Tutor to the Tsarevitch

I

FOR eight years I had been professor of French to the four Grand Duchesses, daughters of the Tsar Nicholas II, when, in the autumn of 1913, I was appointed tutor to the Grand Duke Alexis Nikolaievich, heir to the throne, and came to five in the imperial palace. From that moment I shared intimately the life of my pupils. With them I lived through the sad war years and the tragic hours of the revolution in March 1917. I shared their captivity, first at Tsarskoe Selo, then at Tobolsk in Siberia. Finally I accompanied them to Ekaterinburg, where I was separated from them by the Bolsheviks six weeks before their death. Thus circumstances made me the witness of one of the most horrible tragedies in history, and I am to-day one of the very few survivors of that little group of intimates who followed the imperial family on their road to martyrdom.

In their relations with me the Tsar and Tsarina were simply the father and mother of the boy they had entrusted to my care, and I for my part regarded them as human beings like the rest of us. It was not the prestige of their imperial rank, but rather their moral courage in the face of sufferings and disaster, which made me admire them. And when I recall the terrible death of their children, the brutal massacre at Ekaterinburg where those five children died, the eldest but twenty-two and the youngest fourteen, I suffer even to-day a feeling of horror and revolt that the lapse of years has not softened.

Was there ever a more tragic destiny than that of this family? Does not the relentless fatality which for twenty-two years, from the panic and stampede at the coronation ceremonies to the Ekaterinburg massacre, untiringly pursued the last of the Romanovs remind one of the άνάγκη of Greek tragedy? The crime at Ekaterinburg was in fact an inevitable fulfillment, the climax of one of the most moving tragedies that humanity has known.

Though few suspected it, for the family tried to keep it a secret of state, the illness of the Tsarevitch was one of the principal elements of the tragedy. It is thus of vital importance from the historical point of view. That illness casts its shadow over the whole of the concluding part of the reign of Tsar Nicholas II, and alone can explain it. Without appearing to be so, it was one of the main causes of his fall, for it made possible the evil domination of Rasputin, and resulted in the fatal isolation of the sovereigns, who came to live more and more in a world apart, wholly absorbed in an anxiety that had to be concealed from all eyes.

II

When the Russian Revolution broke out in March 1917, I had been for three years tutor to the Tsarevitch. He was then twelve years old, and rather tall for his age. He had a long, finely chiseled face, large blue-gray eyes, and regular features. His hair was auburn, with a coppery glint in it that he must have inherited from his mother’s English ancestors (she was a granddaughter of Queen Victoria). His expression was very mobile, and reflected at once all the feelings and emotions of his delicate and sensitive nature. But he was not a dreamer; he was, on the contrary, an extremely lively and even boisterous child, and we often found it hard to restrain his exuberance.

Although an intelligent lad, he had been held back in his physical development and in his studies by the terrible disease, hæmophilia, from which he was suffering.¹ It was a perpetual menace to his life, a sword of Damocles hanging over his head. The slightest wound might cause his death. Suppose he should slip while he was playing, and his head should hit against the floor — a fatal hemorrhage might ensue. His mother knew this so well that I never saw her leave her child, even for a few minutes, without kissing him tenderly as if she were wondering whether she would find him alive again.

The Tsarina had long known the terrible disease; an uncle, one of her brothers, and two of her nephews had died of it. From her childhood she had heard it spoken of as a dreadful and mysterious thing against which men were powerless. And now her only son, the child she loved above all on earth, was affected! Death would watch him, follow him at every step, and carry him off one day as it already had so many boys in his family! Her life was henceforth but a long agony. Everything within human power was attempted, every kind of treatment was tried, in vain. Her only hope now was that God would perform a miracle. Such was the origin of her mysticism, which was to assume such proportions as the years passed; it put the Tsarina under Rasputin’s sway, and thus finally led to disaster.

By order of his doctors, Alexis Nikolaievich had been given two former sailors of the imperial yacht as his bodyguards and personal attendants. They had strict orders never to leave him by himself. They looked after him in rotation, watching over him closely to prevent casualties. Little accidents, however, were inevitable; and occasionally bad mishaps would occur, when the child, weakened and made anæmic by the blood he had lost, would be inactive for weeks, sometimes months, without being able to resume his studies. Fortunately, Alexis Nikolaievich had an abundant reserve of gayety; as soon as he was well again, he would forget all he had suffered, and live the careless life of a happy twelve-year-old boy.

III

I found it very hard at first to obtain authority over my pupil, for on account of his illness he had been very much spoiled. In his eyes I was an enemy, the first person who had ever been appointed to extract work and attention from him. However, since he was a sensitive and affectionate child, he soon became attached to me, and I also began to feel the charm of his personality. I called him by his Christian name and patronymic, as is the habit in Russia, and our relations were free of all constraint. He soon became accustomed to seeing in me during lesson times an exacting professor, at other times a great friend who did not think it below his dignity to arrange complicated battles with toy dreadnoughts, cruisers, and torpedo boats.

One of my first cares had been to obtain some alleviation of the constant supervision to which he was subjected by his two bodyguards. A measure of freedom was an absolute necessity if he were not to become a moral invalid. I thus assumed a terrible responsibility, but the Tsar and Tsarina said they were ready to accept all the risks of an experiment which they well knew might seriously endanger the life of their child. It was very seldom indeed that the Tsarevitch was allowed to play with boys of his own age, whose roughness might very easily have been the cause of some accident. In consequence he would have been extremely lonely had he not had his sisters, of whom he was very fond, to play with.

Olga, the eldest, was twenty-one at the time. She had remarkable gifts, but her unusual intelligence had not been able to come to full flower in this narrowing environment. Her spirit revealed itself in spontaneity and frankness. Tatiana, nineteen years old, was very pretty. She was more sensitive than Olga, but much less intelligent. The two younger sisters — Marie, seventeen, and Anastasia, fifteen — brought much charm, freshness, and gayety into our monotonous and solitary life.

Alexis Nikolaievich was the centre of this united family, the focus of all its hopes and affections. His sisters worshiped him, and he was his parents’ pride and joy. When he was well, the palace was bathed in sunshine. What impressed me most, from the day I arrived, was to see how simple was their private life, how devoid of pomp. Their greatest joy was to be together, for they were self-sufficient. There were seldom any guests at dinner, and they had formed the habit of spending their evenings together in the Tsarina’s sitting room or on the large terrace that stretched along one side of the palace.

After the disorders of 1905, Tsar Nicholas II had left Petrograd and come to live with his family at Tsarskoe Selo, a little town twenty kilometres from the capital. He had chosen as his new residence the Alexander Palace, built by Catherine II for her grandson, the Grand Duke Alexander, at the end of the eighteenth century. The house was surrounded by a large park, and its simplicity was in marked contrast to the splendors of the other imperial palaces. Its seclusion suited the quiet life of the sovereigns. The imperial family used only one wing of the palace, the Tsar and Tsarina occupying the ground floor and the children the floor above. First came the apartments of the Grand Duchesses, then a large playroom, the bedroom of Alexis Nikolaievich, his schoolroom, and finally my own study.

IV

The Tsarina, her four daughters, and the Tsarevitch were at the Alexander Palace when the Revolution broke out. The Tsar had left them unwillingly several days before to return to General Headquarters at Mohilev. He had spent the months of January and February with them at Tsarskoe Selo while attending to state affairs which he had neglected during his long stay with the army. 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 the Tsar’s faith in the army was unshaken. He was certain that it would be ready in the spring to join in a great offensive of the Allies that would deal Germany her deathblow and thus save Russia. The Tsar hesitated, however, to leave Tsarskoe Selo, such was his anxiety about the political situation and about his family. On the other hand, he considered that his departure could not be deferred much longer, and that it was his duty to return to General Headquarters, where he was wanted by General Alexeiev, the first Quartermaster-General of the Russian armies. He ultimately left for Mohilev on Thursday, March 8, arriving there the next morning.

His departure was a great blow to the Tsarina, for to the fears that she always felt when he was away from her had now been added anxiety about her son, who had been in bed with the measles for several days. His condition had been aggravated by various complications, and, to crown all, three of the Grand Duchesses also fell ill with the measles.

It was under such circumstances that the Revolution overtook us. The Tsar had hardly left Tsarskoe Selo when the first symptoms of insurrection broke out in the working-class quarters of Petrograd. This may have been a mere coincidence, though one cannot help wondering whether the revolutionists did not make the most of the Tsar’s absence to touch off the fire.

Here are a few short extracts from my journal: —

Saturday, March 10. — Grave disorders have broken out at Petrograd. The police have had to fire, many insurgents have been killed, troops had to be called.

Sunday, March 11.—The situation became very critical in the night. The mob has made its way to the centre of the town. The troops are offering but slight resistance. . . . Alexis Nikolaievich is worse again; his fever is higher — morning, 103.5; noon, 104; night, 105.

Monday, March 12.—The insurgents have taken possession of the arsenal. Mr. Gibbs [English tutor to the Tsarevitch] telephoned to me this morning from Petrograd that several regiments have joined the insurgents. The Tsarina is extremely anxious and realizes that the peril is imminent. She spends all her time with her sick children, going from the Grand Duchesses’ bedsides to that of the Tsarevitch, doing her utmost to conceal her torturing anxiety from the invalids.

Tuesday, March 13. — As I entered the Tsarevitch’s room at half-past nine this morning, the Tsarina beckoned to me to follow her into an adjoining room. She told me that the capital was actually in the hands of the revolutionaries and that the Duma had just set up a Provisional Government with Rodzianko at its head [Rodzianko was the President of the Duma]. She had just received a telegram from the Tsar, saying that he would be here at six to-morrow morning. He wants us to leave for Gatchina [another imperial residence, twelve miles from Tsarskoe Selo], or else go to meet him. We must make all arrangements in case we should leave. I could see how worried the Tsarina was, how much she feared the journey for her sick children. Her face expressed extreme weariness, terrible doubt and hesitation.... I saw her again in the afternoon. She said she informed Rodzianko of the serious condition of the Tsarevitch and the Grand Duchesses, but he replied: ‘When a house is burning, the invalids are the first to be taken out!’

At four o’clock, Dr. Deverenko [the Tsarevitch’s doctor] came back from the hospital and told us that Petrograd was in the hands of the revolutionaries. Communications are entirely cut off! Consequently we cannot leave, and there is very little chance of the Tsar’s being able to reach us. We can only wait now and submit to our fate.

About nine in the evening, Baroness Buxhoeveden [lady-in-waiting to the Tsarina] came into my study. She had just heard that the garrison at Tsarskoe Selo had mutinied and that there was fighting in the streets. We tried to find the Tsarina and met her in the hall as she came out of the room of the Grand Duchesses. The Baroness told her how things stood. We then went to the windows and, in the dim twilight of the courtyard, watched the approach of the officers and soldiers who are still faithful to us. General Reissine is in command; his men have taken position outside the palace, ready to fire.

At that moment we heard on the telephone that the rebels had just killed a sentry outside the Grand Palace, about five hundred yards from here, and that they were coming in our direction. We could hear a few isolated shots and the shouts of the oncoming mob. The distracted Tsarina went out with her daughter Marie; she begged the men to parley with the rebels and do all in their power to avoid a fight. Our hearts almost slopped beating with suspense, for we were conscious that a single rash word, a single mistake, could have irreparable consequences. A few officers stepped out to meet the rebels. They appealed to their sense of compassion, telling them that in the palace were only a woman and her children, four of whom were in a serious condition. They also said that they could enter the palace only over the dead bodies of their officers and of those of their comrades who were still loyal: did they want to shed the blood of their comrades? The revolutionaries hesitated, wavered, and a parley began.

About midnight most of the mob retired, shooting at random about the streets. The danger seemed to have passed.... I went up to Alexis Nikolaievich, and found him asleep. Neither he nor his sisters had heard anything, thanks to the heavy curtains and the double windows.

At two o’clock the town was quiet again. The Tsarina and Marie Nikolaievna have retired to their rooms. . . . We are all dead with fatigue and anxiety.

Wednesday, March 14. — The Tsar did not arrive this morning. Neither have we heard from him.... The Provisional Government has asserted its authority over the garrison of Tsarskoe Selo, and has given strict orders to prevent the renewal of last night’s disorders.

Thursday, March 15. — At half-past three this morning, one of the members of the Provisional Government called the doctor on the telephone to ask for news of Alexis Nikolaievich, for a report of his death had been circulating in Petrograd. Fortunately he has been much better since yesterday; he has hardly any fever now. To give him more air, he has just been carried in his bed to the big playroom, which is occasionally lighted up by the pale March sunshine. He is still ignorant of all that has passed. Since he is very weak, his only pleasure is to have me read aloud from one of his favorite books. His sisters’ condition is stationary, and, to crown all, Marie Nikolaievna, the only one of the Grand Duchesses who was not an invalid, has fallen ill too. She also has the measles, but the doctors are afraid of pneumonia, for she caught cold when she went out with the Tsarina in the night — she was even then not feeling well. With admirable courage, the seventeen-year-old girl stayed by her mother until she herself broke down. . . .

Still no news from the Tsar. Where is he? What is happening? The events of the last five days make us feel that we are being carried away by a hurricane, which nothing can withstand.

V

Before going on with my journal, let us see what had become of the Tsar.

He had left Tsarskoe Selo on Thursday, March 8, and reached Mohilev on the ninth. The next day he received alarming news from Petrograd, but once more he was deceived by the most influential members of his suite, who tried to conceal as much of the truth as they dared, and to allay his anxieties by minimizing the import of what they could not hide from him. General Alexeiev, Professor Feodorov, and a few others tried to open his eyes to the gravity of the situation; they did their best to persuade him to go back to Tsarskoe Selo and grant the liberties the nation demanded. The Tsar hesitated between the opposing courses that were open to him, and finally decided to follow the counsel of his established advisers. He thus lost two priceless days.

By the twelfth the situation had become so ominous that the Tsar at last realized that extraordinary measures were required, and decided to return to Tsarskoe Selo at once. The imperial train left Mohilev on the night of the twelfth, but when the Tsar arrived at a small station near Petrograd, some twenty-four hours later, it was ascertained that the next station was in the hands of the insurgents and that it was impossible to get to Tsarskoe Selo.

The Tsar decided to go to Pskov to General Russky, the Commander in Chief of the Northern Front. He arrived there on the evening of the fourteenth. When the General had described the latest developments in Petrograd, the Tsar instructed him to inform Rodzianko by telephone that he was ready to make every concession if the Duma thought it would save the nation. The reply came a few minutes later: ‘It is too late.’ The Tsar was downcast. The reply of the Duma left him with the alternative of abdicating or marching on Petrograd with the troops which remained faithful to him. But could he shed Russian blood while the country was in need of all its forces to fight a formidable enemy? He spent the night tortured by anguish and doubt.

On the morning of the fifteenth, the Tsar had made up his mind. He handed General Russky a telegram informing the President of the Duma that he intended to abdicate in favor of his son.

A few hours later, however, he changed his mind. He thought of his son’s ill health, of the insuperable difficulties that the boy would have to contend with, and he hesitated to pass on to him the heavy crown under whose weight he himself was succumbing. He summoned Professor Feodorov to his car and said to him: ‘Tell me frankly, Sergius Petrovich, is Alexis’s malady incurable?’

Professor Feodorov, fully realizing the importance of what he had to say, answered: ‘Science teaches us, sire, that it is an incurable disease. Yet those who are afflicted with it sometimes reach ripe old age. Still, Alexis Nikolaievich is at the mercy of an accident.’

The Tsar hung his head and sadly murmured: ‘That is just what the Tsarina told me. Well, since it is so, since Alexis can never serve his country as I should like him to, we have the right to keep him ourselves.'

His mind was now definitely made up, and on that very evening, when the representatives of the Duma were introduced, he handed them the Act of Abdication in which he renounced for himself and his son the throne of Russia in favor of his brother, the Grand Duke Michael.

VI

ALEXANDER PALACE,Friday, March 16. — For three days we have had no news from the Tsar. Where can he be? What is happening in Petrograd? We are almost entirely ignorant of the events that are taking place around us. The day passes in painful suspense. . . .

At the end of the afternoon, Sergius [my servant] suddenly entered my room. The soldiers of the guard had just told him that the Tsar had abdicated. As I tried to procure more information, I saw General Reissine enter the Tsarina’s room crying. When, a few minutes later, he came out again, he confirmed the abdication of the Tsar. He said, however, that the Tsarina still refuses to believe it: she asserts that the news is false. Soon afterward the Grand Duke Paul arrived from Petrograd with the special editions of the newspapers. Her Majesty must yield to the evidence. . . .

The Tsarina’s despair almost defies imagination. Her great courage, however, has not deserted her. I saw her again this evening in Alexis Nikolaievich’s room. Her face was terrible to see, but, with almost superhuman strength of will, she had forced herself to come to the children’s rooms as usual, so that the young invalids, who knew nothing of what had passed, should suspect nothing.

Late at night we heard that the Grand Duke Michael had renounced the throne and that the fate of Russia was to be settled by the Constituent Assembly.

Saturday, March 17. — I saw the Tsarina this morning in Alexis Nikolaievich’s room. She was calm, but very pale. She has aged and wasted away frightfully in the course of the last few days.

Wednesday, March 21. — Nothing unusual has happened in the last three days. This morning, however, the Tsarina sent for me at half-past ten. She had just been informed by the Provisional Government that the Tsar and she herself are now under arrest. All those who do not wish to be kept in close confinement must leave the palace before four o’clock. She asked what I wanted to do. I replied that I had decided to stay with them. She thanked me, and added: ‘The Tsar is coming back to-morrow. Alexis must be told everything. Will you do it? I am going to tell the girls myself.’ It is easy to see how much she suffers when she thinks of the terrible shock she is going to inflict upon her sick children when she tells them that their father has abdicated.

We went back to the children’s rooms, and, while the Tsarina entered the apartment of the Grand Duchesses, I went to the big playroom where Alexis Nikolaievich was lying. I entered the room, which was but dimly lighted; the curtains had been drawn, for the boy’s eyes have been hurting him for the last few days. I walked up to the bed where he was lying with his red, swollen eyelids half closed. When he saw me, he smiled faintly. I sat down, and we began to talk. After a few moments he spoke of G. H. Q. and said he would be glad to go there with his father as soon as he was well again. I improved the opportunity by saying: —

‘Do you know, Alexis Nikolaievich, the Tsar is coming back to-morrow morning!’

His face lighted up, for he loves his father tenderly.

‘For how long?’

’He’ll stay at Tsarskoe Selo. He’s not going back to Mohilev.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because your father does not want to be Commander in Chief any more.’

He was greatly moved at this, for he was very fond of going to G. H. Q., where he did not have so many lessons as at Tsarskoe Selo.

After a moment or two I added, ‘ You know, Alexis Nikolaievich, your father does not want to be Tsar any more.’ He looked at me in astonishment, trying to read in my face what had happened. He was so excited that he sat up in his bed.

‘What! Why?’

‘Because your father is very tired. He’s had a lot of trouble lately.’

‘Oh yes! Mother says the Socialists stopped his train when he wanted to come here a few days ago. But won’t Papa be Tsar again afterward?’

I explained that the Tsar had abdicated in favor of the Grand Duke Michael, who, however, had also renounced the throne while waiting for the final decision.

‘But who’s going to be Tsar, then?’

‘I don’t know. Nobody just now.’

Not a word about himself. Not a single allusion to his rights as heir to the crown. He was very red and agitated.

There was a silence, and then he said: ‘But if there is n’t any Tsar, who’s going to govern Russia?’

I explained that a Provisional Government has been formed and that it will govern the state until the Constituent Assembly meets, when his uncle Michael will perhaps mount the throne.

For a few minutes he did not speak. He was doubtless thinking of all the difficulties that his father has had to meet, of all the restrictions imposed upon himself as heir to the throne, of the obligation for them to live so much at Tsarskoe Selo, away from his beloved Crimea, for suddenly he exclaimed : —

‘Well, if Uncle Michael is Tsar, Papa will be free, and when the war is over we can live in the Crimea all the time.’

Still not the slightest allusion to his rights as the heir, not the slightest regret that the crown has passed on to his uncle.

We remained some time without speaking. He was lying down again in his bed and seemed to dream. What was he thinking of? Does he perhaps now feel some pangs of regret that he is no longer the heir, or, on the contrary, does he realize that, ill as he is, it would indeed have been difficult for him to be Tsar?

Suddenly I heard a door open. I turned round and saw the Tsarina coming out of the Grand Duchesses’ room. Her eyes were very red and her face was distorted with grief. She came up to Alexis Nikolaievich’s bed and bent over to kiss him. I withdrew softly to leave the mother alone with the child.

An hour later I returned to Alexis Nikolaievich’s room, and as soon as he saw me he exclaimed: ‘You know, monsieur, Papa will be Tsar again as soon as the Revolution is over!’

But he said it without conviction, like a lesson learned by heart. Undoubtedly he was repeating the words of his mother, and I understood that the Tsarina still believed in a restoration, a return of the Tsar to the throne which he had just given up.²

At four o’clock the doors of the palace were closed. We are prisoners! The regiment of the guard has been relieved

by a regiment from the garrison of Tsarskoe Selo, and the soldiers on sentry duty are not there to protect us, but to keep guard over us.

Thursday, March 22.—The Tsar returned this morning at half-past eleven. He immediately went upstairs with the Tsarina to see the children.

After lunch, he came to Alexis Nikolaievich’s room when I was there. He spoke to me with his usual simplicity and kindness. But I could tell by his pale, worn face that he too had suffered terribly during these tragic days.

VII

In spite of the circumstances, the Tsar’s return marked a day of unspeakable joy to his family. It was a great comfort to be all together in such times of trial. It seemed as if it made their trouble less unbearable, and as if their boundless love for each other were strong enough to enable them to face any degree of suffering.

Thus began the long captivity which was to be continued in Siberia and end sixteen months later at Ekaterinburg.

Ekaterinburg! It was the last stage in their long martyrdom, before the supreme deliverance. And then Death came. But Death refused to separate those whom life had so closely bound together, and took them all seven, united in one faith and one love.