Many attempts had been made, even by the Czarina’s greatest friends at Court, to open her eyes to the true character of Rasputin. They had all collapsed against the blind faith she had in him. But in this tragic hour the Grand-Duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna[48] wished to make one last effort to save her sister. She came from Moscow, intending to spend a few days at Tsarskoïe-Selo with the relations she loved so dearly. She was nine years older than her sister, and felt an almost maternal tenderness for her. It was at her house, it will be remembered, that the young princess had stayed on her first visit to Russia. It was she who had helped Alexandra Feodorovna with wise advice and surrounded her with every attention when she started her reign. She had often tried to open her sister’s eyes before, but in vain. Yet this time she hoped that God would give her the powers of persuasion which had hitherto failed her, and enable her to avert the terrible catastrophe she felt was imminent.
As soon as she arrived at Tsarskoïe-Selo she spoke to the Czarina, trying with all the love she bore her to convince her of her blindness, and pleading with her to listen to her warnings for the sake of her family and her country.
The Czarina’s confidence was not to be shaken. She realised the feelings which had impelled her sister to take this step, but she was terribly grieved to find her accepting the lying stories of those who desired to ruin the staretz, and she asked her never to mention the subject again. As the Grand-Duchess persisted, the Czarina broke off the conversation. The interview was then objectless.
A few hours later the Grand-Duchess left for Moscow, death in her heart. The Czarina and her daughters accompanied her to the station. The two sisters took leave of each other. The tender affection which had associated them since their childhood was still intact, but they realised that there was a broken something lying between them.[49]
They were never to see each other again.
On December 18th we left for Mohileff again. The situation there had taken a turn for the worse. The news of the capture of Bucharest had just come in to depress everyone’s spirits. It seemed to justify the most gloomy forebodings. Rumania appeared to be lost.
We were all oppressed and uneasy, a prey to that vague anxiety which men experience at the approach of some danger or catastrophe. The muttering of the gathering storm could be heard.
Suddenly the news of Rasputin’s death fell like a thunderbolt.[50] It was December 31st, and the same day we left for Tsarskoïe-Selo.
I shall never forget what I felt when I saw the Czarina again. Her agonised features betrayed, in spite of all her efforts, how terribly she was suffering. Her grief was inconsolable. Her idol had been shattered. He who alone could save her son had been slain. Now that he had gone, any misfortune, any catastrophe, was possible. The period of waiting began—that dreadful waiting for the disaster which there was no escaping....