Rasputin and the Russian Revolution

by Princess Catherine Radziwill

At ten o’clock in the evening of that same day, the 15th of March, they reached Pskov. Their intention had been to confer at first with General Roussky, but an Imperial aide de camp met them on the platform, and asked them to follow him immediately into the presence of Nicholas II. The latter received them in his railway carriage. With him were old Count Fredericks, the Minister of his household, and a favourite aide de camp, General Narischkine. Nothing in the appearance of the Emperor could have led any one to suppose that something extraordinary was happening to him. He was as impassible as was his wont in all the important occasions of his life, and he shook hands with the delegates as if nothing whatever was the matter, asking them to sit down. He motioned Goutschkoff to a chair beside him, and Schoulguine opposite. Fredericks and Narischkine stood at some distance from the group, and Roussky, who came in uninvited at that moment, placed himself next to Schoulguine.

Goutschkoff was the first one to speak. He was extremely agitated and could only control his feelings with difficulty, keeping his eyes riveted on the table and not daring to lift them up to the face of the Sovereign whose crown he had come to demand. But his speech was perfectly correct, and contained nothing that could have been interpreted in an offensive way. He exposed the whole situation, such as it was, and concluded by saying that the only possible manner to come out of it would be the abdication of the Czar in favour of his son under the regency of the former’s brother, the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovitsch.

At this juncture Roussky could not restrain his impatience, and, bending down towards Schoulguine, murmured in his ear: “This is already quite settled.”

When Goutschkoff had finished his speech, Nicholas II. replied in a perfectly quiet and composed tone of voice:

“I thought the matter over yesterday, and to-day, and I have made up my mind to abdicate. Until three o’clock I was ready to do so in favour of my son, but then I came to the conclusion that I could not part from him.”

He stopped for a few moments, then went on:

“I hope that you will understand this,” and after another pause he continued:

“On that account, I have decided to abdicate in favour of my brother.”

The delegates looked at each other, and Schoulguine remarked that they were not prepared for this complication, and that he begged permission to consult with his colleague. But after a short conversation they gave up the point, as Goutschkoff remarked that he did not think they had the right to mix themselves up in a matter where paternal feelings and affection came into question, and that besides a regency had also much to say against it, and was likely to lead to complications. The Emperor seemed satisfied that the delegates had conceded the point, and then he asked them whether they could undertake to guarantee that his abdication would pacify the country and not lead to any disturbances. They declared that they could do so. Upon this he got up and passed into another compartment of his railway carriage. In about half an hour he returned, holding in his hand a folded paper, which he handed over to Goutschkoff, saying as he did so: “Here is my abdication, will you read it?” After which he shook hands with the delegates and retired as if nothing unusual had happened, perhaps not realising that with one stroke of his pen he had changed not only his own life, but the course of Russian history, and, in a certain sense, destroyed the work of his glorious ancestor, Peter the Great.

It is difficult here not to make some remark on the part played by General Roussky in this tragedy which without his interference would probably have taken a different course. It is impossible not to come to the conclusion that the unfortunate Czar whom he induced to abdicate, might have found better and more faithful servants than the people who forsook him in the hour of his peril. Very probably Roussky believed that he was acting in the interests of his country, which in a sense he was also doing, because something had to be attempted in order to stop the nefarious work of Alexandra Feodorovna, and it is certain that her husband would never willingly have consented to be parted from her. Killing a woman would have been disgracing oneself, together with the Revolution which had been accomplished under such exceptional circumstances; but still one would have preferred that the man who was instrumental in the destruction of the Romanoff dynasty should not have been one who wore on his epaulettes the initials of the Sovereign he was helping to dethrone. One would have liked him to feel some pity for the master whose hand he had kissed a few days before he presented to him the pen with which he ordered him to sign his own degradation. In spite of the impassibility preserved by Nicholas II. during the last hours of his reign, it is likely that the tragedy which took place at Pskov must have been one of the most poignant that has ever assailed a Sovereign, who, after having reigned for twenty-two years, found himself, in the course of a few hours, reduced to utter powerlessness and compelled to give up of his own accord the crown which his father had bequeathed to him, and which he had hoped to leave in his turn to the son, whom fate and perhaps a mistaken feeling of affection had made him despoil. He was not a bad man after all, although he had done many a bad action; he was a tender father, and the thought of his child must have added to the moral agony of his soul. By what means he was induced to put his name at the bottom of the document which snatched away from him the sceptre which he had dropped on his coronation day in Moscow, remains still a mystery. Whether violence was used, or whether he was persuaded by the eloquence of Roussky alone to give up the inheritance of his race, is a thing which the future alone will reveal to us. It is probable that he found himself compelled to come to his decision in some way or other, and perhaps the threat to reveal the treason against his allies in which he had participated, and which had been the work of the Empress, was the most powerful argument which was used to oblige him to sign his abdication. It was after all better to fall as a weak man than to be covered with shame in the eyes of the world. He was perhaps told to choose between degradation and dishonour, and he cannot be blamed if he refused to resign himself to the latter.