their own supplies were adequate, but she asked Guchkov to look into the supplies for the numerous hospitals around Tsarskoe Selo. In addition, she asked, for the children’s sake, that order be maintained around the palace. Guchkov promised to arrange both of these matters. The first interview between the Empress and her captors had gone well. Returning home after the interview, Grand Duke Paul told his wife that he had never seen Alexandra more “beautiful, tranquil and dignified.”
Nevertheless, the future still seemed precarious. During the days which preceded the Tsar’s return, the Empress began burning her diaries, bound either in white satin or leather, and much of her private correspondence. All of her letters from Queen Victoria and her own letters to the Queen, which had been returned from Windsor after her grandmother’s death, were destroyed. “A fierce fire was burning in the huge grate in the red drawing room,” wrote Lili Dehn. “… She reread some of them.… I heard stifled sobs and … sighs.… Still weeping, [she] laid her letters one by one on the heart of the fire. The writing glowed for an instant … then it faded and the paper became a little heap of white ash.” There were some letters which Alexandra did not burn. With rumors flying that one or both of them would be placed on trial, she carefully saved all of her letters to Nicholas and his to her to use as evidence of their patriotism.
Morale among the defending garrison began to erode. Following the dictate of Order Number One of the Petrograd Soviet, the troops began electing their officers. The Cossacks all reelected their former commanders, but General Ressine, commanding the Guard, was voted out. Discipline slackened, the men began to slouch on duty and argue when given a command. Those who remained loyal were frustrated and helpless because of the abdication. One devoted squadron of the Chevalier Guards, stationed at Novgorod, a hundred miles south of Tsarskoe Selo, had set out through the snow to defend tsar and dynasty. They rode for two days through bitter cold, reaching the palace gates, bedraggled and exhausted, to find that they had come too late. There no longer was a tsar or a dynasty for them to defend.
On the morning of March 21, General Kornilov returned to the palace. His mission this time was to place Alexandra Fedorovna under arrest. The Empress, dressed in her white nurse’s uniform, received him in the green drawing room. Apprised of his mission, she stood icily silent and did not hold out her hand to receive him. Kornilov carefully explained that the arrest was purely precautionary, designed to safeguard her and her children from the excesses of the Soviet and the revolutionary soldiery. Her husband, he said, had been arrested at Mogilev and would be returned to Tsarskoe Selo the following day. As soon as the children’s health permitted, he declared, the Provisional Government intended to send the entire family to Murmansk, where a British cruiser would be waiting to take them to England. Kornilov’s reassuring words overcame Alexandra’s reserve. Half an hour later, an aide returned to find the Empress and the General sitting together at a small table. She was weeping and there were tears in his eyes. When she rose to say goodbye, she held out both her hands.
Moving to the Tsar’s audience chamber, Kornilov addressed the assembled officers of the guard and the palace suite. He announced that, as the Tsar and his wife both were under arrest, the officers’ duties at the palace had come to an end and that their men would be relieved by other troops. He told the suite that those who wished to leave were free to go; having gone, however, no one could return. Those who stayed would be placed under house arrest with Her Majesty. At that point, a majority rose and left the hall. Kornilov, disgusted, muttered under his breath: “Lackeys!” Kornilov informed Benckendorff that except for two entrances, the kitchen and the main entrance, the palace would be sealed. Captain Kotzebue, who had accompanied Kornilov, was assigned as palace commander, and the General warned that all in the palace must submit absolutely to the Captain’s orders.
At two in the afternoon, the men of the Composite Regiment were relieved of their posts. “The soldiers of the new guard were horrible to look at,” said Benckendorff. “Untidy, noisy, quarreling with everybody. The officers, who were afraid of them, had the greatest difficulty in preventing them from roaming about the palace and entering every room.… There were many quarrels between them and the household staff whom they reproached for wearing livery and for the attention they paid to the Imperial family.”
As soon as Kornilov left her, the Empress sent for Gilliard. “The Tsar is coming back tomorrow,” she said. “Alexis must be told everything. Will you do it? I am going to tell the girls myself.” Both Tatiana and Anastasia then were suffering from painful ear abscesses as a result of secondary infections. Tatiana temporarily was quite deaf and could not hear what her mother was saying. Not until her sisters wrote the details down on paper did she understand what had happened.
Meanwhile, Gilliard went to the Tsarevich:
“[I] told him that the Tsar would be returning from Mogilev next morning and would never go back again.
“ ‘Why?’
“ ‘Your father does not want to be Commander-in-Chief any more.’
“He was greatly moved at this, as he was very fond of going to G.H.Q. After a moment or two, I added:
“ ‘You know your father does not want to be Tsar any more, Alexis Nicolaievich.’
“He looked at me in astonishment, trying to read in my face what had happened.
“ ‘What! Why?’
“ ‘He is very tired and has had a lot of trouble lately.’
“ ‘Oh yes! Mother told me they had stopped his train when he wanted to come here. But won’t Papa be Tsar again afterwards?’
“I then told him that the Tsar had abdicated in favor of the Grand Duke Michael, who had also renounced the throne.
“ ‘But who’s going to be Tsar, then?’
“ ‘I don’t know. Perhaps nobody now …’
“Not a word about himself. Not a single allusion to his rights as the Heir. He was very red and agitated.… Then he said:
“ ‘But if there isn’t a Tsar, who’s going to govern Russia?’
“I explained that a Provisional Government had been formed.…”
At four that afternoon, the palace doors were locked. That night, the first of their imprisonment, a bright moon came up. From the park came the sounds of rifle shots; this time, it was the soldiers of the new guard killing the tame deer. Inside, the private wing of the palace was silent; from elsewhere in the building came sounds of laughter, broken by occasional snatches of song and drunken shouts.
Lili Dehn offered to sleep outside the Empress’s door: “I went quietly downstairs to the mauve boudoir,” she wrote. “The Empress was waiting for me and as she stood there, I thought how girlish she looked. Her long hair fell in a heavy plait, down her back, and she wore a loose silk dressing gown over her night clothes. She was very pale, very ethereal, but unutterably pathetic. As I stumbled into the boudoir with my … sheets and blankets, she smiled.… As she watched me trying to arrange my bed on the couch, she came forward, still smiling. ‘Oh Lili, you Russian ladies don’t know how to be useful. When I was a girl, my grandmother, Queen Victoria, showed me how to make a bed. I’ll teach you.…’
“Sleep for me was impossible. I lay on the mauve couch—her couch—unable to realize that this strange happening was a part of ordinary life. Surely I was dreaming; surely I would suddenly awake in my own bed at Petrograd, and find that the Revolution and its attendant horrors were only a nightmare! But the sound of coughing in the Empress’s bedroom told me that, alas! it was no dream.… The mauve boudoir was flooded with moonlight.… All was silent save for the footsteps of the Red sentry as he passed and repassed up and down the corridor.”
The morning of March 22, the day scheduled for the Tsar’s return, was cold and gray. Alexandra, both excited and worried that her hopes might be disappointed, went to wait with her children. Alexis, like his mother, in a state of nervous agitation, kept looking at his watch and counting aloud the minutes until his father arrived.
Nicholas’s train arrived on schedule and pulled into the private siding at Tsarskoe Selo station. On the platform, the representatives of the Duma turned their prisoner over to the newly appointed palace commander. As the Tsar was taken away, the members of his suite peeked out the windows of the train and, seeing that the coast was clear, quickly scuttled across the platform in all directions. Only Prince Vassily Dolgoruky, Count Benckendorff’s son-in-law, chose to accompany his former sovereign to whatever awaited him at the Alexander Palace.
At the palace gate, about a hundred yards from the entrance hall, Nicholas faced another humiliation. The gates were locked when his car drove up. The sentry asked who was inside and telephoned an officer, who came out on the palace steps and again asked in a shout “Who is there?” The sentry bawled back, “Nicholas Romanov.” “Let him pass,” cried the officer. “After this offensive comedy,” wrote Benckendorff, “the motor arrived at the steps
