A week later, when Misha was well enough to leave the hospital, Mama and I took him home to St. Petersburg and the Zhukovsky mansion. I tried to pretend being back there with Misha was like the old days, but it wasn’t. Misha had changed. He still teased me, but there was a hard edge to his humor. Often, when he wasn’t aware of my watching him, I saw a look of panic on his face, as if he feared that at any moment the German army would march through our door and drag him away.
It was only when he took to wandering the city streets and searching out the few friends of his who were not missing in the war that he began to take an interest in life once again.
For myself, I had been away from St. Petersburg for so long that I was amazed to see what was going on there. Though it was one of the coldest Februarys on record, people milled about in the streets. With the miners in the army, there wasn’t enough coal to run the factories, so thousands were without work. Students gathered in angry knots, shouting slogans and waving red flags.
As long as Mama was in the room, Misha said nothing about all of this, but when the two of us were alone, he was too excited to keep still. His proudest moment came when his hero, Alexander Kerensky, stood up in the Duma and actually called for the Tsar’s abdication. “He is the only leader with courage,” Misha said. “The Tsar would do well to listen to him. With Kerensky there is still a chance for a democratic government. Without him, it will be Lenin and Stalin, and Russia will be finished.”
Kerensky didn’t go to jail. Instead, all across the city, people supported him, calling for the Tsar to step down. I did not know what to think. Certainly the Tsar had led his people into a terrible war and had abandoned his responsibilities, but I would not be happy to see the country in the hands of some of the revolutionaries I had seen on the streets.
Misha had secrets he would not share, and kept his thoughts to himself. He could walk now without his crutches. His face filled out, and his hair grew back into tight curls he could not smooth. In the mornings he sat reading the papers or stood at the window watching the crowds on the Nevsky. In the afternoons he went out, saying only that he wanted to get a bit of air. When I asked to go along, he said, “The streets have become too dangerous, Katya.” I guessed that he was meeting his revolutionary friends, for when he returned from his walks, his eyes were bright and he walked with a brisker step. The look of panic had disappeared. Often I saw leaflets tucked into his pockets.
The winter would not stop. In the Summer Garden the statues were hidden under a blanket of white. The snow, which in the past had seemed so beautiful and pure to me, now felt as if it were pressing down upon the city, crushing it with its light weight. People were stealing benches from the park and breaking them up for wood. The Neva was still frozen, and what little wood came into the city came on sleighs and was so expensive that only the very rich could afford it. The rooms of our mansion were never really warm. We wore sweaters over our clothes and slept under two feather quilts.
Mama wrote cheerful letters daily to the Empress, never mentioning the angry crowds in the city. Instead she sent bits of gossip about friends—for incredibly, in the palaces and mansions parties were still going on. I enclosed notes to Stana finding fault with the weather and asking what studies with Pierre I was missing. In her notes to me she spoke of Alexei being ill and complained that without me there was no one with whom to have a bit of fun. She hoped I would soon be back.
One afternoon, when I complained for the hundredth time that I was bored, Misha took pity on me.
“Come, I’ll take you to a café for a cup of chocolate and cakes, though we will be lucky to get weak tea and a thin slice of bread.”
In spite of the freezing weather, I felt quite happy as we started out. I was wearing my favorite coat with its collar and hem trimmed in fur, a matching fur hat pulled down over my ears. My hand, snug in its mitten, was tucked into Misha’s arm. As we passed Palace Square, we both looked up at the angel. It was still there. Saying nothing, we looked at each other and smiled.
My pleasure in the outing soon disappeared. Many of the buildings had hand-lettered banners calling for revolution and demanding an end to the war. I too would have been happy to see an end of the war, but I was shocked to see posters with a picture of the Empress and, underneath, the old accusation that she was a spy for the Germans. I complained to Misha, “No one loves Russia or wishes more for a Russian victory over the Germans than the Empress.”
Misha said, “It’s hunger and frustration with the war that makes the people lash out like that.”
“But it’s so unfair,” I insisted.
“It’s one unfair thing among many,” Misha answered.
In front of a bakery, we skirted a line that stretched for several blocks. The faces of the women waiting for bread were red with cold. They hopped from one foot to the other and beat their arms against their chests to keep warm. Their envious glances at my warm coat made me uncomfortable.
“Bread has gone from four kopecks to seven kopecks a pound,” Misha said. “Where are those women to get such money?” A sign went up in the window of the bakery: NO MORE BREAD. Immediately there were shouts of anger and the sound of glass breaking. As the angry women surged into the bakery, Misha hurried me across the prospekt. Safely on the other side, we watched the women carrying out bags of flour. Policemen stood by, joking with the women.
“The police aren’t arresting the women,” I said.
Misha shrugged. “The policemen are as hungry as they are. They will never arrest them.”
When we reached the café, there was, as Misha had suspected, nothing to be had but weak tea. There wasn’t even thin-sliced bread. Still, there was bread for us at home. That could not be right. I hated the war that brought only death and starvation. Now I saw that the Tsar was truly in danger and that a revolution might take place. How different conditions in the outside world seemed from the safety of the palace. I wondered what the Tsar and the Empress would think if they could walk the streets of St. Petersburg.
We had been in the café only a short time when two men, like Misha in their early twenties, came over to our table and gave me a questioning look.
“Sit down,” Misha said. “This is only my cousin. She won’t do us any harm.” He didn’t introduce me to his friends. I guessed he did not want me to know their names.
One of the men had a flat-visored cap and a scarf wound around and around his neck as if he were nursing a sore throat. The other man had long black hair hanging down in greasy wisps from under a fur hat. The man with the scarf said, “There’s going to be a general zabastovka tomorrow. Everyone is talking about it. The students are going out. The workers will leave their factories. Even the trolleys will stop running.”
The long-haired man said in a low voice, “We are hoping some of the army will join the strike.”
“At least,” Misha said, “the army will not shoot the demonstrators.”
The next day Misha was proven wrong. The Tsar, furious that the city should be shut down by a strike in a time of war, forbade all public meetings and ordered the strikers to go back to work or be drafted into the army.
For a day the strikers obeyed, and the city was quiet. Mama and I stood at the windows looking out on the Nevsky, where only a handful of people could be seen. The following day the strikers were out on the streets once more. Misha left early in the morning. When Mama pleaded with him to remain at home, he only shook his head.
“Aunt Irina, it is to your benefit to have someone who knows what is going on in the city. The time may come when you will be in danger.”
“That’s nonsense. You are playing at revolution as if it were a game, but Misha, it is a dangerous game, and you must keep clear of Kerensky and his people.”
When Misha returned home, he was furious. “A stupid army officer ordered his men to fire on the demonstrators. Fifty strikers lie dead. But not all the army obeyed the Tsar. One regiment refused to shoot the strikers. Instead they killed the officer who had given
them the order! The Tsar must abdicate, or the whole country will be in turmoil.”
Mama listened to Misha with growing alarm. “Surely this chaos can’t go on. The country must come to its senses and settle down.” Mama still hoped all would come right. How could that be? How could the country settle down, with millions of soldiers dead and the whole country starving?
Looking out the window the next day, we saw soldiers, each with the red flag of the revolution hanging from his bayonet. We could see smoke from burning buildings. Misha burst into the house. Without stopping to take a breath, he blurted out, “The arsenal where weapons are stored has been emptied, and the law courts are burning. The revolutionaries have released prisoners from jail. They’ve taken over the Winter Palace and arrested the Tsar’s ministers. Kerensky has formed a revolutionary government.”
Misha paused to catch his breath. He looked at us as if he didn’t know whether to continue. This time he spoke in a quiet voice. “The Tsar has abdicated.”
I was too shocked to say a word.
“I don’t believe it,” Mama said. “The Tsar would never abdicate.”
“I assure you, Aunt Irina, it’s true.”
After a long moment Mama said, “I must return to the Alexander Palace at once. The Empress will need me.”
Misha said, “I beg you not to go, Aunt Irina. It won’t be safe there.”
“What do you mean, Misha?” she said. “What place could be safer than the Tsar’s palace? It is surrounded by loyal guards.”
Misha warned, “When they see which way the wind is blowing, how long will the guards remain loyal? I tell you, if you join the imperial family, your life will be in danger.”
Mama squared her shoulders. “At any rate I will be loyal.”
“I’m going with you, Mama.” I believed Misha. If the soldiers were supporting a revolution, what hope was there that the guard would protect the Tsar and his family? The Tsar and the Empress were like family to me. Stana and her sisters were like my sisters. If there was to be a revolution, I would stand by them.
“I won’t let you come, Katya,” Mama said. “You heard Misha. It’s too dangerous.”
“I heard you, too, Mama. I can be loyal as well.”
Mama gave me a long look, as if she were seeing something she had not seen before. At last she nodded slowly. “Very well. We must get ready at once.”
We planned to leave the next morning, but that evening Misha, who had returned to the streets, hurried into our rooms, where we were still packing.
“Mobs are breaking into the mansions of the rich and looting and burning,” he said. “Some of us tried to stop them, but they are crazy with power. They will be here next.”
Misha ordered us to lock the doors and close the draperies. He searched frantically for pen and paper. With a shaking hand he printed: KEEP OUT. THIS HOUSE IS THE PROPERTY OF THE REVOLUTIONARY GOVERNMENT. He tacked the sign on the front door.
From behind our closed draperies we could hear a mob approaching. There were shouts and curses. We held our breath. The shouting faded. The crowd moved on.
Mama was grateful to Misha, but I was full of anger. I had come to believe the war was a disaster. I had seen the women fighting for a bit of bread, but this was as bad. Furious, I said, “Those are your revolutionaries. They are nothing more than a mob, stealing and burning.” I expected Misha to turn on me. Instead he was silent, a look of misery on his face.
At last in a low voice he said, “Those are not my revolutionaries, Katya. Once a revolution gets under way, it attracts evil men as well as good men. Now you had better finish your packing. I’ll find a car for you.” He looked at us for a moment. “I would rather not say this, but I must be honest. The mansion is protected for now, but tomorrow may be different. Take the things you value most with you.”
Mama gathered her jewels, her favorite icons, and Papa’s portrait. I took my diary and the gold locket in the shape of a four-leaf clover with the portraits of the Grand Duchesses. When we were ready to leave, our small suitcases seemed very little to carry out of so large a home.
Once Mama had employed fifty servants. Now there were only a handful. We smothered Anya with kisses. Mama paid each of the remaining servants a month’s wages, and we bade everyone good-bye. We looked about us one last time and then hurried out through a back door. Misha handed us into the car he had arranged for us to ride in. As we kissed him good-bye, Mama asked, “What will you do, Misha?”
“I’ve waited a long time for this day. I’ll support the revolution and Kerensky’s government. But I will pray for you—and if Lenin takes over, I will pray for the Tsar and his family, for they will need my prayers.”
As the car drove off, I looked over my shoulder. Misha had already turned away.
CHAPTER TEN
LAST DAYS AT THE ALEXANDER
Winter–Summer 1917
It was late evening when we reached the gates of the Alexander Palace. A March fog hovered over patches of snow, making the palace grounds seem nothing more than a blur. There were no Imperial Guard or scarlet-jacketed Cossacks. There were soldiers with angry, sullen faces. “You can’t go in there,” one of the soldiers snarled at us. “No one is allowed in or out.” He looked at our suitcases with suspicion.
“I am the Empress’s lady-in-waiting,” Mama said.
“There is no Empress in there; there is only the German spy.” The soldier gave a nasty laugh. “There is no more Tsar. There is only Mr. Colonel.”
His words sent a chill down my spine. The world was turned upside down. I began to understand our own danger. An officer strolled over. His questions were more polite, but his manner was just as cold. At last he agreed to allow us to enter the palace. “But first we must see what is in your suitcases.”
With the smirking soldiers looking on and to our great embarrassment, the officer rummaged through our dresses and petticoats. When he came to Mama’s jewelry box, he said, “How do I know these jewels are not stolen?”
Mama was furious. “Do I look like a thief?”
“All you nobles are thieves! These must be turned over to the people’s government. I know you aristocrats. You will sell the jewels and send the money to those who are fighting against the revolution.”
Mama was about to protest, but the hostile looks on the faces of the soldiers frightened her. Later she told the Empress, “All I could think of was getting myself and Katya safely inside the palace and away from those beasts. I was terrified that we would be arrested and taken away. If the jewels were our ransom, so be it.”
The Empress was as white and rigid as a marble statue. She had never looked more regal. “How terrible that I have caused you this trouble, Irina. You were very good to come to me. And you too, dear Katya. We are a sad family. Nothing can be done until the Tsar arrives. He was visiting the troops at the front, and his returning train was stopped by a mob of evil soldiers. Irina, I cannot believe that Nikolai has abdicated. What will become of us, and what will become of poor Russia?”
Mama looked about. “Where are the girls and Alexei? They are safe?”
“Yes, safe, but very ill. They have all come down with measles. We nearly lost Marie. What of Katya? Has she had measles? If not, she had better keep away from them.”
“I’ve had measles, Madame,” I said, remembering very well the itchy rash and the headache that felt like a trapped bird was beating its wings in my head.
“Well, then, run in and see them, Katya. They need cheering.”
The girls were spotted and red-eyed. Stana said, “We’re all going to have our heads shaved tomorrow.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Why?”
“The measles has made some of our hair fall out, and Mama says it will grow back faster if we shave it all off.”
I looked at Marie’s long golden curls and the older girls’ elegant coiffures.
“We hate it,” Marie said, “but Mama is so upset, we don’t want to argue with her. She has much to worry her.”
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Their father was no longer Tsar, they were prisoners in their own palace, and now they had to have their heads shaved. “I’m going to get mine shaved too,” I announced.
“Why?” Stana asked. “You don’t have measles.”
“I don’t care. We’ll do it together.”
They looked at me for a moment, and then we all burst out laughing.
When the palace barber came the next day, I had second thoughts, but the girls were so brave as their locks fell to the floor, I could not be less brave. When it was over, we stared at one another, hardly recognizing ourselves. We tried to laugh, but it was harder this time.
No sooner had Mama and I settled into our places in the palace than we heard that drunken soldiers were looting the stores in the village and drinking up all the wine and liquor they could steal. They were cursing the Tsar and the Empress and threatening to break into the palace. As darkness fell, soldiers milled about the gates shouting, “Down with the Tsar! Down with the Empress!” With horror we realized they were the very regiment of soldiers meant to protect the palace. Misha had been right. Except for the palace guard, we were now left undefended.
When she realized the soldiers had deserted us, the Empress hastily threw a cloak over her shoulders and went out to the palace guard. Stana and Marie and I went with her. She went from soldier to soldier, greeting each and imploring him to be loyal to the Tsar. “You are all that stands between my children and the gravest danger,” the Empress said. “Our lives are in your hands. I know we can trust you.” She made the sign of the cross over them, and they in turn kissed her hand. At last we returned through the darkness into the palace, but none of us slept that night.