Chapter XIV: The Burial of the Tsar (2)

I found the tutors in the Romanov family incompetent and
ignorant; and, when we provided the children with a plain,
sensible female teacher, she was astonished at their ignorance
and asked: “_How_ on earth have these children been brought up?”

Alexis, a lad of fourteen, who, according to Russian law, would
have reached maturity in two years and become automatically,
in case of his father’s death, Autocrat of All Russia, did
not know the simplest arithmetic. When I asked him where the
Volga was, he said: “Volga, Volga. What joke is that you
are trying to make?” He knew absolutely nothing of Russian
history, absolutely nothing of geography, and nothing at all
of literature. No wonder the new teacher said to me: “_How_ on
earth have these children been brought up?”

She questioned them about Pushkin. Now, even in working men’s
families the children who attend school know about Pushkin,
but these Romanov children had not got the faintest idea of
him. She read them a piece out of Lermontov’s “Demon”: they
had never heard it in their lives before, and did not know who
Lermontov was. Then she asked them about the poet Nekrasov.
They were astonished to hear that there was a Russian poet of
that name. Well, when she told me this, I could not restrain
myself any longer. “I am going to read to them,” said I,
“Nekrasov’s ‘Russian Women’ and ‘Moroz Krasny Nos.’” Now you
know, I suppose, that “Russian Women” gives a description
of the wives of the Dekabrists, aristocrats but our first
revolutionists; and that the other is a poetical description
of scenes from Russian peasant life. Well, then, one evening I
read them “Moroz Krasny Nos,” and I can assure you that they
were absolutely delighted with it. “How is it,” they asked me,
“that nobody ever told us before that there was such a poet in
Russian literature?” Next I read them “Russian Women,” and they
were amazed at the beauty of it.

I was with the children every day: I asked them about all sorts
of things: I talked to each of them individually; and they
were astonished at everything I said, for they had lived an
unnatural life like hermits and knew nothing about the world.
Now, I have travelled a great deal; and, in order to get them
to talk, I told them a lot about Siberia, of which they knew
absolutely nothing. They were surprised at every word I said,
though I told them nothing that every child in Siberia does
not know. I told them about the climate, the different races
that inhabit this country, and so forth; and I told them all
this in the presence of Nicholas himself, who had travelled
a good deal in Siberia, and was even, according to his own
account, in Tobolsk, but “only passing through.” In order to
find out how much he really knew about Russia generally, I
often conversed with him about Russian history, and discovered
that he did not know much about it. In fact, his knowledge of
Russian history was distinctly bad, and was mostly taken from
the historian Ilovaisky. I questioned him about his own private
estates—Cabinet lands or Crown domains they used to call them,
if I mistake not—in Nerchinsky district, in Kuznetzk, in Omsk
Province, and in the Altai Mountains, where I had myself worked
as a prospector.

Now you know that in the Kuznetsky basin there is an unlimited
supply of the best coal. Well, when I told him about this, and
about the great mineral wealth of that district, and about
the way the local peasantry lived, he was amazed, for he had
only “passed through” those estates of his also. I must admit
that in those districts the peasants live pretty well: I only
wish that our own peasants were as comfortable. They have a
splendid soil, magnificent forests, and they only lack one
thing—education. In all that enormous _uyezd_ (district) there
are only from ten to fifteen schools, and there is general
illiteracy. The whole district is run by Germans or by their
agents, and they have the entire control in their hands. As
it would not be to the advantage of these Germans for the
villagers to be educated, absolutely nothing is done for
education. When I was last there myself, in 1915, I saw several
schools that had been burnt down ten years earlier and which
nobody had taken the trouble to rebuild.

But to return to the subject of the ex-Tsar’s family, I also
spoke to them about foreign parts, for you know that they
have often been abroad. I asked them if they had been in the
museums, picture galleries, etc., in the strange countries they
had visited, but—would you believe me?—they had never been in
one of them. Why, they were never once in their lives inside
the doors of a public museum or picture gallery even here in
Russia. There are, as you may know, some rare pictures in the
Winter Palace. I asked the children if they had ever seen them,
and it turned out that they had not and didn’t even know that
the Winter Palace belonged to them.

I asked them what they read, and found that it was mostly
English and French novels. They knew nothing of Russian
history. Olga and Maria had not even begun to read Russian
history. In order to excite in them an interest for general
knowledge, I told them about the Polar Sea and the Sea of
Okhotsk, where I had been myself. This interested them, but it
was clear that their teachers had never spoken to them about
this and had taken no pains whatever with their education.
The more I got to know them, the more I saw that their minds
were absolutely empty of all useful knowledge, and that their
schooling had been shamefully neglected.

Pankratov was horrified at all this and conjured up a picture of these Imperial children, whose father was the wealthiest man and the most powerful autocrat on earth, unable, owing to fear of kidnappers or assassins, to see works of art which were accessible to the very poorest children in Petrograd, and displayed in one of the Tsar’s own palaces which was open to the public.

There may be an element of truth in this picture, but on the whole it is false, for the Tsarevich was a clever and well-educated boy, as his notebooks, which were found and are now preserved by members of his family in this country, amply testify. He was certainly only joking when he pretended not to know where the Volga was; and the Grand Duchess Tatiana was also joking when she affected ignorance of the best-known Russian poets, for she herself was a poetess of some talent, and her compositions, which are at present in England, are said to show a considerable acquaintance with Russian literature.

As for the children having never been in the Winter Palace, and being ignorant of the fact that it belonged to them, I am doubtful of this, though it is possible that some of them were never in the Hermitage, though that famous picture gallery is connected with the Winter Palace by a bridge.

Nothing could persuade Pankratov, however, that the Imperial children were not badly educated, and he asked how it could be otherwise considering the inefficient teachers they had—Petrov, an aged man “who was nearly always asleep”; Kendrikova, a young lady of the Court who was supposed to teach the Tsarevich arithmetic and geography, but who was herself a woman of no ability; “Countess Schneider, an old Court lady of sixty, who taught Russian grammar, though she herself spoke Russian badly and had the most grotesque ideas about Russia; Gialliard, who taught French, but, like all the foreigners who found themselves in the same position, thought of nothing but earning enough money to return to Switzerland and live there like a lord.” It never struck Pankratov apparently that there were worlds in which the Grand Duchesses were at home and in which he was a comparative stranger. One was the world of music, for several of the Tsar’s daughters were accomplished musicians.

The Emperor himself, according to the same hostile authority, taught his little boy history; but the Commissar complains that he used only the compilations of Ilovaisky and Bogdanov, and that he imagined Russian history to be simply a list of Tsars and wars. “He did not understand the life of the Russian people, and had no clear idea in his mind of the different periods in the growth of the Muscovite race.”

Of Dr. Botkin, the Tsar’s medical attendant, he said that “he was the son of a famous savant known all over Europe, but he did not take after his father. He was an honorary General metamorphosed into a typical courtier. He had got all the tricks of an Imperial court; he would never say anything that his master did not want him to say, and he knew well how to flatter and how to gain adroitly little favours for himself.”

Of the faithful old sailor who had long attended on the Tsarevich, Pankratov said:

In addition to these, Alexis had in attendance on him a man
whom he called “Uncle”—I mean the sailor Derevenko, a cunning,
churlish, and even insolent bluejacket who regarded himself as
the boy’s tutor. This sailor was half educated, as I concluded
after reading the letters he sent me requesting permission to
join Alexis. Greedy and sly, he of course did all he could to
gain all the material advantages possible from his privileged
position. When the Imperial Family were sent to Tobolsk they
were allowed to bring with them any attendants whom they liked.
The people I have just mentioned were selected, and Alexandra
Feodorovna, the Empress, told Kerensky that Derevenko was a
most disinterested man and had attended on Alexis for nearly
ten years. Before the Imperial party left, however, Derevenko
handed in to Colonel Kobylinsky, commandant of the ex-Tsar’s
train, a claim for 700 roubles which he had paid for boots
supplied to Alexis during the month of July. The Colonel
returned the account to him without comment. The sailor said he
would speak to Alexandra Feodorovna, but the Colonel said he
did not care whom Derevenko spoke to, and that, furthermore,
he would not be taken to Tobolsk. On hearing of this Alexandra
Feodorovna complained, almost with tears in her eyes, that,
though she had been given the right to choose her own servants,
this concession had already been annulled. “Are you convinced
that Derevenko has not swindled you?” asked the Colonel;
and when Alexandra replied that she knew Derevenko to be a
thoroughly honest man, he told her about the preposterous claim
for 700 roubles, and added that a man who began his connection
with their party by making such a claim could on no account be
allowed to travel with them to Tobolsk.

The Imperial Family was very angry at this imposition on the
part of Derevenko: nevertheless, a few days later, Alexandra
Feodorovna again began asking that the sailor should be
allowed to accompany them, but her request was refused and they
left without him. Though thus left behind, Derevenko did not
lose hope, but continued sending letters to the Romanov family.
These letters all came into my hands.

To what an extent all these “faithful” retainers fooled and
deceived the Romanovs, who maintained no discipline whatever
over them, is shown by the following incident: Alexis fell
sick, and a doctor called Derevenko—not Derevenko the sailor,
but a very good doctor of the same name who attended on the
Romanovs and at the same time looked after all the rest of us
when we required his services—well, this doctor ordered a bath
to be prepared for the boy in the evening. When evening came
Alexis waited for his bath, but was told that something had
gone wrong with the heating apparatus, and that, consequently,
it could not be got ready. But the boy’s teacher told me next
morning that Madame Tattelberg had used the bath and that
Alexis had complained to her, the teacher, saying: “Tell me,
Klavdiya Mikhailovna, why they deceive us? Vladimir Nikolaevich
(the doctor) told me that there would be a bath ready for me.
In the evening they said that something had gone wrong and
that it could not be got ready, and now I find that Madame
Tattelberg has gone and washed herself in it.”

As soon as I heard this, I took measures to prevent any such
thing happening again. In the same way all the servants,
flunkeys, etc., did whatever they liked, and nobody had
any control over them. They tried to steal food, and after
breakfast, dinner, and supper every one of them brought away
a parcel of food with him from the table. I had to stop this
practice, of course, and they were very surprised when I did
so, for they had never been treated in that way before. They
even tried to steal the plates, and when a plate disappeared
they said that it had been broken. All the loss fell on the
Romanovs, who paid for all this out of their own private purse,
but nevertheless I could not allow this robbery to go on.

In conversation with the Romanovs, I tried to ascertain
how each of them accommodated himself to his new position.
Everything was certainly very new to them. Olga and Maria
often told me that the life they were leading in Siberia was
healthier and more useful than the life they had led at Court.
They said they were glad that all etiquette had been done away
with so far as they were concerned, and that now they lived
their own lives. They were pleased with their new teacher.

Their former life was arranged so. In the morning they got up
and their maids-of-honour dressed them in the manner required
that day by the etiquette of the Court, each bow being fastened
in exactly such and such a manner and not a hundredth part of
an inch otherwise. For dinner they had to put on other dresses;
and if they were to receive visitors or to go out anywhere,
they had once more to change their dresses. Literally all their
time was wasted on these fiddle-faddles, so that you can guess
how little time was left to them for work and self-improvement.

This reminds me of a Little Russian anecdote, rather witty,
and with a hidden meaning. A soldier once came to me in Little
Russia in a clean _rubashka_ (shirt, belted and worn as a
coat), and boasted that soldiers change their _rubashki_ once a
week.

“And what about officers?” I asked.

“Officers three times a week and Generals every day,” was the
reply.

“And the Tsar?” I asked.

“The Tsar,” promptly replied the soldier, “undresses and
dresses, undresses and dresses.”

This anecdote has a profound meaning and a deep significance.

Just imagine to yourself how a family develops when it is
constantly surrounded by such incompetents as all these
Kendrikovas, Count Tatishchevs, Schneiders, and so on; and half
the day being dressed like dolls by _valets-de-chambre_ and
maids-of-honour who can think of nothing but costumes. Judging
by the letters of the Romanovs to those maids-of-honour whom
they permitted to be most intimate with them, the latter had no
other occupation in life than to look after bows and flounces,
lingerie and dish-cloths. I read all those letters and never
came across anything serious or striking in any of them.

The Romanov girls told me that in their former life at Court
they frequently held what they called receptions in honour of
somebody’s birthday or name-day or something of that kind; and
every time these days came round they had to dress and smile
at people. Though there were any number of tutors for the
children, the children studied as a rule very little. Their
father Nicholas, though a man of very limited capacity, and in
fact, I must say, an ignorant man, might himself have taught
his children, but unfortunately he was a heavy drinker.

But now I must come back to my description of the life led by
the Romanovs in Tobolsk. After coffee in the morning they used
to walk in the courtyard or play skittles. To give Nicholas
his due he was very strong physically and a splendid hand at
skittles. His opponent was usually Prince Dolgoruki, a very
powerful man too, but Nicholas beat him every time. Then
Dolgoruki’s place would be taken by Count Tatishchev, but he
was not so good a player as Dolgoruki, and was beaten in no
time. After that the children began to play and then Gialliard.
Nicholas tired them all out, and was himself as fresh at the
end of the game as when he started. When they went walking the
children marched after him like soldiers, Nicholas going first.
If one fell out another would take his place. Finally all would
fall out, but Nicholas never. They also sawed wood, at which
Nicholas was best of all. It is necessary to have practice at
this work.

Of Alexandra Feodorovna I must say that she kept terribly to
herself, rarely walked even with the children, and spent most
of her time airing clothes, making crochet-work for _ikons_,
or reading the Holy Books. The children walked either with
their father or by themselves. At 10 o’clock all went to have
breakfast, and after that they began again to play skittles
or saw wood. In this manner the whole day passed; and in the
evening they collected together in the common hall where one of
them read aloud while the others listened. Alexandra Feodorovna
generally knitted. It was the children who told me this, for I
did not care to disturb them by joining their company myself at
this time. I asked the children what kind of books were read
generally—was it anything in the style of Chekhov or Nekrasov?
It seems that while this reading went on some of them slept,
others dozed, and others talked to one another. I was told this
by Dr. Botkin, who had to pass the evening with them as a rule,
but was generally the first to fall asleep. And this is what
they called “reading aloud.”

Now I am going to tell you of their piety. Mass used at first
to be said for the ex-Tsar’s family in the hall, which was
about the largest room in the house. They invited a priest
to say Mass for them, and four monks to sing in the choir.
Alexandra Feodorovna used to make all the arrangements herself.
She embroidered the altar-linen, she put up the ornaments, she
placed the _ikons_ and the flowers in their proper places.
It was a parade service. All ranged themselves according to
their rank, the _valets-de-chambre_ nearer to the members of
the suite, and so on down to the cook’s humblest assistant.
Nicholas occupied the first place; next to him was his wife;
then Alexis; then the daughters arranged according to age, and
so on. It was interesting to see how all these grand people
prayed like automata, keeping their eyes all the time on
Alexandra Feodorovna. When she knelt down, all knelt down. When
she stood up, all stood up. It was terrible to see how strict
they were about precedence even at the _Miropomazanie_.[3]
God help Alexandra Feodorovna’s _valet-de-chambre_ if he went
up to the altar for the _Miropomazanie_ before Nicholas’s
_valet-de-chambre_!

I paid particular attention to this point, for it greatly
amused me, and it was typical of the worship of minutiæ which
prevailed in the Romanov family. Alexandra Feodorovna never
went to the _Miropomazanie_ before Nicholas. After her, Alexis
had to go, and so on. Little things like these filled their
whole lives. Every time that Mass was said they all tried to
wear something new, and that also was a waste of time.

Now from what I have said you can form an idea of what that
family was like. First of all it was surrounded by stupid
and ignorant people who were only looking out for their own
personal advantage. There was not a gifted person in the whole
crowd.

The foregoing gives one a clue to the state of things which brought about the Russian Revolution. It has always been the misfortune of the Tsars that most of their subjects have regarded them as more than human, one section looking upon them as gods, another section looking upon them as demons. This misfortune threatens to follow the unfortunate Nicholas the Second even into his grave. Some of his followers, frank Imperialists, have already evolved a legend according to which his death was due to his refusal to sign the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, and they persuaded the world to believe that his dying words were a declaration that he gave his life for Russia, though not a single witness has borne testimony to that effect. They have also put into his mouth long speeches expressive of his loyalty to the Entente, though it is doubtful if he ever made such speeches, which were in any case unnecessary, as his loyalty to the Entente was never for a moment in doubt.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The full name is Verkh (Upper) Isetsky Factory.

[2] I can only account for eleven who were shot in the cellar. Two others may have been taken out in the lorries and killed in Kopchiki Wood. Several soldiers say that Madame Vyrobova was shot in the cellar.

[3] Being signed with the sign of the cross in holy oil on eves of festivals.