The Tsar's family arrived in Tobolsk from Tumen on the S/S "Russ"

September 3rd, together with SS/SS "Kitai" and "Petrograd." On the last two were the accompanying persons and the "Detachment of Special Destination," with Col. Kobylinsky in command, and Mr. Makarov supervising the voyage.... For three days the "Russ" was lying near the pier, for the Governor's Mansion was not yet ready for occupancy.

So nobody was allowed to go ashore. During these days crowds of people were assembled near the piers, and though in the mob there were certain evil agitators, the people in general were sympathetic, understanding the exile as a "dreadful plot of Ministers against the Emperor." The Heir was the center of the attention of the Tobolians, and his personality was not at all blasphemed.

The Emperor and the Empress, with the children, were finally put in the Mansion,--by the way its name is now "The Home of Liberty,"

which is on the main street of Tobolsk,--the Great Piatnitzkaya, also renamed now into Liberty Street.

The Governor's Mansion is a three-story stone house, white, with a big entrance hall from Tuliatskaya Street, there is not any entrance from Liberty Street. There is a small square place before the entrance.

Here they built up a fence, not very high. They fixed the fence so that no one can go over it, as the boards are trimmed sharp and have nails. All the windows look onto Liberty Street. On the opposite side of Liberty Street are private houses. Right across the street is the house of Kornilov Brothers, also a stone building; three stories, and in this house are those who went with the family in exile.

There are sentinels around. On Tuliatskaya Street near the fence--at its ends and in the middle,--three soldiers, on Liberty Street--four soldiers; two soldiers near the entrance hall.

Though the entrance is fenced, one can see the street from the house, also from the street one can see what is going on on the stairway.

In the Kornilov House (both Kornilovs are away) are living: Dr. Botkin with his son Gleb and Miss Botkin; Dr. Derevenko--a man with the same name as the tutor of Alexis; Monsieur Gillard, a Swiss instructor of the Hier; Captain Melnik (I heard that he is going to marry M-elle Botkin); Lady-in-waiting Countess G.; M-me Schneider and several others; I shall give you their names in my next letter.

The Emperor and the Empress used to have certain liberties, they could even go to church. But then no one was admitted there, unless they could get in under the pretext of being singers in the choir. Many were going,--used to go to the Anunciation Church. They would put soldiers all of the way from the Mansion to the Church. Reports are coming that these church parades are stopped and a chapel is being built in the Mansion.

Shortly after their arrival, Mr. Kerensky sent two boxes of wine to the Tsar; the soldiers broke the boxes. They do not want any "luxuries" for the exiles. The Empress has no coffee--it is a luxury.

But otherwise the attitude is not too bad. M. wrote that under the charming manners of the Tsar and especially the Heir, before the Soviet rule came, the soldiers very often changed their manners, their revolutionary hearts were melting--and then Col. Kobylinsky used to send those "soft rags" back to Petrograd, for they might be counter-revolutionary.

Kobylinsky himself was trying to maintain good relations with the soldiers, with Kerensky (who promised him promotion) and with the family through Kornilov's House, for the Emperor, like everybody else in Tobolsk, despises him. The Emperor has never said anything to or about Kobylinsky directly, however. Once only, when Kobylinsky was changing sentinels he bumped into the Emperor, and the latter said'

"Still a Colonel?" That was really a sarcastic remark! Of course, now with the Bolshevik! everything has changed and the Family's position is very bad.

I am well, send me some very thick socks if you happen to have an opportunity. Greetings. Attached--a map of Tobolsk.

Yours,

Al. Syv."

(_several pages missing_)

26

When I returned from the Princess, tired and worried about the absence of news from Moscow and about the whole "organization" so badly and unsystematically managed, I found a dark figure sitting on my bed. A woman was attempting to light a candle. But even before I understood who was on my bed, the odor of a woman, fine perfume, burned hair and soap--struck me very strongly. I had quite forgotten during all this time of hardships this side and these agreeable ingredients of civilized life. I took my pistol, closed the door, and always sharply following the movements of the dark figure, approached her, pointing the Browning. She put her hands up.

When I finally saw the woman,--I almost fainted: it was the Baroness B., friend or enemy, but she.

She did not recognize me at first. Then:

"For God's sake!" she muttered, as if to herself, and swallowing the words, "you are Syvorotka? My God, what a horror!... How are you?"

"Madame," I said, kissing her hand,--"it certainly is a surprise,--I hope for both of us! How can I explain your presence here? Who and what brought you here?"

"It does not matter--they went away," she answered. She was looking at me with wide-open eyes, in which I noticed the sincerest amazement, if not stupefaction. "Syvorotka, you! How perfectly crazy you look with this beard! If you only knew!" and silvery laughter unexpectedly sounded in my poor quarters--in this place of mourning and sorrow--for the first time since I have come here.

"Oh, you _must_ shave it!"

"Let my beard alone, pray," I said. "It really is not the time for any personal remarks. Besides--look at yourself; there is more paint on your cheeks than flesh. And this wig! To tell the truth I like your own hair far better. Your wig is outrageous. You look like a bad girl."

"Exactly. That's what I am now. Lucie de Clive, Monsieur, a vaudeville actress. That's me."

"A nice party, isn't it?" she said. "Syvorotka and Lucie?" "But--tell me before everything else, can I stay here?"

"Stay here? Pardon me, Baroness...."

"Call me Lucie, please...."

"Pardon me, Lucie, but really I don't quite comprehend. In these times, of course, everything has changed; but still I wish I could understand it correctly...."

"Oh, yes, you will not be bad to a poor girl, Alex, will you? I simply have to stay here--I have no other place to go."

To show her resoluteness, she took off her shabby overcoat and started to arrange her belongings, an impossible suitcase and something heavy rolled in a yellow and red blanket, looking to me from time to time with curiosity and doubt.

"Lucie de Clive! A woman certainly could not think of anything less snobbish even in these circumstances. You look like a real Russian Katka-Chort in this outfit."

"That's what is required. How did you happen to pick out _your name_?"

We both laughed. Indeed, if our meeting were compared to all the luxury and brilliance of the Cote d'Azur, or Petrograd--it was laughable. "Have _we_ anything to eat?" she asked.

"I came home for my supper," I said. "I have some trash in the pantry."

While I was preparing in the so-called kitchen something nice out of a piece of frozen pilmeni--hashed meat and an old can of sardines (my pride) she began to arrange the room. She acted as if she were trying to justify her presence, it was clear. But with all the pleasure of seeing someone around my house, I simply could not think what had happened to her. Baroness B.--a lady who would not hesitate in olden times to play a thousand pounds on a horse or order ten dresses at Paquin's,--here, asking my hospitality! If she were a Russian--I could understand it,--wives of Privy Counsellors and Ambassadors are selling cheese in Petrograd now. But she--a Foreign Lady?... It was clear, she was in some intrigue as usual, and it had led her too far.

Possibly she is after me.... And besides--her very presence would affect my work, and endanger myself. "I must give her something to eat, and then get out of here. The L. would keep me for a while, and then I shall go away. Let her stay in this house with all of her strange intrigues, for I cannot throw her out."

Thus trying to understand, I finished my cooking and asked her to the _salle-a-manger_--the same little kitchen.

But no matter how proud I felt of my housekeeping, the Baroness found fault with everything. "Don't _we_ have a table cloth? Or napkins?

What are these daggers for?"

"Good God, Syvorotka," she said, "_we_ cannot live in such a miserable way. I'll have to change it. There are no reasons why _we_ should revert to cannibalism!"

Talking in that manner, jumping from one subject to another and always very nervously, she arranged the table more or less decently, and even put the salt in the lid of a little powder box. "Now," she said, "I want you to wash your hands, and comb your hair, and brush your khaki, and ..." until I got almost civilized.

When we were through with the meal and a half of bottle of beer (they call "beer" this indecent looking beverage in Tumen) I asked her what brought her to Tumen?

She told me some story--of which I believed only the fact that she was here, in my house, and that a great embarrassment had fallen on my shoulders.

"I'm glad," I said, "you _did not_ change at all, Lucie. It is just as true--all this story of yours, as the one you told me in Petrograd.

But I have no use for reforming you. Now--take me as an example of sincerity: in me, my dear lady, you see now, nothing but a poor man in hiding. All for me is in the past.... And you,--I see it--are still plotting, nothing could persuade me that you and I are here by mere coincidence. You come to me--have time to curl your hair--and you even don't tell me whether your intrigue could reveal my existence to those that persecute me. You wouldn't hesitate to pass over my dead body--for the sake of your affairs.... Again,--please do not feel offended,--there is another side. I am a working man. Tomorrow I must be at my job early in the morning. The night is growing old. So, regardless of other things,--what would you advise me to do now?"

"I have nothing to say," she answered sadly and in a low voice, "You are the Lord here."

"What do you advise me to do?" I repeated growing angry.