“I can’t imagine why I was nominated for the post,” said Kotzebue. “All I can tell you, Lili, is that I was awakened in the middle of the night, and told to report myself at Tsarkoe Selo. Will you assure Their Majesties that there is nothing I will not try and do for them. This is really the happiest moment of my life, since it enables me to be of service to them.”
When the Empress sent for me on the morning of March 10th, I found her lying on the couch in her boudoir. The Emperor was with her; she motioned me to come and sit beside her, and the Emperor talked to us.[7] He first described an incident which had impressed him most strongly that very morning.
“When I got up,” he said, “I put on my dressing-gown and looked through the window which gives on the courtyard.[8] I noticed that the sentinel who was usually stationed there was now sitting on the steps—his rifle had slipped out of his hand—he was dozing! I called my valet, and showed him the unusual sight, and I couldn’t help laughing—it was really absurd. At the sound of my laughter the soldier awoke, but he did not attempt to move—he scowled at us, and we withdrew. But what a conclusive proof of the general demoralisation! All must indeed be at an end for Russia, as without law, obedience and respect no empire can exist.”
The Empress then questioned the Emperor about certain doings at G.H.Q.
“Some occurrences were exceptionally painful,” replied the Emperor. “My mother drove with me through the town, which was profusely decorated with red flags and a profusion of bunting. My poor mother couldn’t bear to look at the flags ... but the sight of them did not affect me; it seemed such a stupid and useless display! The behaviour of the crowd was in curious contrast to this exhibition of Revolutionary power, as they all knelt, as of yore, when our automobile passed.”
“I could not bear to say good-bye to Voeikoff, Niloff and Fredericks. They didn’t want to leave me. I had to insist at last. The Revolutionaries promised most faithfully not to harm them.”[9]
“One thing especially touched me,” continued the Emperor. “When I got into the train, I noticed five or six schoolgirls who were standing on the platform trying to attract my attention. I went to the window, and, when they saw me, they began to cry, and made signs for me to write something for them. So I signed my name on a piece of paper, and sent it to the children. But they still lingered on the platform, and, as it was bitterly cold, I tried to make them understand that they had better go home. However, when my train left, two hours later, they were still there. They blessed me, poor children,” said the Emperor, greatly moved by the recollection. “I hope their pure blessing will bring us happiness.”
The Emperor told us that he had received countless telegrams after the news of his abdication was generally known. Many were abusive, but others breathed the concentrated spirit of loyalty. Count Keller sent a telegram informing the Emperor that he declined to recognise the existence of the Revolution.[10] The Count afterwards refused to sign the documents of allegiance, and he broke his sword and threw the pieces down.
“General Rousky was the first to broach the subject of my abdication,” said the Emperor. “He boarded the train en route, and came into my saloon unannounced.
“‘Goutchkoff and Shoulgine are also coming to talk to you,’ he informed me. These gentlemen made their appearance at the next station, and they were excessively impertinent. Rousky told them that he had already discussed matters with me. But I refused to be ignored. I struck the table with my fist. ‘I’m going to speak, I will speak,’ I cried.