After these three or four days at home in Tsarskoye Selo—he was born in this palace, he loved it, this was a gilded captivity!—Nikolai had had his clarity of spirit restored—and his humility. He could not fix anything anymore, he was not being pulled or dragged anywhere; all his state obligations were at an end. He had handed them over. No one could come to him with a report, sometimes irritating, or with a difficult proposal that confounded the mind; he didn’t have to agonize over a choice. Nikolai had done and finished everything. He had done what he could as well as he could. No need to dress up, and dress up again anymore. (He had stepped into the patched and repatched baggy military trousers he had had since 1900; Nikolai loved old things.) Now, having shrugged off all his burdens, he could live for his family. The merciful Lord has allowed us all to be united together!
Benckendorff reported that, by all evidence, they would remain in Tsarskoye Selo for a long time. A pleasant awareness! How much time now to read, for his own pleasure and aloud to his children! Nikolai sat for long stretches with Alix, and with the children, and especially with Aleksei.
Only their illnesses were cause for disquiet. Thank God, Aleksei had had an easy time of the measles and no complications. The two older girls were also recovering fully, though their ears still hurt. But Maria, who had remained by her mother’s side through the most dangerous days, was now plunged into nearly the worst case of all, which had moved to her ears and yielded a malignant pneumonia. They had assembled a consultation around her (the authorities had allowed it but—a terrible crudeness—only if an officer and two soldiers were present at the examination), but dear Doctor Botkin, voluntarily captive, was always by her side. Anastasia, nearly recovered, suddenly fell ill again with her ears and also pneumonia. Today they had punctured her ear.
Grant us, oh Lord, grant us that everyone recovers.
The entire family was living in the palace’s left wing; the recuperating Anya Vyrubova and a few of the remaining suite in the right. Occasionally they would gather in the evenings for readings or music—here, in the royal wing; sometimes they called on the Benckendorffs or went to the far wing—and Nikolai would push Alix in a wheelchair. And this was a considerable way, the full length of the palace! Quite a lot of space had still not been taken away from them. It was cozy to put wood in a fireplace—and in this damp sit in warmth and seclusion. (True, Benckendorff complained that they were issuing less and less firewood.)
There was also a billiards room in the palace, always locked—Nikolai had the key—because military maps hung there.
Who were they for now?
Nikolai did go there once, locked himself in, and was alone with the maps—and he looked, looked in sadness at the corps whose movements no longer depended on him.
He was used to hearing Alekseev’s steady stream of words as he stood in front of the maps. Yesterday his son was allowed to get out of bed—and today his father brought him here. And explained a little to him.
Now they could not attend the celebration of the Cathedral of Our Lady of St. Theodore. But for the previous Sunday they’d taken pains to serve mass in the palace’s provisional church—obtaining permission to allow a priest, a deacon, and four singers through. Permission was granted, but they were subjected to strict formalities and captious objections on admission. They gathered, whoever was on his feet—the family, the suite, the servants. How joyous it was not to have been left without a service in their new circumstances. And Nikolai prayed—for victory for the Russian army.
And heard again in the litany not his own name but “the God-protected Russian land and for its right-believing government.” And he crossed himself ardently and prayed for the Provisional Government: Lord, send them this belief, send them success in governing Russia.
He was prepared to forgive them everything—he already had forgiven them everything—if only they saved Russia!
He and Alix were the first to reverently kiss the cross, make a silent shared bow to those gathered—and leave.
After Guchkov’s nighttime, unjustified, malicious visit to Alix, no member of the new government had traveled to Tsarskoye Selo or expressed any intention of meeting with the abdicated Emperor. They were free to do as they wanted. They had no need to learn or consult about anything. However, the former Emperor was discomfited by the incomprehensibility of his own situation. What was going to happen to him and his family? What about loyal members of the suite who had allowed themselves to become captives voluntarily—but not forever, surely? What about the servants and clerks—180 of them, some here with their entire families, others’ families elsewhere? And also, also. Finally, what was going to happen to the palace grenadiers, those gray-haired veterans festooned with crosses and medals for all their wars, going back to the Crimean? They weren’t going to be thrown onto the street now, were they?
Not only were there no answers to all his questions, the censor had not even allowed Benckendorff’s letters concerning private royal property to be sent.
Finally, Nikolai himself went to Kotzebue to convey a request that someone come visit them—but who? Either Prince Lvov or, obviously, the ever inevitable Guchkov?
(excerpted from chapter 588)
