trying to comprehend what was happening to our world, recounted me at length of their meetings.
“Sire, it seems that there are only two ways open,” said Witte, who was seated not on the nearby large divan but on the wooden chair in front of the desk. “The first would be to find a soldier with an iron fist who could and would crush the rebellion with sheer force. If this is the course you choose, perhaps your uncle, Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich, would be the right person. He has always enjoyed great respect amongst the soldiery.”
Nicky clearly understood all that this meant, and replied, “By this you mean essentially establishing a dictatorship?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, I’m afraid so.”
“That would entail rivers of blood, and in the end we would be where we had started.” Nicky sighed and glanced over to the wall at a portrait of his father, Aleksander III. “If Papa were still alive, that is of course the path that he would follow. And there are many members of my family who would encourage me to do so as well, to hang each and every revolutionary.”
With a sad shrug, Witte replied, “Unfortunately, the unrest is so widespread that to hang them all would require many lampposts-more, I would venture, than would be tolerable. Perhaps even more than exist in the whole of both Sankt Peterburg and Moscow.”
“Yes, I’m afraid you are correct on that. Of course, the other way out would be to give to the people their civil rights-the freedom of speech and press and so on. This is what is being asked of me… and, as you know, some are demanding such things even for the Jews.”
“This I understand all too well. And virtually every faction is demanding that all new laws be conformed by the new State Duma, which Your Majesty has promised to convene.”
Just that past August, of course, Nicky had issued an Imperial ukaz declaring that a State Duma, a kind of parliament, be organized. And while that had been well received amongst many, many others agitated that it wasn’t enough. In short, Nicky’s manifesto hadn’t been sufficient to quell the unrest. The people wanted more. They wanted this Duma to have real power, real oversight, which, of course, would mean the complete finality of autocracy in Russia.
“In essence,” said Nicky, “we are talking about a constitution. ”
Witte bowed his head. “Most definitely. And this is a path I defend most energetically. As I have said, if this is agreed to and my actions are not interfered with, then, Sire, I will be pleased to accept the Presidency of the Council of Ministers.”
But of course a constitution was quite intolerable to both Nicky and Alicky. It was not simply a matter of the giving up of power, for I knew for a fact that Nicky would have been only too glad to walk away from this business of ruling. A farm or an estate in a distant province, that was his sincerest wish. But God had laid upon Nicky’s shoulders the heavy burden of Throne, and a constitution would mean the abandonment of the pledge he had sworn to the Almighty. And if the Tsar abandoned God, would not God abandon him? And what, then, of the Heir Tsarevich, who was so in need of a miracle? Even worse, would God next not abandon Russia as well? Most of all, Nicky and Alicky feared what would happen to their subjects if he turned his back on God, for Nicky had solemnly sworn to protect and lord over his people and lead them to prosperity. That was his oath, sworn to before God and man at his coronation. So many criticized Nicky this way and that, but I knew firsthand what others might not, that there was no one more dedicated to the Motherland.
In all her letters, Alicky was so concerned, so worried for the future of her country, so distraught at the thought of handing over a weakened Empire to her son, this boy who was the hope of the Dynasty yet who himself was not of strong health. And yet she wrote me that there were only two who tried to convince Nicky to hold steadfast the Throne and not bow to pressure-and these two were Count Ignatiev and Court Minister Fredericks, the dear old sweet. All the others whom Nicky consulted were of the same opinion, that there was no other course. Within the family I even heard it said that Nikolasha-Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich-threatened to blow his brains out with a revolver if Nicky did not sign. For days on end Nicky and Witte discussed every option at great length, and in the end, invoking God’s help, Nicky signed. It was, I knew in my depths, a difficult decision for Nicky, one that he nevertheless took quite consciously.
“In the end,” he later told me, “I had no other way out but to cross myself and give what everyone was asking for.”
Yes, quite. And with a single signature the autocracy, which Holy Mother Russia had known for time on end, had capitulated.
But Nicky’s ukaz, granting liberties of speech and gathering and press, not to mention rights to the Duma itself, seemed to satisfy no one. In short time a handful of Grand Dukes and nobles started grumbling, saying they continued to believe in the autocratic principle, and claiming over and over that the peasant masses needed a master to rule over them, that Russia was far too backward and uneducated for such drastic reforms. Sadly, most everyone else felt the Tsar hadn’t gone far enough, some spouting for a republic, others saying we needed a constitutional monarchy modeled on that of England. To everyone’s surprise, the workers were like greedy children, the more they got, the more they wanted. Indeed, these new freedoms seemed to do nothing but make matters worse, for the common people, so naive and ready to believe anything, began clustering here and there at will, listening to the revolutionaries, who were speaking any number of provocative and disgraceful things. As if this weren’t enough, telegrams began arriving from across the Empire about attacks upon the Jews. Just appalling, and it was no wonder that word came around, too, that many of them were taking their few possessions and fleeing to America.
May God bless Russia and send her peace, that was the prayer we uttered with every breath. It was anyone’s guess what the future would bring. One could only hope that the Lord had not and would not abandon us. I was only happy that my Sergei was at peace near God and had been spared this awful time.
Towards December, when the revolutionaries grew particularly violent and began setting up barricade after barricade, it became perfectly obvious that Nicky’s government was teetering on the verge of total collapse. Finally, our troops began appearing in the streets, and though at first we all feared that they would cross over to the other side, they were somehow rallied and fought back with great force, even using machine guns and artillery. Still, the outcome was anything but certain. As the days fell one darker than the last, as the sounds of bullets shattered the moments and our nerves, it seemed that nothing could forestall the gathering storm, and the revolutionaries abandoned any pretense and began calling openly for total revolt. The cry for blood could be heard everywhere.
Only those who were there know the horrors through which we lived. How the Empire managed to survive was anyone’s guess.
And yet for me there was one bright spot that burned brighter and brighter with divine clarity. This idea of mine, which had, I supposed, been brewing for quite some time, years even, burst forth with great intensity soon after the death of Sergei and became completely clear by the end of that year. Yes, I had longed to do good for people, but it was true I had long been constrained as much by my husband as by my high position. The tragedy of the past year, however, had torn my reality to shreds, freed me for a truer calling, and in this way my duty and my future were more easily seen than ever before. My plans occupied my every waking moment.
One day I beckoned Varya, who had become my most devoted lady’s maid, requesting simply, “Please see to it that virtually every one of my jewels is brought into my boudoir.”
Varya, a kind soul, not tall of stature and of plain face, hesitated, and then asked, “Your Highness, what…? I mean, is there a particular piece that Your Highness is searching for? Perhaps your Mistress of the Robes could be more helpful in this matter than I. I could fetch her, if you like.”
I smiled gently. Those closest to me had expressed such kind concern these past months, worried by the sad look in my eyes, the way I seemed detached and uninterested in my customary doings. I could see on their faces their misgivings for me, and I was aware to a degree how my people had been watching out for me and trying to cushion me from the difficult events beyond the Kremlin walls. It was true, my thinking had not been entirely logical since the death of my husband. However, in the decision I was about to make I was entirely certain, and in a most odd way there were but few whom I trusted more than this maid, whose modest soul, I knew, was of complete purity and honesty. Indeed, she was one of a handful I gladly kept on, for in recent months I had greatly reduced my quantity of servants and the size of my court, kindly pleading to most of my ladies that their services were no longer required.
I repeated, “I would like all of my jewelry brought from the glass-topped cabinets of my dressing room. Please bring these things into my boudoir and open the cases and the velvet bags in which they lie. And please do not be
