “ Oh, God ! What a ghastly torture ! . . . This is the first time in my life that I am not sure what I should do.” . . .
But she finally found herself and became the old Alexandra Feodorovna of the Rasputin days. . . . “ Now I am determined.” . . .
At that moment Nicholas entered, returning from his walk.
“ I will not let thee go alone !” she cried. “I will go with thee !” “As you will,” he replied.
It was agreed that the Empress and the Grand Duchess Marie should accompany the father, while Alexis and the three remaining Grand Duchesses were to be entrusted to the protection of Gilliard. She left the Tzarevitch suffering from a cruel attack of his hereditary disease and bathed in tears.
But before their departure another messenger had slipped out of Tobolsk. It was a spy, of Jewish extraction, Zaslavsky by name, who, after insinuating himself into the favor of the local guards, had spread poisonous rumors as to the intentions of Jakolev and had, moreover, sent reports by wire to Sverdlov in Moscow. Now that the transfer was about to take place, he took a start of six hours and reached Ekaterinburg in time to play his part in the weaving of the complicated net of death.
The travelers began their journey on April 26. It was a horror. No conveyances were available except the peasant tarantass, consisting of a large wicker basket resting on poles in place of springs. Passengers lie or sit on the straw covered floor, at the mercy of every jolt. The roads were what all country roads in Russia are in early spring — quagmires of clinging mud. The horses floundered about, up to their knees in ooze and to their chests in water when crossing rivers. Wheels were broken, horses exhausted, and passengers bruised and sore. But at last the two hundred and eighty versts to Tiumen, the nearest railroad station, were covered in safety, and an assuring message came back to Tobolsk on April 28 : “Traveling in comfort. How is the Boy ? God be with you.”
But dead silence thereafter until May 7. Then a letter, from Ekaterinburg, with the laconic announcement that they were well. Nothing more. Why Ekaterinburg ? An agony of fear descended on the children at Tobolsk. Ekaterinburg was the headquarters of the Ural Soviets. What and who had diverted their parents to the stronghold of the Reds ? The mystery remained unsolved, — as, in fact, it remains to this day, — until, on May 8, the officers and men of the guard who started out with Jakolev returned to Tobolsk and told a story which, while it does not explain, at least describes the occurrence.
Once on the open road, Jakolev manifested a feverish desire to hasten forward without losing an instant. He seemed possessed by some secret, driving fear. Despite the appalling condition of the roads, he would permit neither halts nor relaxation of speed. En route, the cavalcade passed the house of Rasputin in Pokrovskoie ; the wife and children of the murdered staretz were standing in the doorway and made the sign of the cross over the royal couple as they swept by. Arriving at Tiumen on the evening of the twenty-seventh, Jakolev conducted his prisoners to a waiting train and started westward toward European Russia by the line passing through Ekaterinburg. But on approaching that city, with no intention of stopping, he learned, no one knows how, that the local authorities would not permit him to pass, but intended to arrest him. He doubled on his tracks and sped at full steam back to Tiumen and took the alternative, but longer, Cheliabinsk-Ufa route to Moscow. At the station of Koulomzino, the last stop before Omsk, his train was again halted, this time by a massed contingent of Red Guards who declared that the Soviet of Ekaterinburg had pronounced him an outlaw for having attempted to rescue Nicholas Romanov and transport him to a foreign land.
The spy, Zaslavsky, had arrived in time ! And even had he failed, Boris Nicolaievich Soloviev was still on the lookout. This man, a revolutionary — and, like his father-in-law, a hypnotist — had married Rasputin’s daughter, Matrona, not from any love he bore her, but to exploit her position as daughter of the former court favorite. Incidentally, he was aware that the murdered “ prophet ” had left his daughter a considerable sum of money. Trading on his wife’s influence with the Tzarina, Soloviev stationed himself at Tiumen and pretended to act as confidential agent for the loyal monarchists who sought to establish contact with the prisoners in the hope of effecting a rescue. It was later ascertained that Soloviev had betrayed every attempt to the Bolshevist authorities.
Jakolev then uncoupled his engine and rode into Omsk, where he spoke by direct wire with someone in Moscow. He was ordered to proceed via Ekaterinburg. This he did, with train and passengers. The convoy had barely steamed into the station of that city when this amazing game of hare and hounds came to an abrupt end. Jakolev was surrounded by Red soldiers, his own guard disarmed and thrown into a cellar. Jakolev himself went to the office of the local Soviet for a conference ; he soon came out, crestfallen, his authority gone. The three royal prisoners were conducted to a house that had been hurriedly requisitioned from a wealthy Siberian merchant named Ipatiev and there imprisoned. It was to be their death chamber. After a few days the soldiers imprisoned in the cellar, Jakolev’s Tobolsk detachment, were released ; Jakolev himself left for Moscow and from there sent a message to his private telegraph operator at Tobolsk : —
Gather together the company and come back. I have resigned. I take no responsibility for the consequences.
With the exit and disappearance of the mysterious Commissar charged with his mission of “particular importance” vanished the key of that bewildering performance. He is never to be heard from again ; report had it later that he had been killed in battle, fighting on the side of the Whites. At the end of this narrative I shall hazard a guess as to who Comrade Jakolev really was.
1 On February 9, 1918, the Bolshevist soldiers expelled the two representatives of the Provisional Government, Pankratov and Nikolsky, but permitted Khobylinsky, who seems to have been universally liked, to remain in charge, pending the arrival of a new Commandant from Moscow.