But this noxious individual did not have things all his own way. The Omsk Soviet also had its representative among the guard—a Russian named Degtiarev. Now the two Soviets—that of Omsk and the one at Ekaterinburg—being constantly at odds, their emissaries were naturally jealous of each other. Thus it was enough for Zaslavsky to take one view in order that Degtiarev should take the opposite one. Zaslavsky had for some reason immediately stirred up opposition to Yakovlev and tried to persuade the soldiers that he was a spy come to deliver the prisoners. With Zaslavsky was an Ekaterinburg workman named Avdeiev, who figured prominently in subsequent events. It is noteworthy that Yakovlev came to Tobolsk by way of Ufa—a roundabout journey from Moscow—apparently in order to avoid Ekaterinburg. Yakovlev had friends in Ufa. It is probable that he had met Avdeiev there. He appears to have imagined that Avdeiev might help him to prevent or allay suspicion in Ekaterinburg. In this he was mistaken.
At a meeting of the soldiers on the 24th, Degtiarev, backed by Yakovlev, attacked Zaslavsky with such vim that the men threw him out, and he made haste to escape to Ekaterinburg to relate a purely imaginary story of Yakovlev’s designs to release the Romanovs. But there is evidence to show that he first communicated by wire with Sverdlov. Zaslavsky’s poisonous character may have been the only prompting necessary, but it is not impossible that he may have been “inspired” from Moscow to play a part in the intricate conspiracy that was to exterminate the Romanovs. Certainly Yakovlev underrated his capacity for mischief, as will appear later. Sverdlov tried to make the world believe that Nicholas II. was to be brought to Moscow for trial. But this may have been only an afterthought. In any case, it was easy to have him intercepted by playing upon local ignorance and suspicion through Zaslavsky.
Meanwhile, during these two days (the 23rd and 24th), Yakovlev had been repeatedly inside the governor’s house, and on each occasion had gone to the boy’s room, appearing suddenly, looking fixedly at the patient, and then going away. Nobody noticed his strange behaviour at the time. They remembered it afterwards. No one knew as yet what he had come for. On the night of the 24th Yakovlev went to the telegraph office, taking with him an expert operator who had come with him from Moscow, and had a long conversation over the wire with Sverdlov, the substance of which—as transpired later—dealt with the boy’s sickness and the impossibility of moving him. Sverdlov gave him “new instructions” to the effect that he was to bring Nicholas and that since the boy could not come he would have to be left behind for the present.
From the telegraph office, Yakovlev went straight to Colonel Kobylinsky and, for the first time, disclosed the object of his mission. “But what about Alexis?” remonstrated the commandant. “That is the trouble,” was the reply. “I have satisfied myself that he is really too ill to travel, so my orders now are to take the ex-Tsar alone and leave the family here for the present. I propose to start tomorrow. Arrange for me to see him at once.” It should be explained that as the roads would, in a few days, become impassable, and the river-ice break up any moment, owing to the advance of spring, it was necessary to leave Tobolsk at once or wait several weeks till the rivers were clear of ice. Hence Yakovlev’s haste. But as he was apparently well acquainted with the character of the Empress, he insisted that Nicholas should receive him alone.
The ex-Tsar appointed two o’clock on the following day for the interview. Alexandra became furious on learning that she was not to be present. When Yakovlev entered the drawing-room, she met him with flaming eyes and asked him how he dared to separate husband and wife. Yakovlev, with a shrug of the shoulders, addressed himself to Nicholas: “The Moscow Central Executive Committee have sent me as Commissary Extraordinary with power to remove the whole family, but as Alexis Nikolaievich is ill I have received orders to leave with you alone.” The Tsar replied: “I shall go nowhere.” Yakovlev remonstrated: “You must not say that. I have to carry out orders. If you refuse to go, I must either use force or send in my resignation, and then someone else will come who will be less humane. Have no anxiety; I answer for your life with my head. If you do not wish to go alone take anybody you like. Be ready to leave tomorrow at four.” Yakovlev thereupon left without addressing the Empress.
Kobylinsky remained in compliance with a request from the ex-Tsar. Alexandra and Tatishchev and Dolgoruky stood by. “Where do they want to take me?” asked Nicholas. “To Moscow,” was the reply. “Yakovlev let it slip out when I inquired how long he would be away before returning to fetch the family.” The ex-Tsar nodded, as if the news confirmed his own knowledge. Turning to his followers he declared: “You see they want me to sign the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. But I would rather cut off my hand than do so.”
Alexandra, much agitated, interposed: “I am also going. Without me they will persuade him into doing something, as they did once before....” And she fired a volley of abuse at Rodzianko for his part in the abdication. But in the stress of the moment she had forgotten her sick boy. The hours that followed will ever be recalled by all who survive as the most painful of their memories. This distracted mother, too feeble to stand for more than five minutes, paced her room like a caged tigress. She summoned her favourite daughter Tatiana and burst into a storm of weeping. For the first time her attendants saw her lose all self-control. In broken sentences she disburdened herself of her sorrow, revealing in her distress the innermost thoughts of her mind: “The Germans know that their treaty is valueless without the Tsar’s signature.... They want to separate him from his family in order to frighten him into some disgraceful act.... He will be afraid to refuse on our account.... It will be a repetition of Pskov....” She wrestled with herself, praying that she might not have to choose between her husband and her son, hoping that the river might suddenly open and prevent any travelling. At last she came to a decision, and, jumping up, cried: “It is enough, I go with the Emperor.” Nicholas entered the room. She greeted him with the words: “I shall not let you go alone.” “As you will,” was his reply.
Volkov, the Empress’s confidential man-servant, deposes that he saw her in the Tsarevich’s room, and as she was going out inquired what was the matter. Alexandra replied: “Gosudar (the Tsar) is to be taken away to Moscow. They want him to conclude peace. But I am going with him. I shall never permit such a thing. What would our Allies say?”
Madame Bittner spoke to the Tsar at this same juncture. She suggested that “they,” meaning the Germans, would take him “out of the country.” He replied: “God grant that it be not so. Only not abroad!” This witness deposes that the whole family dreaded the idea of being sent abroad, i.e., to Germany.
In this connection I recall a remarkable passage in one of the depositions. Some member of the household at Tobolsk was reading out of a newspaper the statement that the Brest-Litovsk treaty contained a clause assuring the safety of the Imperial family. The Empress broke in with an angry exclamation in French: “I had rather die in Russia than be saved by the Germans.” (Je préfère mourir en Russie que d’être sauvée par les allemands.)