The Family Romanov: Murder, Rebellion, and the Fall of Imperial Russia (25 page)

Now telegrams began to pour in from Nicholas’s generals—those men of the nobility whose opinions he valued most. They all urged a bleak course of action. To save the army, the war campaign, the country, and, perhaps most important, the Romanov dynasty, the tsar needed to resign his throne. They believed his abdication in favor of a different ruler would be enough to appease the people.

Nicholas chain-smoked as he read these messages. Then he stood and looked out the train window. There was a gloomy silence. “
I have decided that I will give up the throne in favor of my son, Alexei,” he finally said. Then turning to face the three attendant generals with him, he crossed himself and went to his bedroom.

Why did he give it all up so easily? Some historians have speculated that his abdication was an extraordinary act of patriotism, that he cared more about winning the war than keeping his throne. Others have suggested he was simply tired and longed to be left in peace. Whatever his reasons, that night in his diary, he wrote, “
For the sake of Russia, and to keep the armies in the field, I decided to take this step.… I left … with a heavy heart. All around me I see treason, cowardice and deceit.”

But just hours later, Nicholas reconsidered his decision. How could he possibly leave his sick twelve-year-old son in charge of the country? He could not. With heavy heart, Nicholas sat down at the desk and wrote his Abdication Manifesto. In it, he gave up the throne in favor of his brother Grand Duke Michael.

His attendant generals rushed to the train’s telegraph room to forward the news to Petrograd.

Outside the Tauride Palace—now headquarters of the newly established Provisional Government—a crush of people jammed the gardens and courtyard, waiting for news of the tsar. An official stepped triumphantly onto the balcony. Explaining what had happened, he ended his speech with “Long live the Emperor Michael!”

The mob erupted in anger. They had not overthrown Nicholas simply to replace him with his brother! The people no longer wanted or needed a tsar. What they wanted was a republic, the type of government where the people held the power and their will was expressed through their elected representatives. Raising their fists in the air, they shouted, “
Down with the dynasty!” and “Long live the Republic!”

Surging into the streets, the people attacked any and all tsarist symbols, toppling statues and burning double-headed eagles. In the Winter Palace, Nicholas’s official portrait was slashed with bayonets. A huge demonstration of soldiers marched to demand an end to the Romanov dynasty. Their angry expressions and loaded rifles quickly convinced the new government that keeping the monarchy (as Britain had) was impossible. If a new tsar was forced on the people, there would surely be further violence, perhaps even a civil war.

Convinced all the Romanovs had to go, Rodzianko, along with Alexander Kerensky, set out to persuade Grand Duke Michael to also abdicate.

Michael listened closely to their arguments. Then he turned to Kerensky. Could the new government guarantee his safety if he took the throne?

No, answered Rodzianko.

Wanting time to think, Michael stepped out of the room. But only five minutes later, he returned. Tears in his eyes, he said simply, “
I have decided to decline the throne.”

Rodzianko pulled out a prepared document, and Michael signed it. With that, 304 years of Romanov rule came to an end.

The end of Romanov rule was greeted by joyous demonstrations in Petrograd. Crowds hung red flags from roofs, balconies, windows, and statues. There was singing, parades, and rousing speeches. Cannons boomed. Bells pealed.

The revolution had taken place entirely in Petrograd, unknown to the rest of the country. But as news spread to Moscow and other cities and towns in the last days of March, reaction was much the same. “
The entire city became like a wild street carnival that one could not wait to get outside to see,” recalled one citizen.

The soldiers at the front were wild with joy, too. When the news arrived, a mighty “Huzzah!” rose from the trenches like a song. Flinging their caps into the air, they pounded each other on the back. Some even fired a few precious rounds of ammunition into the air. Overnight, red ribbons appeared on almost everything—rifle butts, horse saddles, cannons. Most hoped that revolution also meant the end of the war. As a fighting force, the Russian army had completely collapsed. It hadn’t launched an offensive since June 1916, and its war aims had been reduced to protecting its borders. With news of the revolution, tens of thousands of peasant soldiers, tired of sitting around with empty bellies, simply walked away from the war. Others, believing the revolution put them on an equal footing with their officers, formed committees to decide whether or not to obey a command. Some refused to salute; others insisted on choosing their own officers. Explained one soldier to his fellow troops, “
Haven’t you understood? Don’t you know what a revolution is? It’s when the people take all the power. And what’s the
people without us, the soldiers, with our guns? Bah! It’s obvious—it means that the power belongs to us!”

The news, as it slowly spread across the vast and remote countryside, frightened some of the villagers. “
The church was full of crying peasants,” one citizen recalled. “
What will become of us?” others wailed. “They have taken the tsar away from us.” But as the weeks passed, and their lives went on as usual, many peasants celebrated. “
Our [village] burst into life,” recalled one. “Everyone felt enormous relief, as if a heavy rock had suddenly been lifted from our shoulders.” Remembered another, “People kissed each other from joy and said that life from now on would be good.” They praised God for “the divine gift of the people’s victory.” Like that, the reign of the Romanovs vanished.

On the evening of March 16—one day after Nicholas’s abdication—his uncle Grand Duke Paul arrived at the Alexander Palace. He went straight to Alexandra with the news.

“
It’s all lies!” she cried when he finished. “The newspapers invented it. I believe in
God and the army.”

“God and the army are on the side of the revolution now,” replied the grand duke.

Minutes later, recalled Lili Dehn, “
the study door opened and the empress appeared. Her face was distorted with agony, her eyes were full of tears.”

Stumbling forward, Alexandra grabbed the edge of a nearby table to steady herself.
“
Abdiqué,”
she croaked, using the French word for
abdicated
. And then, in a whispered sob, she added, “The poor dear … all alone down there … what he has gone through, oh my God, what he has gone through.… And I was not there to console him.”

You are filled with anguish
For the suffering of others.
And no one’s grief
Has ever passed you by.
You are relentless
Only to yourself,
Forever cold and pitiless.
But if only you could look upon
Your own sadness from a distance,
Just once with a loving soul—
Oh, how you would pity yourself.
How sadly you would weep.
—Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna Romanova,
poem dedicated to her mother, April 23, 1917

On March 21, the day before Nicholas returned to Tsarskoe Selo, Alexandra summoned Pierre Gilliard to her drawing room. The children had to be told about the abdication. Would the tutor explain to Alexei?

Gilliard said he would.

“
I am going to tell the girls myself,” said the empress. Calm, but pale, she climbed the stairs to their sickroom. What she said is not known, but the news caused them all to burst into tears.

Across the hall, Pierre Gilliard sat beside Alexei. He began by telling the twelve-year-old boy that his father would never be returning to Stavka.

“Why?” asked Alexei.

“
Your father does not want to be Commander-in-Chief anymore,” replied Gilliard. Then he added, “You know, your father does not want to be tsar anymore.”

“What? Why?” cried Alexei.

“He is very tired and has had a lot of trouble lately,” answered the tutor.

Alexei struggled to understand. “But who’s going to be tsar then?”

“I don’t know,” answered Gilliard. “Perhaps nobody now.”

“But if there isn’t a tsar,” said Alexei, fidgeting beneath his blankets, “who’s going to govern Russia?”

Gilliard explained about the Provisional Government.

What he didn’t tell Alexei was that they were all prisoners of
this new government. Just that morning, the entire family had been placed under house arrest!

Their arrest was purely for security reasons, a representative of the Provisional Government, General L. G. Kornilov, had explained to Alexandra earlier that day. It was the only way to protect her and the children from the angry mobs. As for Nicholas, he was headed home as they spoke, accompanied (for safety’s sake) by an armed guard. Once back at the palace, he, too, would be placed under house arrest. It was the government’s plan, Kornilov continued, to send the whole family to England as soon as the children’s health improved. In the meantime, they would all remain together under guard at Tsarskoe Selo.

After speaking with Alexandra, General Kornilov dismissed the few troops still remaining at the palace. He replaced them with soldiers faithful to the new regime. Then he spoke with the servants and courtiers. They, too, should leave, he advised. Otherwise, they would be placed under house arrest with the imperial family. His words sent most people scurrying for the door. But nearly one hundred of the more than five hundred who had worked at the palace—ladies-in-waiting, valets, grooms, cooks, tutors, maids, and footmen—remained. This included the empress’s friend Anna Vyrubova, Pierre Gilliard, and the devoted Dr. Botkin. They were, noted Anna, “
like survivors of a shipwreck.”

Not long afterward, soldiers of the Provisional Government closed and locked the high iron fence surrounding the Imperial Park. In the palace, all entrances except the kitchen and front door were sealed shut. Sentries were posted in the hallways, and all letters going in and out of the palace were examined. Use of the
telephone and telegraph was prohibited. “
No longer was there the coming and going of the outside world,” recalled one courtier. “The pulse of life had stopped.”

March 22 dawned bitter cold and overcast. Nerves on edge, Alexandra sat beside Alexei’s bed, whispering prayers and watching the clock. Every so often, the still-recuperating boy called out the minutes until “Papa” arrived.