After weeks of dithering, Kerensky appointed the plenipotentiary commissar he wanted to take charge of the imperial family in Tobolsk. His choice had fallen upon the veteran revolutionary Vasili Pankratov, whom he summoned for interview. Pankratov at first declined but after an appeal to his sense of duty, he yielded. He selected his own deputy – Alexander Nikolski, a Socialist-Revolutionary who like himself had served time in Siberian exile.1 Their orders were to supervise the ‘detachment of special purpose to guard the former Emperor and his family’. This detachment, which held 337 soldiers and seven officers recruited by Kobylinski from the 1st, 2nd and 4th Guards Riflemen’s Regiments, had already reached Tobolsk. Pankratov was to take over duties from Vershinin and Makarov and cable a biweekly report to Kerensky.2
Kerensky had found a diamond of a man, but this was not immediately obvious to anyone else since Pankratov had no military experience, only a record of devotion to the revolutionary cause. Kobylinski did not feel reassured. What he found still more disturbing was the story that Pankratov as a young man had murdered a policeman in a dispute over a woman.3 The truth had nothing to do with sexual rivalry. In fact Pankratov as a young political activist had been caught in a trap by police hunting down members of People’s Freedom, an organization responsible for the assassination of Alexander II in 1881. He had taken no part in the killing, but he was known to have sympathies with the aims of the conspiracy and was on the list for arrest on sight. When, three years later, the police caught up with him, a bloody shoot-out took place, and a policeman was fatally wounded by a shot from Pankratov’s weapon. The court showed no mercy, sentencing Pankratov to fourteen years in the Shlisselburg prison followed by twenty-seven years in Siberian administrative exile.
In prison, he devoted himself to filling in the gaps in his education. Although he had received only a rudimentary schooling, he was an eager autodidact. His literary skills blossomed and it was not long before he was contributing handwritten pieces to an unofficial prisoners’ journal under the pseudonym Plebeian. Drawing on his own years as a turner at the Semyannikov factory, he produced a powerful denunciation of the abuses suffered by apprentices.4 When he came to the end of his Shlisselburg term, he was transferred to exile in Vilyuisk in Yakutsk province, where he was allowed to train as a geologist despite his status as a convicted murderer. The dynasty’s overthrow freed him to travel wherever he wanted but he had grown to love the Siberian ice, snow, tundra and reindeer and savoured the taste of nature and near-freedom after his long time behind bars. A decent, tired man who was feeling his years, Pankratov still wanted to do things that fulfilled him, but it was with obvious reluctance that he had agreed to supervise the very man who had presided over a system against which he had fought so hard.5
Having accepted the job, Pankratov left Petrograd for Tobolsk with Nikolski. They took the train to Tyumen and then caught a steamer to Tobolsk, where they arrived on the quayside on 14 September 1917.6 Nobody in Tobolsk, least of all the Romanovs, could know what to expect. Gilliard disdained Pankratov as an old convict and surmised that Kerensky was seeking to humiliate the emperor.7 Neither Pankratov nor Nikolski felt the need to ingratiate himself with the Romanovs. They were veteran revolutionaries who had suffered heavily under the tsarist administration, and the first impression that Pankratov made on Nicholas was not of the best: ‘Pankratov, the Provisional Government’s new commissar, arrived and settled in the retinue’s house along with his assistant who is some bedraggled ensign. [Pankratov] looks like a worker or a poverty-stricken teacher. He’s going to act as censor of our correspondence.’8
Pankratov and Nikolski started as they meant to go on by requisitioning rooms in the house across the road from the Romanovs, which had belonged to the local Kornilov family. The Romanovs had expected the worst and were finding their fears realized. They had grown accustomed to courtesy at Kobylinski’s hands, and it looked as if Kerensky’s newly arrived commissar would only blight their lives.
Pankratov proved to have a more complex character than they foresaw; for although he spoke to the family’s retainers with a soldier’s cigarette in his mouth, he made an exception for the emperor, not by refraining from smoking but by holding it in his hand during the conversation. This tiny difference signalled a desire for a workable relationship with Nicholas.9 But whereas Pankratov was even-tempered and affable, Nikolski was consistently brusque: ‘How on earth is it that [the retinue] come and go so freely?’ Nikolski ordered all of them to be photographed and issued with cards to carry on entry to the house.10 More than that, he insisted that the Romanovs too should supply mugshots. Though they loved taking photos of each other, they bridled at Nikolski’s demand. His reaction was a blunt one: ‘We were once forced to do this and now it’s their turn.’11 He told off Alexei for peeking through a gap in the garden fence, and when Alexei objected, Nikolski left him in no doubt that he was now the master and would tolerate no pressure from a family which no longer had the rights of their ancestors. Times had changed.12
The Romanovs could see little to commend in Nikolski. Even so, they underestimated the part he played in quietening the general situation in the town. Nikolski skilfully calmed the tempers of the troops. After the Bolshevik seizure of power it was also essential to prevent the Tobolsk Soviet from interfering at Governor’s House if Pankratov and Nikolski wanted to maintain control, and it was Nikolski who held the necessary consultations. Nikolski was more of a diplomat than the imperial family could know.13
After telling Kobylinski to assemble the guard detachment, Pankratov explained the orders from Petrograd. He spoke about the importance of decent behaviour and emphasized that they were not to regard themselves as judges set over Nicholas II. The detachment’s duties, he announced, would last until the election of a Constituent Assembly, which alone could take a definitive decision about the Romanov family’s future.14 The troops warmed to Pankratov, and he to them. Nearly all of them were soldiers with battle experience, not just garrison training and service. Housing was not initially available, and many had to live down at the wharves but they accepted their situation without complaint. Pankratov threw himself into doing his best for them. He organized schooling for the many who had received no basic education. He gave talks at the People’s House on public affairs as well as on natural history, geography and cultural history while Nikolski taught them accountancy.15 Pankratov and Nikolski embodied an old Russian political tradition that revolutions would fail unless the people who supported them could read and write. The tasks of political transformation had to be supplemented by cultural advance.
This initiative was at first well received among the troops, but by November it was running into difficulty as most of the participants left as soon as they thought they had learned enough for their own purposes. The rest of the detachment aimed jibes at those who stayed on to study geometry.16
Pankratov also had to cope with a problem of a slightly unexpected nature when the Provisional Government arranged for the transport of furniture, carpets and other possessions from Tsarskoe Selo.17 Tatyana Nikolaevna wrote to Margarita Khitrovo on 17 October 1917 about how the carpets made the whole house so much cosier.18 But there was a difficulty about other items in the baggage. Some of the trunks contained bottles of expensive wine. While they were on the train, there was no problem, but when one of the trunks was dropped while being loaded on to the Tyumen steamer, causing bottles to be broken, everyone could smell the alcohol. A soldier on board passed on the information to his comrades. There had already been trouble in the town when troops broke into a wine cellar and made off with the contents. The fresh and unheralded consignment of expensive wine had the potential to spark street disturbances. Tempers were already rising.19
Pankratov sought guidance from the Provisional Government. The guard detachment, he explained, was in an agitated state about the freight and he doubted that Kerensky had approved its delivery to Tobolsk. Pankratov particularly questioned the wisdom of shipping quantities of alcohol, whose arrival had already put officers and men at loggerheads.20
In the absence of directives from Petrograd, he assigned troops to guard the unloaded consignment and issued a reprimand to the soldier who had divulged the news from the steamer. The rumours about the wine’s arrival spread around the town from the garrison. A protesting crowd swiftly formed and the cry went up: ‘We’ve spilled our blood at the front!’ Pankratov sent for the mayor and head of the town militia. The Tobolsk Soviet chairman, Dr Varnakov, also turned up. Pankratov announced his wish for the militia to take the wine into safe keeping. The militia chief scoffed at the idea, presumably on the grounds that he did not trust his own men. Pankratov’s other suggestion was to distribute the bottles to local hospitals. When this too met with ridicule, he concluded that he himself had to take personal charge using soldiers from the Governor’s House detachment. The crowd, however, refused to be cowed and Pankratov sensed that violence was in the offing. The choice, he concluded, was ‘between the annihilation of wine and the annihilation of people’. His solution was to order Nikolski to tip all the alcohol into the river.21
Bystanders were appalled at the waste of vintage fine wine. People shouted: ‘Look how much good stuff is being dumped into the Irtysh at a commissar’s caprice!’ Some contended that the consignment had really been intended exclusively for officers. There was a dispute about this, and the crowd demanded proof of Petrograd’s instructions. Threats were made to take Kobylinski hostage and mount an attack on Governor’s House. But Pankratov was made of strong metal. Standing his ground, he insisted that his order be obeyed. The wine that had travelled from Tsarskoe Selo was diluted in the cold, deep waters of west Siberia. The crowd’s anger subsided. Pankratov had got his way.22
The imperial family were in the dark as this situation came to its climax.23 If consulted, they would probably have minded little about losing the wine because they were abstemious when it came to alcohol. The retinue, however, had a different attitude. Fine reds and whites were one of the few perks remaining to them in the course of their service, and they heard the news with dismay. Yet another small treat had been swept away. Such was their antipathy towards Nikolski that they immediately assumed that it was he rather than Pankratov who was responsible for the decision – and Nikolski in their view had acted out of sheer malice.24 Pankratov meanwhile stayed a firm favourite with everyone. The Romanovs had already learned to trust Kobylinski. Now Nicholas also felt a growing confidence in Pankratov, and it was reassuring to him that Kobylinski and Pankratov found that they could work together without undue friction. Pankratov was even-tempered and open to persuasion. Although he had grounds for bearing a grudge against the family after his prison experiences, he was proving himself a noble soul.
Nicholas took advantage of the atmosphere by asking for Tatishchev to be allowed to join him in Tobolsk. Kerensky immediately gave his consent after receiving Pankratov’s assurances. But Kerensky was displeased to discover that Margarita Khitrovo too had made her way to the town in late August. Khitrovo made contact with Anastasia Gendrikova, who was one of the children’s tutors, and Dr Botkin and, with Kobylinski’s permission, passed on presents for the imperial family, mainly sweets and miniature icons. But she had always been highly strung and soon she was telling people that Kobylinski was plotting a dastardly fate for the Romanovs. Her hysterical outbursts induced the authorities to conduct a search of her hotel room and put her under arrest. She was then deported to Moscow.25 Around this time there was also information that ten unnamed monarchists were planning to arrive from Pyatigorsk in the north Caucasus with the aim of making contact with Nicholas. There was little doubt that their ultimate purpose was to liberate the imperial family. Although Kerensky set up an investigation, there were no serious consequences because the party never arrived at its destination.26
Kerensky was confident enough to agree to Nicholas’s request for permission to take a stroll around Tobolsk.27 But Pankratov unexpectedly refused to comply. When Nicholas asked whether he was worried about a possible escape attempt, Pankratov said no and explained that he was merely working to the government’s orders. He also mentioned the proliferation of rumours in the press. Was Nicholas having an affair with another woman? Had he divorced Alexandra? Was he entering a monastery? Rumours of this kind were flying round the country and reaching the Eastern Front, and those who hated the monarchy wanted to end what they saw as the indulgence of the Romanovs – Pankratov had had to telegram the Petrograd newspapers to refute the false reports. But army units at the front had still threatened to send a contingent to kill the Romanovs and their protector Pankratov. At the labour club in Tobolsk, too, there were calls to treat Nicholas and Alexandra as criminals and throw them into prison. Pankratov knew the local situation better than the Provisional Government and overruled Kerensky’s decision.28
Nicholas, abetted by Botkin and Dolgorukov, continued to enquire as to when the Romanovs could take a walk outside the grounds.29 Botkin wrote directly to Kerensky. Towards the end of September, the family’s spirits rose when the doctor received a reply sanctioning a drive by car to the town’s outskirts. Pankratov again quashed the idea. He explained to Nicholas that he could not guarantee the family’s security; at the same time he wrote back to Kerensky explaining that he lacked a suitable car and would anyway require too many horse-cabs for the accompanying guard unit.30 But Nicholas did not give up hoping. One of his other ideas was to see whether Kerensky might allow the Romanovs to move to the nearby Ivanovski monastery some miles outside Tobolsk. Alexei Volkov was sent off to inspect the place. In his interview with the abbess, he explained the family’s daily requirements. The abbess approved the project and made an offer of a suitable house in the grounds. Pankratov then came out on a visit. The idea had never appealed to him and the scheme was quietly abandoned.31
The Romanovs were cheered, however, by Pankratov’s consent to their attending a Tobolsk church service for the first time on 14 October.32 They were all excited and woke early to get themselves ready. The plan was for them to walk to the nearby Church of the Annunciation, but at the last moment the empress called for a wheelchair because of her sore legs. Nicholas spoke gently in French with his daughters and son as they assembled in the garden. They were thrilled at the prospect of what for them was now a kind of freedom. It was no more than 500 paces to the church, and a line of troops stood on guard all the way. The glamour of the daughters’ black fox-fur coats impressed the bystanders. People shouted for permission to join in the service. Pankratov point-blank refused. The family could only celebrate the Mass if they were strictly by themselves.33 Nevertheless, as Nicholas wrote to his sister Xenia, the excitement was intense and as the Romanovs approached the church, the soldiers themselves broke ranks and gathered around them. Nicholas likened it to being the quarry of a hunting party, but he also felt buoyed up to the point of laughter.34
As he and the others made their way back to their house of confinement, the clergy organized a peal of bells in an obvious gesture of support for the Romanovs. While Pankratov had done everything to dull the occasion, Father Alexei Vasilev had his own way of sharing his delight with like-minded inhabitants of Tobolsk.35 Nicholas’s mood rose to new heights. He had always believed that he was more popular than his enemies contended, and the experience of walking to and from the church reinforced this feeling.
Pankratov had more painful thoughts about the occasion. As he watched the servants carrying Alexandra in her chair over the garden step, he could not help contrasting her conditions of confinement with those which he had experienced in the Peter-Paul Fortress in St Petersburg. His cell in the Trubetskoi Tower had been dark and clammy, and for years he had been able to glimpse the sky only through the barred frame of a frosted window. While being transferred to Shlisselburg prison, he had been thrilled by the sudden sight of trees, bushes, snow and the full expanse of the heavens. He had moved along as if in a trance. The very trees seemed to be escorting him and he began to hallucinate that their branches were animate beings that were curious about him. He had walked with difficulty because of the shackles on his ankles and wrists. Although Pankratov never forgot his long years of imprisonment, he kept his thoughts to himself that day in Tobolsk, and he had the magnanimity to feel pity for the life that the Romanovs now had to lead.36