It was a bright moonlight night. Outside, the snow lay like a pall on the frost-bound Park. The cold was intense. The silence of the great Palace was occasionally broken by snatches of drunken songs and the coarse laughter of the soldiers. The intermittent firing of guns was audible. It was a night of beauty, defiled by the base passions of men. I went quietly downstairs to the mauve boudoir.
The Empress was waiting for me, and as she stood there I thought how girlish she looked. Her long hair fell in a heavy plait down her back, and she wore a loose silk dressing-gown over her night clothes. She was very pale, very ethereal, but unutterably pathetic. As I stumbled into the boudoir with my draperies of sheets and blankets she smiled— a little affectionate, mocking smile, which deepened as she watched me trying to arrange my bed on the couch. She came forward, still smiling.
“Oh, Lili… you Russian ladies don't know how to be useful. When I was a girl, my grandmother. Queen Victoria, showed me how to make a bed. I’ll teach you.”
And she deftly arranged the bedding, saying, as she did so:
“Take care not to lie on this broken spring. I always had an idea something was amiss with this couch.”
The bed-making “a la mode de Windsor” was soon finished, and the Empress kissed me affectionately and bade me good night.
“Ill leave my bedroom door open,” she said, “then you won't feel lonely.”
Fraternal greetings. We leave for Petrograd today. Kamenev, Muranov, Stalin.
The most frightful and fantastic types human specimens imaginable have crawled out onto the streets of Petersburg. Where have these people been hiding? One imagines that the gates have been opened to some vast asylum in the slums, in which these people, spurned and rejected by life, once wiled away their miserable lives. While quietly meandering around the city, they give an insuppressible impression of a people struggling to recall some lost memory. See more
No longing for the past.
From this moment all in the palace are considered in a state of quarantine, and contact with the outside world is forbidden.
I have burnt the letters I received from Lili Dehn. I sat today with Anya.
You know, Aleksei Nikolaevich, your father no longer wants to be the Emperor.
Your majesty should consider himself as if he were arrested.
This morning I asked the Foreign Minister about the announcement in the papers that the Czar had been placed under the arrest. I was informed by His Excellency that this was not strictly accurate. The position was that the Emperor was no longer his liberty, and that a delegation of the Duma and an escort provided by General Alexeieff would accompany him to Tsarskoe Selo. See more
Sleep for me was impossible. I lay on the mauve couch — her couch—unable to realise that this strange happening was a part of ordinary life. Surely I must be dreaming; surely I should suddenly awake in my own bed at Petrograd, and find that the Revolution and its attendant horrors were only a nightmare! But the sound of coughing in the Empress’s bedroom told me that, alas I it was no dream… See more
During the last few days a rumour has spread among the mob that "Citizen Romanov" and his wife, "Alexandra the German," are working secretly for a restoration of autocracy, with the connivance of the "moderate" ministers, Lvov, Miliukov, Gutchkov, etc. The Soviet accordingly demanded the immediate arrest of the sovereigns yesterday evening. The Provisional Government yielded to its desires. The same evening four deputies of the Duma, Bublikov, Gribunin, Kalinin and Verschinin, left for G.H.Q. at Mohilev, with instructions to bring the Emperor back with them. See more
I was at Moghilev during the day. At 10:15 I signed the farewell notice to the Army. At 10:30 I came to the duty house where I said goodbye to all the ranking staff 121 members and the management. At home I said goodbye to the officers and Cossacks of the Convoy and the Composite (reserve) regiment. My heart almost broke. See more