He made another appeal to England. A cruiser was requested to meet the royal family in Murmansk, and a promise was obtained from the German government not to attack the cruiser. But Ambassador Buchanan, in tears, had to deliver his government’s refusal to Kerensky. The British Labor Party was in an uproar over the mere suggestion of offering asylum to the tsar, and there were still those in Britain who believed Alexandra was a German spy. At any rate, the British could not aid relatives of the German Kaiser—which the Romanovs were—no matter that half the royal houses in Europe were related in some way.
Kerensky again ruled out Livadia as a possible destination, though he knew the family greatly desired to go there. He simply could not guarantee a safe journey south, which would take them through many industrial towns that were heavily anti-tsar. Other possible destinations were also ruled out for similar reasons. He finally settled on Tobolsk in Siberia. The town was remote, without even a railway terminal. They would have to travel by rail to Tiumen, then by steamer on the Tura and Tobol rivers to Tobolsk.
“We must move you for your own safety,” he told the tsar just a few days before the planned departure.
“I am mostly concerned for my family,” said the tsar. “As you well know, Baby—that is, Alexis—is in a delicate state.”
“We will take that into every consideration.”
“Very well,” said the tsar. “Do you have any idea how long we will be away?”
“I cannot say, but I feel confident that after the Constituent Assembly meets in November, you will no longer be under such constraints.”
“We will be free?”
“I am confident of that fact.”
“That is good news. Where are we going now?”
“I cannot say. Again, for your safety, I wish it to be kept in strict secrecy. I would suggest, however, that you pack plenty of warm clothes.”
“I see . . .” It was obvious the tsar understood they would not be traveling south, but rather east.
“This is entirely for your safety,” Kerensky repeated, perhaps more to convince himself than the tsar.
The tsar leveled an intense gaze at Kerensky. “I’m not afraid. If you say it must be so, then it must be so. We trust you.”
It was quite a moment for Kerensky. Not long before, the tsar’s wife had wanted him hanged. Now the tsar himself was placing implicit faith in him. He intended to live up to that faith.
Only four others in the government knew of this plan. Seldom in Russia was a secret kept so well. Yuri certainly had no hint of it when he was called to Tsarskoe Selo to consult in the case of Countess Benckendorff, who was suffering from severe bronchitis. But he knew it was an illness that Dr. Botkin could have easily treated himself. Thus, when he asked Yuri to bring a variety of medications, few of which were standard in the treatment of bronchitis, he suspected something was afoot.
He arrived during the celebration of the tsarevich’s thirteenth birthday. Alexandra had requested that an icon from a local church be brought, and it was carried through the village by a procession of priests to the chapel. There prayers were offered not only for the boy but also for a safe journey for the family. It was quite a moving sight, especially when even the soldiers came forward to kiss the icon.
Yuri also crossed himself in reverence. It moved him to tears when the young tsarevich embraced him and whispered in his ear, “We are leaving, and I want to say good-bye and thank you.”
“It has been an honor to serve you, Your Highness,” Yuri said simply. He did not ask all the questions that the boy’s words raised in his mind. He would talk to Dr. Botkin later.
The tsar also shook his hand and thanked him, but the tsaritsa completely ignored him. It was the first time Yuri had actually seen Alexandra since the revolution, but her obvious snubbing made him wonder if rumors of his part in Rasputin’s death had come to her. Or perhaps she just remembered Yuri’s hostility toward the man when he had come to treat the tsarevich. He had heard how embittered she had become, and now he could see the truth of it in her pinched features and cold eyes. She appeared to have aged ten years in the last six months.
Yuri felt only pity for her. She might have made many mistakes as a woman, a mother, and a monarch, but Yuri was all but certain that her motivations had always been out of love and loyalty to husband, family, and country. He wanted to approach her and tell her he understood, but she was so unapproachable that he hung back. Perhaps one day he would be able to show her by helping to rescue her and her dear family.
When the tsar’s family adjourned to their private quarters, Dr. Botkin took Yuri on a walk about the grounds, the only place they could be certain there were no unwanted listeners, although even then they had to be careful.
“The tsarevich mentioned something about leaving,” Yuri said.
“We leave in a matter of days, perhaps hours,” Botkin replied.
“You are going also?”
“I will not desert them now. My family understands, and I hope they will join me when I can give them a destination.”
“So, you don’t know where?”
“Kerensky is keeping it a secret for security. I’m all but certain it will be somewhere in Siberia.”
“So, the Provisional Government is finally paying Nicholas back by sending him to where he sent so many revolutionaries.”
“No, I’m certain that isn’t the motivation. The tsar trusts Kerensky’s motives and so do I. This can actually work to our advantage.” Botkin smiled at Yuri’s look of skepticism. “An escape would be next to impossible in and around St. Petersburg. That won’t be the case in the outlands. You must tell that to your associates. We have not lost hope, so please, neither must you.”
“How will we know where they have taken you?”
“I’m sure it can’t be kept a secret much longer. I only hope we can get away before it gets out so that the radicals cannot attempt to waylay us. That’s as much as anyone can hope for.”
Yuri glanced around as they walked. It was a balmy August evening, still very light because the White Nights were upon them. “We only have a couple of months before winter sets in, less in Siberia. That may make any attempts at rescue difficult until spring.”
“How strong is your organization?”
“I really don’t know. There is a group in England, but I don’t know their size. Here in Russia there is only myself and another that I know of. I do know that money is no problem.”
“That’s good. Have you contacted other loyal monarchists? There are several groups working toward the same ends as you.”
“I don’t know, Doctor,” Yuri replied honestly. “Thus far, I am merely a messenger.”
“Before you leave I will give you a couple of names that may be of use to you.”
After Yuri gave the countess a cursory examination and deposited his cache of medicines, which he now knew were for the purpose of bolstering supplies that might not be readily available in a remote town, he bid Botkin good-bye. The two doctors embraced, and as they did so, Botkin slipped a note to Yuri.
Yuri left the palace wondering when he would see his friend and the royal family again. He tried to match Botkin’s hopeful mood but instead felt sad, as if the departure of the Romanovs from Petrograd was something very final. That with them would go an era never again to be revisited.
20
Andrei was miserable. The fact that incarceration in the Peter and Paul Fortress amounted to a badge of honor among revolutionaries meant nothing. Not now. And it was also no comfort to know that the likes of Trotsky and Kamenev had also been imprisoned.
“Andrei, you are driving me crazy with that infernal pacing,” said Rudy from where he lay on his bunk in the same cell as Andrei.
Andrei hardly even realized he was pacing, it had become second nature to him. He stopped and faced his friend. If only Rudy had gotten free, at least he could have somehow notified Andrei’s family. But then, Andrei had not had time to say anything to Rudy before their capture, so
there would have been no one—indeed, there was no one—to tell his family why he had disappeared once again. They must be going out of their minds. If they had not finally given up on him. Mama would never do that, but Yuri was, no doubt, furious with him. And Talia . . . what must she think? Perhaps knowing of his amnesia she would understand. She had no idea that he had recovered.
Still, it didn’t really matter what they thought. What mattered was that he was stuck here unable to do anything about . . . anything!
“How long have we been in this place?” Andrei asked. Rudy had been keeping a meticulous record of the days by carving marks in the wall by his bed with a rusty nail he had found.
“A little more than two months. Oh, but do you want the exact count?” He started to count his marks.
“Never mind!” Andrei plopped down on his cot with such force it was a miracle the flimsy thing did not buckle in the middle. He ran his hand through his hair, which was getting quite long and unruly. “Rudy, this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me!”
Rudy laughed. “Oh yes. It is far worse than getting shot and nearly dying and having amnesia.”
“What good does it do to have my memory back?” Andrei stopped, not really expecting an answer. Rudy had heard it all many times before in the last two months. “You know my father was imprisoned here.” Rudy had heard that, too, but Andrei was running out of conversation. “I never told you the whole story about my father.”
“Is that so? And why not, when I am dying of boredom?”
“I’ve always been ashamed—”
“That he died marching for freedom on Bloody Sunday? I can’t believe that.”
Andrei leaned back against the cold, damp stone wall. “No, I was never ashamed of that. You see, my father was an aristocrat—a nobleman of the highest order, actually.”
“No!”
“Prince Sergei Fedorcenko . . . it actually feels rather good to say that name now. I abandoned it many years ago, and the heritage that went with it. I would have died of shame if my revolutionary comrades had discovered that I was a prince of Russia. Even now, the prince part makes my stomach feel strange. Because he was a fugitive, my father also gave up using his title, although I don’t think he ever felt comfortable with it either. You know what, Rudy? I’m going to take back my true surname. What do you think? Andrei Sergeiovich Fedorcenko.”
“It’s a good name, Andrei,” said Rudy earnestly. “I’m glad you left off the prince, though. It wouldn’t go over very well at Party headquarters.”
“Bah! I’ve very nearly had it with them. I’m still wondering about those rumors of Lenin’s ties to Germany.”
“You don’t believe them, do you?”
“Lenin is definitely no German spy. But I wouldn’t put it past him to cut deals with them in order to achieve power.” Sporadic news came to the prisoners, and Andrei had heard that, though Lenin was still in hiding, anti-Bolshevik sentiment caused by the rumors had already begun to blow over. “I guess it doesn’t matter either way. That isn’t at the core of my discontent with the Party.”
“Nor mine.”
“Come on, Rudy. You’ve never admitted it, but it wasn’t ideology that made you join the Party in the first place, was it? You joined to keep track of me, didn’t you?”
“Do you mean you doubt that I am a true Bolshevik?” Rudy spoke with mock affront.
“You are no more one than I am.”
“Then you are not?”
“I don’t think so, not anymore. They have done nothing but cause strife since the revolution began. Because of it the government has never had a chance to get stable. And who suffers but the very people Lenin purports to want to help. When the revolution was all about philosophy and dreaming, Lenin’s ways were tolerable. But now that they are being put into action, they leave a bad taste in my mouth. And now that I have my memory back, I know my family would not approve. Talia would not approve. And that means a great deal to me. I don’t know why it didn’t before. I suppose I was just stupid. I think losing my memory somehow made me smarter.”
“Then what shall we do when we get out of here?”
“We are in a rather ironic position. While the Provisional Government remains in power, we are likely to remain right here. But if the Bolsheviks usurp power, we will be released. So, who do we cheer for?”
“I for one—”
But Rudy never finished. There was commotion and excited voices in the outside corridor. Andrei and Rudy jumped up and went to the door of the cell but could see little through the tiny barred window.
“What’s going on?” Andrei called. Several others in the cell block were doing the same.
“Looks like there’s been another coup attempt,” a guard shouted so all could hear. “Backed by the Kadets and other moderates, and some on the right, General Kornilov tried to form a dictatorship. He wanted to destroy the Soviet and hang traitors like Lenin.”
“Ha!” someone yelled. “Let him try.”
“Oh, if that’s going to be your attitude, maybe I won’t be so generous as to give you the news.”
Someone else yelled, “Never mind him. Tell us, was Kornilov successful?”
“Of course not! And you scum better be glad he wasn’t. Word is, because the Bolsheviks helped mobilize the people against the general, the government is considering releasing you.”
Andrei threw his arms around Rudy, fairly dancing with joy. “Did you hear? We’re going to get out!”
“Yes, that’s great.” But Rudy did not seem as enthusiastic as he should have, in Andrei’s mind at least.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. This is great news. Except . . . I don’t know, Andrei. After what you just said, and what I have been feeling all along about the Bolsheviks, this doesn’t set completely well with me. It’s apparent that the Bolsheviks helped the Provisional Government—whom they have been ranting against for months!”
“Lenin must have seen something in it for himself.”
“More than just the release of us poor prisoners.”
“I must agree. I suppose one positive outcome of this entire affair is that it will pretty much silence the moderate voice in Russia.”
“And that is a good thing, isn’t it, Andrei?”
“I always thought so.” Andrei went back to his cot and stretched out full length on it, his feet hanging over the edge at least ten inches. Crossing his arms under his head he stared up at the ceiling. “Do you want to know the truth of it, Rudy? I am burned out completely with politics. Moderates, socialists, right-wing, left-wing . . . they can all have it. I only want to get out of here and have a life with my Talia.”
But it seemed, as with everything else in Russia, that the hoped-for release was not going to happen as quickly as Andrei desired. As more days and weeks passed, he became more and more disenchanted—with politics, and with life in general.
It only made matters worse when they learned that Trotsky and Kamenev and several others had been released. The minor Bolsheviks like Andrei had obviously been forgotten. Maybe they were doomed to rot within these dank, grim walls. He wouldn’t be the first. But it seemed so very ironic that it should happen now when revolution and freedom had finally come to Russia.
21
The attempted Kornilov coup had an interesting effect on political alignment in Russia. For one thing, because of Kornilov’s military ties, it put the entire army leadership into a bad light. The masses, including common soldiers, became far less tolerant of officers and anyone with even the faintest link to the tsarist regime. But more than that, it put the Bolshevik Party back in business, as it were.
Although the social revolutionaries, of which Paul Burenin and Alexander Kerensky were a part, were still the largest party, they were coming more to represent the petty bourgeois rather than the peasantry. The Mensheviks, too, were drawing support from a similar class. Thus the soldiers and the workers, by far the most vocal groups, were left to be exploited by the Bolshe
viks. And gradually, these two groups began to send more and more Bolsheviks to represent them in the Soviets.
Shortly after Trotsky was released from prison, he managed to be elected chairman of the presidium of the Petrograd Soviet—the presidium being a sort of board of directors of the Soviet. And this trend continued throughout Russia, most significantly in Moscow, which also seated a Bolshevik chairman. But even this did not satisfy Lenin, who was weary with meetings and talk. From his hiding place in Finland he began pressing—indeed, hammering and raving would better describe his methods—for the Bolsheviks to organize an armed rising. “Delay means death,” he urged. Now the time was right.
Kerensky’s position in all this was becoming untenable. His stand against Kornilov turned the army officers against him while the army in general was completely demoralized. This in turn hindered the war effort and, as a result, made the Allies pressure and threaten the Provisional Government even more than previously. As if this were not enough, the Soviets withdrew their support of Kerensky as their leadership was increasingly dominated by Bolsheviks.
As the month of October came, Russia was, more than ever before, a nation ready to explode at the seams.
It was a rare occurrence when anyone in the household arrived home later than Yuri. But he was sitting in the kitchen around ten in the evening having a cup of tea with Katya when Daniel came home and joined them.
“I’m exhausted,” Daniel said as he gratefully cupped his hands around a glass of tea Katya had drawn for him from the samovar. “And not from actually doing anything. It’s entirely from listening to yet another gathering of Russians endlessly debate the most minor issues.”
“So, what gathering this time?” asked Yuri.
“The Democratic conference Kerensky called. It’s obviously a desperate attempt of his to get support and to begin priming delegates to the Constituent Assembly next month. Tonight was the last day of seven, and I can see little that has been accomplished. On the first day, the Bolsheviks made sure to arrive after Kerensky’s opening speech. But the biggest irony was that the naval guards Kerensky had brought in to protect the delegates from the Bolsheviks ended up being won over by Trotsky and protecting him instead! In spite of that, I heard Lenin was furious that any Bolsheviks attended the conference at all.”
The Russians Collection Page 249