Angel on the Square (10 page)

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.

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.”

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.

The government, now led by Kerensky, sent a new regiment of soldiers to guard the palace, but nothing in their hostile manner reassured us. “If only your dear papa were here,” the Empress kept saying to the girls, but one day passed and a second. We had nearly given up hope, fearing that the Tsar had been arrested
and taken to Moscow, when we heard a commotion at the gate of the palace. The Empress called out joyfully, “Alexei! Girls! It’s your papa!” It was true. There at the gate of the palace was the Tsar.

The soldiers stopped him. “This is outrageous!” the Empress said. “They are keeping the Tsar from entering his own palace.” I believed that but for Mama’s calming words, the Empress would have rushed out and attacked the guards. At last the gates were opened, and a moment later the girls rushed into their papa’s arms.

The Tsar, with his arms around the girls, exclaimed, “My little fledglings. You look like plucked birds.” He looked up at Mama and me. “Irina, Katya, I am so grateful to you for coming at this time. Now that I am with my beloved family, nothing else matters.”

Indeed, the Tsar did look as though a burden had fallen away. His carriage was more upright, his face had more color, and his step was brisker than when I
had last seen him. It was almost as if once the terrible step of abdication had been taken, there was nothing he could not face.

The Empress spoke of the abdication immediately. “How could you have done it, Nicky? They must have forced you. The country is surely still behind you.”

“No, my dear, it is not. There is mutiny in the army.” He paused, and his face took on a look of great sadness. “My own generals sent me a letter begging me to abdicate. That decided me.” He bowed his head. “I pleaded with them to allow me to enlist in the army as a plain soldier. ‘If I cannot rule Russia, at least let me fight for her,’ I said. But they refused me even that.”

The Empress asked, “But then is Alexei to be the Tsar?”

“At first that’s what I asked, but they pointed out to me that our family would probably be exiled from Russia. If Alexei were Tsar, we would have to leave him behind. Who would care for him as you have, my dear? It could not be done. He would be ill in no time.”

“Then who?” The Empress thought for a moment and said, “Your younger brother, Mikhail.”

“Yes. I named Mikhail, but he refused.”

The Empress was shocked. “He would not become the Tsar! How can that be? The greatest honor in the world.”

The Tsar took her hand. “My dear, the world has changed. There is much danger and no honor in being the Tsar. Our country has decided it can do without one.”

After that we heard no more about the abdication. What might have been said in private between the Tsar and the Empress we could only guess.

The telephone was taken away from us, and all letters going out or coming in were censored. We found the soldiers’ dirty fingerprints on the heavy cream-colored stationery of the Tsar’s mother and the Empress’s sister.

Many of the palace staff, once numbering hundreds, were dismissed. Instead of impeccably uni
formed footmen treading silently along the corridors, we saw rowdy soldiers, their caps askew, their shirts hanging over their pants. They tramped up and down the hallways, poking into our rooms and watching our every move. We even caught one of them stealing a bracelet from Olga’s room. We didn’t dare complain, for we would have been accused of suggesting that a member of the revolutionary army was dishonest. For that we might have been sent off to prison.

Until her father told her to stop, Stana made faces behind the soldiers’ backs. “They are not part of some game, my dear,” the Tsar said. “Whatever their faults, our lives depend upon them.”

We learned that was true one evening, when we heard the sound of shots. We ran to the windows. Below us were hundreds of angry demonstrators. The unruly mob had marched all the way from St. Petersburg to take revenge on the Tsar and the Empress. Their clumsily lettered signs read
DEATH TO THE TSAR
and
EXECUTE THE GERMAN SPY
. The Tsar took one look and then
strode hastily to his room, coming back with his regimental sword drawn. He held the sword so tightly, we could see the blood drain from his fingers.

The mob pushed against the gates. The soldiers guarding the palace leveled their guns. Instead of our tormentors, the soldiers became our protectors. At first the mob could not believe that the soldiers would fire on them. When bullets exploded over their heads in a warning, the mob drew back. For two hours they stood outside the gates, screaming insults at the royal family and taunting the soldiers. At last they turned back toward St. Petersburg.

The Tsar went out at once to thank the soldiers. Instead of accepting the Tsar’s gratitude, they angrily confiscated his sword.

Our days of imprisonment dragged on. Pierre remained with us to teach us French and literature and to care for Alexei. His once-soft face had hardened. He no longer read us romantic poems. Instead he told us stories of brave heroes who showed great courage.

The Tsar himself took over the teaching of geography. He was an excellent instructor, patient and thorough. For every country we studied he had a story. As a young man the Tsar had been sent all over the world. He had killed tigers in India and climbed the pyramids in Egypt. He had met the King of Siam and nearly been killed in Japan by a samurai’s sword. The Tsar showed us the scar on his forehead. When we looked at the map he spread out before us, we did not see flat bits of different colors but whole countries full of exciting adventure.

We were enchanted by the stories he told us. We saw the pleasure the telling gave him, for in the stories he was not a deposed and imprisoned man but a young tsarevich traveling all over the world on imperial yachts and elegant trains, welcomed by kings and queens.

The Easter of 1917 was a chilly one, with snowflakes still swirling about. Stana and I begged onion skins and beets from Toma so that we could dye
Easter eggs. Only a few eggs could be spared. Because they were precious, we took pains with our efforts, carefully stenciling in wax all of our names. When the eggs were dipped into the dye, the name stood out in white. On her papa’s egg Stana had written “Tsar Nikolai II.”

Under heavy guard we were allowed to visit the Cathedral of St. Catherine for the Easter vigil. The service went on for many hours, but it was not too long for us, for we were delighted to be free of our palace prison. At the end of the service everyone received a candle for the traditional procession around the church celebrating the moment of Christ’s resurrection. I looked forward to the procession, for the sight of all those small tongues of flame flickering in the darkness of the Russian night never ceased to thrill me.

It was not to be. The soldiers said it would cause trouble if we took part in the procession, and they sent all of us, like bad children, off to the palace. Watching
the disappointed Tsar give in to his tormentors, his step heavy, his head down, I thought of our last Easter together, when the Tsar had fulfilled his Easter duty by planting a kiss on the cheek of each and every one of the thousand soldiers in his regiment. It had taken him the whole of Easter Sunday. And how they had cheered him!

Things improved the moment we stepped into the palace. “I smell
kulich
,” Alexei cried, and ran toward the dining room. There it was, like a golden crown, a rich Easter cake. Toma was hovering at the door to see our response. Alexei ran to her and threw his arms around her.

When she could catch her breath, she announced, “All during Lent when we were fasting, I hoarded the eggs and butter. It took two dozen eggs and only the good Lord knows how much butter to make this cake. Now sit down and enjoy the feast.”

I saw how pleased she was to see happy smiles for once. There were platters of ham with horseradish
sauce, kasha, and sauerkraut, and a beautiful
paskha
, so smooth and sweet, it slid down our throats. After dinner we broke the eggs we had dyed and gave one another warm kisses. One person would exclaim, “
Khristos voskres
; Christ has risen,” to which another person would respond in turn, “
Voistinu voskres
; indeed, He has risen!”

Though we protested, the Tsar took some slices of
kulich
and
paskha
down to the guards. I heard him say, “Christ has risen,” and I heard the guards respond, “Indeed, He has risen!”

The next day the Tsar called us together. With something of his old regal bearing he announced, “I have just learned that the Minister of Justice, Alexander Kerensky, will visit us today.”

“That brute!” the Empress said. “He is the one who has imprisoned us.”

The Tsar took her hand. “My dear, I understand how you feel, but that is just the response that we
must guard against. Kerensky is the leader of the revolutionary government in Russia. The whole country does his bidding. For the sake of Russia we must do everything we can to make his job easier, and Sunny, we need him on our side.”

The Empress was indignant, but his pet name for her helped to calm her. “But why, Nicky, why should we lift a finger to help him?”

“There are two reasons. First of all I believe he means us no harm. We have been imprisoned for our own protection. Second, the Bolsheviks are breathing down Kerensky’s neck. If the Bolshevik leader, Lenin, takes over the government, then, my dear, we are all finished and Russia as well.”