The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  “Your Highness, situation in Petrograd serious,” the wire warned, “Anarchy reigns in the Capital. The government is paralyzed. There are mobs creating violence in the streets. A ministry must be formed that is trusted by the people. I pray the wearer of the Crown is not blamed for the fall of Russia.”

  Nicholas looked at his aide and shook his head. “I’m not even going to reply to this nonsense. Rodzianko ‘cries wolf’ too often.”

  He did send a telegram to Alix informing her of his departure. “Hope to see you soon. I pray the children are well. Perhaps you ought to expose Maria and Anastasia to the infection so they can get it over with.”

  Most of the ministers had fled. Those few that remained, including Cyril, were holed up in the Admiralty Building with the Grand Duke Michael. They had had to flee their first stronghold, the Winter Palace, when disloyal troops overran it. The Admiralty was now besieged by rebels, and the defenders had only fifteen hundred loyal troops to protect them. Several other government buildings were also under siege. The District Court Building had been burned down. At least one of the main arsenals in the city had been seized by the rebels and mutineers.

  Twenty-five thousand troops in the city had revolted. That amounted to only five percent of the city’s force, but, with their military training and access to weapons, they were enough to turn a disorderly street revolt into a viable threat.

  Soon Cyril learned that the revolt had spread beyond the bounds of Petrograd. Rebels had taken control of the Kronstadt Naval Base, and a general strike had begun in Moscow.

  But Cyril’s most immediate concern was the troops outside the Admiralty. They were pressing in closer, and the defense of loyal troops was breaking. The grand duke decided to escape to a new haven. Cyril made the same decision. But where could he go? Everyone hated him. If the soldiers or workers captured him he was doomed. Other ministers had already been arrested, but none was hated more than Cyril Vlasenko. It would take very little for them to shoot him.

  Cyril suspected even Michael despised him, but, as a member of the royal family, the grand duke felt duty bound to extend protection to Vlasenko. This time, however, Cyril couldn’t follow Michael. The grand duke intended to take refuge in a private home.

  There seemed only one recourse for Cyril. Donning a haphazard disguise and sneaking through back alleys, he made it to the Tauride Palace, and there placed himself under the protection of the Provisional Committee. Locked up in a meeting room with several other hapless Imperial lackeys, he gave up all illusions that he was still Minister of the Interior. Why had he ever coveted that position in the first place? From the first it had brought him nothing but misery. Now it was likely to get him killed.

  66

  Anna’s working-class neighborhood escaped major violence. She had heard an occasional shot being fired, and of course there were the endless crowds surging through the streets. But since most of the anger of the mobs was directed against symbols of government and the aristocracy, she did worry about Yuri and Katya. Many residences of the nobility had been attacked. While there was phone service, she kept in contact with her son’s family. She tried to encourage them to come to her place, but Yuri declined. He knew her flat was already overcrowded, and his family would add not only Katya and Irina but Countess Zhenechka and Teddie as well, not to mention several loyal servants who could not be left to fend for themselves. Besides, so far the Zhenechka home had been left unmolested.

  That morning, however, Anna called Katya and sensed her daughter-in-law’s growing anxiety. Her home was not far from Litovsky Prison, and at that moment the insurgents were attacking the prison in hopes of “liberating” the prisoners. These were not political prisoners but, for the most part, real criminals.

  “I don’t know, Mama,” Katya told Anna when she suggested again that they come to Vassily Island. “Yuri’s at the hospital, and I don’t want to leave without him. Besides, the thought of crossing town is just as frightening.”

  “Call him and talk to him about it, then call me back,” Anna suggested.

  “I haven’t been able to get through to the hospital,” Katya said. “But I’ll keep trying.”

  That was the last call Anna received. When Anna didn’t hear from Katya in an hour, she tried to call again, but the line was dead.

  Anna was fretting over this when she heard a discordantly cheerful voice in the foyer.

  “Papa!” exclaimed little Zenia.

  And that was followed by a peal of familiar laughter, then Mariana’s voice, “Daniel!”

  “And look who I’ve brought with me!” came Daniel’s voice.

  By then Anna had reached the foyer, and she could not believe her eyes.

  “Andrei!” she cried as she took her son’s husky form in her arms.

  “Mama. I am so sorry—”

  “None of that, now,” Anna scolded gently. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” She kept her arm tightly around him as they moved into the parlor and were joined by the rest of the family.

  Andrei and Daniel chatted excitedly about their journey to Russia and some hair-raising moments as they passed through war-torn Eastern Europe. But the conversation quickly turned to the Petrograd revolt.

  “My timing couldn’t have been more perfect if I had planned it,” laughed Daniel.

  “We always did say you had a nose for news,” said Andrei, “but who would have thought that nose could smell out a revolution from hundreds of miles away.”

  It didn’t take long for the women to impart the scanty information they had about events in the city.

  “Where are Yuri and Talia?” Andrei asked.

  “Talia is at her flat near the theater,” said Raisa. “She has been afraid to venture out or else she would be here. A young man she knows in the ballet company was going to try to get her here tonight. But her telephone is out, so we have no idea if that is possible.”

  “It might be safest for her just to stay put,” said Andrei. “Or perhaps I can go get her.”

  “There haven’t been any major disorders where she lives, so I think she’ll be all right.”

  “Andrei,” said Anna, “if you would like to help, we are much more concerned about Yuri and Katya. They live near the prison, and this morning there were riots over there and a rumor that the prisoners might be freed. The phone is dead and I can’t get through.”

  “I’ll go right away,” said Andrei.

  “I can give you a hand,” said Daniel.

  “I think you ought to stay here, Dan,” said Andrei. “That crowd outside looked as if anything could set it off. Have you women been here alone since this thing began?”

  “Not alone, Andrei,” said Anna. “God has kept us safe.”

  With an affectionate smile, Andrei said, “That is just what you would say, Mama. How I’ve missed all that!”

  As he pulled his coat back on, she kissed his cheek. “Welcome home, son! I wish I didn’t have to send you out again so soon.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” he said. “Then we can talk the whole night through.”

  As Anna walked him to the door and watched him leave, a terrible thought came over her. She had not thought of Bloody Sunday all day. But now she remembered how Sergei had left her in the morning, neither of them having the slightest premonition of the tragedy that would come.

  “Andrei!” she said, stepping into the hall and grasping his arm. “Maybe you don’t have to—”

  “Oh, Mama . . .” Did he see the old fear gripping her? “You mustn’t worry.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  She let him go. What choice did she have? But she stood there watching until he disappeared down the stairs and out of her sight.

  Andrei had been shocked when he and Daniel had arrived in Petrograd and found the place blown apart with revolution. On the way to his mother’s, they had stopped at the newspaper office and there learned a few more details. The disorders had begun several day
s ago, but no one had any reason to believe this would be any different from the 1905 revolution, eventually crushed by the government. Then the army regiments revolted, the Imperial ministers fled, and Vlasenko had surrendered to the protection of the Duma. And the Duma was shaping up more and more as a provisional government, though no one was using that particular wording yet.

  Andrei wondered what Lenin would think if he realized what was happening. What would he do? What could he do? It would not be as easy for him to reach Russia as it had been for Andrei. Daniel had arranged for Andrei to travel as an employee of the American Diplomatic Corps as an interpreter. His special passport had been readily accepted at most borders, although they had been detained in Germany for two days before they were granted passage.

  All the while, Andrei had only been thinking of seeing Talia. He had not dreamed that anything could possibly supersede that goal—and nothing short of a revolution would have. Now he had to put it off once again. It couldn’t be helped, of course. His brother’s family’s need was far greater than that of Talia. Besides, Talia had a “young man” to watch out for her.

  The words pricked painfully at him. Who was this young man? What was he to Talia? Andrei’s imagination soared wildly. It must be someone who cared for Talia, if he was willing to take risks for her. Someone special.

  All Andrei could think was that he was too late. He was certain he had lost Talia—again.

  His mind spun in turmoil as he crossed Nicholas Bridge, knowing he would pass within a few blocks from where Talia lived. It would be so easy to make a detour. But this was not the time to indulge his personal whims. He had stopped a few people on the street to inquire what they might know of the neighborhood where the Zhenechka mansion was located. Those who had any information at all only confirmed what was feared. Rioting had broken out, and several fires were reported. Andrei could not afford to stray from his destination. Perhaps on the way home, if Yuri was with them to escort his family, Andrei could leave and go on to Talia’s. If he dared. He still wasn’t certain if he could risk another rejection.

  Near the Admiralty, he was stopped at a barricade. The insurgents wouldn’t let him through, but to go around would mean costly time. He had a difficult time convincing them he was one of them. Finally an old acquaintance recognized him.

  “Andrei! I thought you were out of the country.”

  “I was, but I returned to see my family.”

  “Weren’t you with Lenin? Will he return to Russia? The Bolshevik cause won’t stand a chance without him.”

  “He will move heaven and earth to get here once he learns about all this.” Andrei paused and looked around at the men manning the barricade. “What’s happening here?”

  “We’re holding the Admiralty. Can you imagine? Stick around and join us.”

  “I must take care of something first. Can you get them to let me pass?”

  “Yes, of course.” The man fished in his pocket for a moment, withdrawing a torn strip of red cloth. “Wear this; it’ll help you through the streets.”

  Andrei took the cloth and tied it around his arm, then followed his friend to the other side of the barricade. He wondered what the man would think if he knew Andrei was on his way to give aid to a family of aristocrats. Or, if the fellow knew that Andrei himself was an aristocrat, a Russian prince? Andrei hadn’t given that much thought until now, but he suddenly realized the line between nobles and commoners was becoming more and more pronounced. Would that line also come between him and his brother? Yuri had killed Rasputin, but he had done it to save the monarchy. It was clear where his loyalties lay.

  But Andrei did not veer from his path. Yuri was still his brother.

  67

  Dark clouds began rolling across the sky as Andrei strode along the quay to the Trinity Bridge. A biting wind accompanied the clouds. Foul weather was coming, and Andrei only hoped the gains of the rebels were advanced enough so that a blizzard would not force them to give up ground.

  Crowds of people and soldiers were milling around everywhere. He had seen a group break into a police station near Nevsky Prospekt. He wondered if soon he would join the rebellion. It was what he had wanted all his life. For the last two years with Lenin, they had talked of little else. And he had all but given up his art in order to immerse himself in the cause.

  Andrei had no stomach for pillaging and burning and torturing his foes. Yet he had always known there would be no other way to freedom for Russia but by violence. How else would the Romanovs loose their three-hundred-year grip on Russian society? He simply had not considered the actual acts of violence. And he had never pictured himself committing them.

  He knew he was approaching a time in his life when serious choices must be made. And he felt the need, more strongly than ever, to see Talia, talk to her, to voice his dilemma and hear her gentle, sweet, wise response. Wistfully, he glanced over his shoulder.

  Talia, I might live without your love, but how will I ever make it without your friendship?

  He wanted to weep for the deep sense of loss he was feeling. But he didn’t. He just kept walking. For the first time since he left his mother’s flat, he was grateful he had a task to perform.

  At the bridge, Andrei crossed to Petersburg Side, the island where the Zhenechka mansion was located. The moment Andrei crossed, he began to realize just how urgent that task was. Plumes of smoke rose all around. To his left, where the island of the Peter and Paul Fortress fronted Petersburg Side, he could see that the Fortress was in the hands of insurgents. A red flag flew from one of the rooftops, and dozens of men wearing red roamed inside the yard.

  Andrei reached Petersburg Side unmolested. Mobs were everywhere, some dressed in shabby prison clothes and looking decidedly dangerous. Andrei passed among the rebels without much difficulty. He looked every bit the rebel himself—as indeed he was. And he was rather an intimidating rebel, to boot.

  He neared Grebetsk Street. The police station not far from the Zhenechka home was ablaze. An angry group of rebels was pushing its way down the street, evidently stopping at all the residences, but steadily getting nearer and nearer to Andrei’s destination. He broke into a jog. Since he was coming from the opposite direction of the approaching mob, he made it to the mansion well before them. The gates were unattended—maybe the gatekeeper had gone off to join the rebellion. Andrei lifted the latch and found the gate unlocked.

  He rang the bell at the front door several times, the sounds of the mob getting closer with each passing moment. The family inside probably afraid to answer their door, but, in the event one of them had a firearm, he didn’t like the idea of entering uninvited. He rang the bell again. Finally, desperate, he tried the door. It was locked, but as he gave it a push it opened. Apparently someone in their haste had not shut it firmly.

  “Is anyone home?” he called. “I’ve come to help you.” Suddenly he realized that no one here knew him and had no reason to believe he was Yuri’s brother. Louder, he yelled, “Hello!”

  Then he heard a sound. Had the rebels already been here? Was he walking into an ambush?

  “I’m coming in,” he warned, “I mean no harm.”

  “Stop right there!” came a woman’s voice.

  She entered from a doorway off the foyer. She was young and very beautiful with amber hair and pale, fragile features. In both her slim hands she held aloft a great medieval sword. She was obviously no servant, and Andrei instinctively knew this must be Yuri’s wife.

  “Are you Princess Fedorcenko?”

  “Get out of my house!” she demanded. “You’ve no right—”

  “Please! We haven’t time for this,” he said. “There’s a dangerous mob heading this way. You must leave at once. I’ve come to help—Anna Fedorcenko sent me.”

  “Anna—?”

  “My mother.”

  “Your—” Her gaze became more incisive as she studied him closely.

  “I’m Andrei Sergeiovich, Yuri’s brother. You must believe me. I know we don’t look muc
h alike, but—”

  “No . . . I see it . . . and I hear it in your voice.” A smile twitched at her lips, and Andrei saw that her hands were shaking as they held the sword. She had been scared to death, yet she had bravely come to meet the danger. Andrei fleetingly thought that Yuri had made a good choice of a wife, even if he had broken Talia’s heart in the process.

  “Are you ready to go?” Andrei asked, urgency preventing him from dwelling on further introductory comments. “Katya, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said as she lowered the sword. “I packed a few things for each of us this morning. There are only six of us. All the servants but three have gone.”

  “All right. Get everyone together, and we can leave through a back way—I assume there is a back way?”

  “Yes, I’ll show you.”

  The princess turned back into the room she had come from, and now Andrei could hear voices as she explained to all what was happening. Suddenly louder voices rose from outside, and only then did Andrei realize he had not shut the front door. As he rushed to remedy that mistake, he saw a dozen men running toward the house, shouting and carrying torches. Andrei slammed the door shut. But the mob clamored up the porch steps and pounded on the door. Katya and her companions chose that moment to enter the foyer, but Andrei signaled them to get out of sight and stay quiet. Maybe he could convince the mob the house was empty, that the aristocratic residents had vacated long ago. It was worth a try.

  He opened the door.

  “Let’s clean out this nest of aristocratic scum!” cried the man at the front of the gang.

  “No use,” said Andrei. “They’re all gone.”

  “Gone!”

  The mob shoved past Andrei and began fanning out through the foyer. If they began a thorough search, Yuri’s family was finished.

  “I tell you, I’ve looked everywhere. They’ve fled,” Andrei said, scowling convincingly.

  “Who are you? A pandering servant of nobility?” sneered the leader.