Maurice Paléologue's diary entry, dated August 2 (New Style), 1914

Sources:

La Russie des tsars pendant la grande guerre, volume 1, pages 45 to 47, by Maurice Paléologue, 1921

https://archive.org/details/larussiedestsars01palo/page/44/mode/2up

An Ambassador's Memoirs, by Maurice Paléologue, translated by F. A. Holt, 1925

https://net.lib.byu.edu/estu/wwi/memoir/FrAmbRus/pal1-02.htm

The diary entry:

Dimanche, 2 août 1914.

... Cet après-midi, à trois heures, je me rends au Palais d'hiver d'où, selon les rites, l'empereur doit lancer un manifeste à son peuple. Je suis le seul étranger admis à cette solennité, comme représentant de la puissance alliée.

Le spectacle est majestueux. Dans l'immense galerie de Saint-Georges, qui longe le quai de la Néwa, cinq ou six mille personnes sont réunies. Toute la cour est en costume de gala, tous les officiers de la garnison en tenue de campagne. Au centre de la salle, on a disposé un autel et l'on y a transporté l'icon miraculeuse de la Vierge de Kazan, dont le sanctuaire national de la Perspective Newsky est privé pour quelques heures. En 1812, le feld-maréchal prince Koutousow, partant pour rejoindre l'armée à Smolensk, a longuement prié devant la sainte image.

Dans un silence religieux, le cortège impérial traverse la galerie et se range à la gauche de l'autel. L'empereur me fait inviter à prendre place en face de lui, voulant ainsi, me dit-il, «rendre un public hommage à la fidélité de la France alliée.»

L'office divin commence aussitôt, accompagné par les chants si larges, si pathétiques, de la liturgie orthodoxe. Nicolas II prie avec une contention ardente qui donne à son visage pâle une saisissante expression de mysticité. L'impératrice Alexandra-Féodorowna se tient auprès de lui, le buste raide, la tête haute, les lèvres violacées, le regard fixe, les prunelles vitreuses; par instants, elle ferme les yeux, et sa face livide fait alors penser au masque d'une morte.

Après les dernières oraisons, l'aumônier de la cour lit le manifeste du tsar à son peuple, — simple exposé des événements qui ont rendu la guerre inévitable, appel éloquent à toutes les énergies nationales, imploration du Très-Haut, etc. Puis l'empereur, s'approchant de l'autel, élève la main droite vers l'Évangile, qu'on lui présente. Il est encore plus grave, encore plus recueilli, comme s'il allait communier. D'une voix lente, courte et qui appuie sur chaque mot, il déclare:

— Officiers de ma garde, ici présents, je salue en vous toute mon armée et je la bénis. Solennement, je jure que je ne conclurai pas la paix, tant qu'il y aura un seul ennemi sur le sol de la patrie.

Un fracas de hourras répond à cette déclaration, copiée sur le serment que l'empereur Alexandre Ier prononça en 1812. Pendant près de dix minutes, c'est dans toute la salle un tumulte frénétique, qui se renforce bientôt par les clameurs de la foule massée au long de la Néwa.

Brusquement, avec son impétuosité coutumière, le grand-duc Nicolas, généralissime des armées russes, se jette sur moi et m'embrasse à me broyer. Alors, c'est un redoublement d'enthousiasme, que dominent les cris de: «Vive la France! ... Vive la France! ...»

A travers la cohue qui m'acclame, j'ai grand' peine à me frayer un passage derrière les souverains et à gagner la sortie.

J'arrive enfin à la place du Palais d'hiver, où une multitude innombrable se presse avec des drapeaux, des bannières, des icons, des portraits du tsar.

L'empereur paraît au balcon. Instantément, tout le monde s'agenouille et entonne l'hymne russe. En cette minute, pour ces milliers d'hommes qui sont là prosternés, le tsar est vraiment l'autocrate marqué de Dieu, le chef militaire, politique et religieux de son peuple, le souverain absolu des corps et des âmes.

Tandis que je rentre à l'ambassade, les yeux pleins de cette vision grandiose, je ne puis m'empêcher de songer à la sinistre journée du 22 janvier 1905, où la population ouvrière de Pétersbourg, conduite par le pope Gapone et précédée aussi par les saintes images, s'était massée comme aujourd'hui devant le Palais d'hiver pour implorer «son père, le tsar», et où elle fut impitoyablement mitraillée.

English translation (by Holt):

Sunday, August 2, 1914.

... At three o'clock this afternoon I went to the Winter Palace, where the Tsar was to issue a proclamation to his people, as ancient rites decree. As the representative of the allied power, I was the only foreigner admitted to this ceremony.

It was a majestic spectacle. Five or six thousand people were assembled in the huge St. George's gallery which runs along the Neva quay. The whole court was in full-dress and all the officers of the garrison were in field dress. In the centre of the room an altar was placed and on it was the miraculous ikon of the Virgin of Kazan, brought from the national sanctuary on the Nevsky Prospekt, which had to do without it for a few hours. In 1812, Field-Marshal Prince Kutusov, before leaving to join the army at Smolensk, spent a long time in prayer before this sacred image.

In a tense, religious silence, the imperial cortège crossed the gallery and took up station on the left of the altar.

The Tsar asked me to stand opposite him, as he desired, so he said, "to do public homage in this way to the loyalty of the French ally."

Mass began at once to the accompaniment of the noble and pathetic chants of the orthodox liturgy. Nicholas II prayed with a holy fervour which gave his pale face a movingly mystical expression. The Tsaritsa Alexandra Feodorovna stood by him, gazing fixedly, her chest thrust forward, head high, lips crimson, eyes glassy. Every now and then she closed her eyes, and then her livid face reminded one of a death mask.

After the final prayer the court chaplain read the Tsar's manifesto to his people — a simple recital of the events which have made war inevitable, an eloquent appeal to all the national energies, an invocation to the Most High, and so forth. Then the Tsar went up to the altar and raised his right hand toward the gospel held out to him. He was even more grave and composed, as if he were about to receive the sacrament. In a slow, low voice which dwelt on every word, he made the following declaration:

"Officers of my guard, here present, I greet in you my whole army and give it my blessing. I solemnly swear that I will never make peace so long as one of the enemy is on the soil of the fatherland."

A wild outburst of cheering was the answer to this declaration, which was copied from the oath taken by the Emperor Alexander I in 1812. For nearly ten minutes there was a frantic tumult in the gallery, and it was soon intensified by the cheers of the crowd massed along the Neva.

Suddenly the Grand Duke Nicholas, generalissimo of the Russian armies, hurled himself upon me with his usual impetuosity and embraced me till I was half crushed. At this the cheers redoubled, and above all the din rose shouts of "Vive la France! ... Vive la France! ..."

Through the cheering crowd I had great difficulty in clearing a way behind the sovereigns and reaching the door.

Ultimately I got to [the] Winter Palace Square, where an enormous crowd had congregated with flags, banners, ikons, and portraits of the Tsar.

The Emperor appeared on the balcony. The entire crowd at once knelt and sang the Russian national anthem. To those thousands of men on their knees at that moment, the Tsar was really the autocrat appointed of God, the military, political and religious leader of his people, the absolute master of their bodies and souls.

As I was returning to the embassy, my eyes full of this grandiose spectacle, I could not help thinking of that sinister January 22, 1905, on which the working masses of St. Petersburg, led by the priest Gapon and preceded as now by the sacred images, were assembled as they were assembled to-day before the Winter Palace to plead with "their Father, the Tsar" — and pitilessly shot down.

Above: Alexandra with Nicholas and family in a procession on the day of the declaration of war, on July 20/August 2, 1914.

Above: Nicholas on the balcony of the Winter Palace giving the declaration of war.

Above: Maurice Paléologue.

Baroness Sophie Buxhoeveden's account of Russia entering World War One and Alexandra's reaction to it, late July to August 2 (New Style), 1914

Sources:

The Life and Tragedy of Alexandra Feodorovna, pages 185 to 188, by Baroness Sophie Buxhoeveden, 1928

https://archive.org/details/lifetragedyofale00sofi/page/n223/mode/2up

The account:

The outbreak of the world war came as a terrible blow to the Empress. She seemed to have a presentiment of coming events; for she was most depressed when they left the Standart, on which she had gone with the Emperor to recover from the fatigues of the Presidential visit, and said to some of those with her that she knew it would be the last cruise they would all take together. She had a horror of war. The memories of the Russo-Japanese War, and of the troubles that had followed, were yet too fresh in her mind. The Emperor and she hoped to the last that some agreement might be reached. Though the Emperor did not distress her by giving her all the details of the Governmental discussion, she felt very anxious, but she still did not realise how tense the situation had become.

On the first of August the Empress and her daughters waited a long time for the Emperor to come down to dinner. As a rule he was very punctual, and the Empress felt that something serious must have happened. He was receiving the Minister for Foreign Affairs, M. Sazonoff, and the audience seemed to last inordinately long. When the Emperor came, it was with the news that Germany had declared war. At first the Empress could not grasp it. War! her nightmare! She knew the completeness of German organisation; she knew that Russia was not prepared for war at that moment; and that England had not yet joined Russia and France. She was in despair, but, then and always, she had the conviction that Russia would win in the end.

The moment of the declaration of war made her set up a wall in her heart between Germany and Russia. She was the Empress of Russia — Russian always in heart and soul. "Twenty years have I spent in Russia, half my life, and the happiest, fullest part of it. It is the country of my husband and son. I have lived the life of a happy wife and mother in Russia. All my heart is bound to this country I love," she once said to me during the war. People in Germany do not understand how the Empress came to adopt the Russian standpoint so completely, and became so thoroughly Russian in her views. The reason for it was her intense, passionate love for the Emperor. She considered herself as wholly belonging to him. His country was her country, as also his religion had completely become hers. She always gave herself up entirely to those she loved, and identified herself with them.

The thought of her brother and of his feelings at having to take part in a war where he would be in the other camp gave her acute pain, but she brought her will-power to bear to face the inevitable. She regarded the inexplicable telegram sent by the Emperor William, after his ambassador, Count Pourtales, had already handed the declaration of war to the Russian Foreign Minister, as an attempt to shift the responsibility for the outbreak of war on to the Emperor Nicholas, and was very indignant. The mystery of that telegram has never been explained. She expressed her opinion on the matter to the Cesarevitch's Swiss tutor, M. Pierre Gilliard, who quotes the conversation fully in his book, Thirteen Years at the Russian Court. According to her wont, the Empress did not remain content with lamentations. At ten o'clock at night on the day of the declaration of war, I came back from a drive, not knowing what had happened. My maid told me that a woman's voice from the Imperial villa had rung me up three times during the last hour, that it was either one of the Grand Duchesses or the Empress herself. I immediately rang up "Alexandria," the Emperor's villa, and found the Empress already at the telephone. In a voice broken by suppressed sobs, she told me of the event. "War is declared," she said. "Good Heavens, so Austria has done it!" I exclaimed. "No, no," she said, "Germany. It is ghastly, terrible — but God will help and will save Russia... But we must work... go at once to Mme. E. and speak to her about opening the workshop at the Hermitage. Then talk to my secretary and ring me up — no matter how late, or come round." She entered into details, getting calmer as she spoke, giving minute instructions. I spoke to the Empress again later. She was perfectly calm, having got over her momentary weakness.

The next day, August 2nd, the Emperor and Empress with their daughters — the little Cesarevitch was ill — went to St. Petersburg to attend a solemn Te Deum at the Winter Palace. This was an old custom that had been followed at the outbreak of the Japanese War. Crowds of people thronged the Winter Palace; they were in a very frenzy of patriotism. Ladies clung to the Emperor, kissing his hands. No one alive had seen such enthusiasm, which was reminiscent of 1812. At the outbreak of the Japanese War there had been some street demonstrations of students in the early days, but now the whole country was roused. The climax was reached when the Emperor, addressing the officers present, repeated Alexander I's promise of 1812 — not to conclude peace while a single enemy still remained on Russian soil. Sir George Buchanan, in his book, My Mission to Russia, quotes the words: "I solemnly swear not to make peace, as long as there is a single enemy on Russia's soil." Multitudes cheered in the streets, and when the Emperor and Empress appeared at the Palace windows, the whole crowd that thronged the huge square spontaneously knelt down and sang the National Anthem. ...

When the mobilisation was announced in the St. Petersburg military district, the Guards were the first to go. The Empress went to a Te Deum before her Lancer regiment left for the front, and said goodbye in person to all the officers and men. All through the war she followed the actions of this regiment, and after every battle in which the Lancers took part she helped all the families to get news. ...

Above: Alexandra.

Above: Baroness Sophie Buxhoeveden.

Anna Vyrubova's account of Russia entering World War One and Alexandra's reaction to it, summer 1914

Sources:

Memories of the Russian Court, pages 102 to 107, by Anna Vyrubova, 1923

https://archive.org/details/memoriesofrussia00vyruuoft/page/102/mode/2up

The account:

Nineteen-fourteen, that year of fate for all the world, but more than all for my poor country, began its course in Russia, as elsewhere, in apparent peace and tranquility. With us, as with other civilized people, the tragedy of Sarajevo came as a thrill of horror and surmise. I do not know exactly what we expected to follow that desperate act committed in a distant province of Austria, but certainly not the cataclysm of a World War and the ruin of three of the proudest empires of earth. Very shortly after the assassination of the Austrian heir and his wife the Emperor had gone to Kronstadt, headquarters of the Baltic fleet, to meet French and British squadrons then on cruise in Russian waters. From Kronstadt he proceeded to Krasnoe, near Petrograd, the great summer central review center of the old Russian Army where the usual military maneuvers were in progress. Returning to Peterhof, the Emperor ordered a hasty departure to Finland because, he said, the political horizon was darkening and he needed a few days of rest and distraction. We sailed on July 6 (Russian Calendar) and had a quiet cruise, the last one we were ever destined to enjoy. Not that we intended it to be our last, for returning to Peterhof, from whence the Emperor hurried again to the reviews, we left nearly all our luggage on the yacht. The Empress, however, in one of her fits of melancholy, told me that she felt that we would never again be together on the Standart.

The political skies were indeed darkening. The Serbian murders and the unaccountably arrogant attitude of Austria grew in importance every succeeding day, and for many hours every day the Emperor was closeted in his study with Grand Duke Nicholas, Foreign Minister Sazonoff and other Ministers, all of whom urged on the Emperor the imperative duty of standing by Serbia. During the short intervals of the day when we saw the Emperor he seemed half-dazed by the momentous decision he was called upon to make. A few days before mobilization I went to lunch at Krasnoe with a friend whose husband was on the Russian General Staff. In the middle of luncheon this officer, Count Nosstiz, burst into the room exclaiming: "Do you know what the Emperor has done? Can you guess what they have made him do? He has promoted the young men of the Military Academy to be officers, and he has sent the regiments back to their casernes to await orders. All the military attachés are telegraphing their Governments to ask what it means. What can it mean except war?"

From my friend's house I went almost at once back to Peterhof and informed the Empress what I had heard. Her amazement was unbounded, and over and over she repeated that she did not understand, that she could not imagine under what influence the Emperor had acted. He was still at the maneuvers, and although I remained late with the Empress I did not see him that night. The days that followed were full of suspense and anxiety. I spent most of my time playing tennis — very badly — with the girls, but from my occasional contacts with the Empress I knew that she was arguing and pleading against the war which apparently the Emperor felt to be inevitable. In one short talk I had with him on the subject he seemed to find a certain comfort in the thought that war always strengthened national feeling, and in his belief Russia would emerge from a truly righteous war stronger and better than ever. At this time a telegram arrived from Rasputine in Siberia, which plainly irritated the Emperor. Rasputine strongly opposed the war, and predicted that it would result in the destruction of the Empire. But the Emperor refused to believe it and resented what was really an almost unprecedented interference in affairs of state on the part of Rasputine.

I think I have spoken of the Emperor's aversion to the telephone. Up to this time none of his studies were ever fitted with telephones, but now he had wires and instruments installed and spent a great deal of time in conversations with Ministers and ministers of the military staff. Then came the day of mobilization, the same kind of a day of wild excitement, waving street crowds, weeping women and children, heart-rending scenes of parting, that all the warring countries saw and ever will remember. After watching hours of these dreadful scenes in the streets of Peterhof I went to my evening duties with the Empress only to find that she had remained in absolute ignorance of what had been taking place. Mobilization! It was not true, she exclaimed. Certainly armies were moving, but only on the Austrian frontiers. She hurried from the room and I heard her enter the Emperor's study. For half an hour the sound of their excited voices reached my ears. Returning, the Empress dropped on her couch as one overcome by desperate tidings. "War!" She murmured breathlessly. "And I knew nothing of it. This is the end of everything." I could say nothing. I understood as little as she the incomprehensible silence of the Emperor at such an hour, and as always, whatever hurt her hurt me. We sat in silence until eleven when, as usual, the Emperor came in to tea, but he was distraught and gloomy and the tea hour also passed in almost complete silence. ...

... War had come indeed, but even war was better than the threat and the uncertainty of the preceding weeks. The extreme depression of the Empress, however, continued unrelieved. Up to the last moment she hoped against hope, and when the German formal declaration of war was announced she gave way to a perfect passion of weeping, repeating to me through her tears: "This is the end of everything." The state visit of their Majesties to Petrograd soon after the declaration really seemed to justify the Emperor's belief that the war would arouse the national spirit, so long latent, in the Russian people. Never again do I expect to behold such a sight as the streets of Petrograd presented on that day. To say that the streets were crowded, thronged, massed, does not half express it. I do not believe that one single able-bodied person in the whole city remained at home during the hours spent in the capital by the Sovereigns. The streets were almost literally impassable, and the Imperial motor cars, moving at snail's pace from quay to palace through that frenzied sea of people, cheering, singing the national hymn, calling down blessings on the Emperor, was something that will live forever in the memories of all who witnessed it. The Imperial cortège was able, thanks to the police, to reach the Winter Palace at last, but many of the suite were halted by the crowds at the entrance to the great square in front of the palace and had to enter at a side door opening from the small garden to the west.

Inside the palace the crowd was relatively as great as that on the outside. Apparently every man and woman who had the right to appear at Court were massed in the corridors, the staircases, and the state apartments. Slowly their Majesties made their way to the great Salle de Nicholas, the largest hall in the palace, and there for several hours they stood receiving the most extraordinary tokens of homage from thousands of officials, ministers, and members of the noblesse, both men and women. Te Deums were sung, cheers and acclamations arose, and as the Emperor and Empress moved slowly through the crowds men and women threw themselves on their knees, kissing the hands of their Sovereigns with tears and fervent expressions of loyalty. Standing with others of the suite in the Halle de Concert, I watched this remarkable scene, and I listened to the historic speech of the Emperor which ended with the assurance that never would there be an end to Russian military effort until the last German was expelled from the beloved soil. From the Salle de Nicholas the Sovereigns passed to a balcony overlooking the great square. There with the Tsarevitch at their side they faced the wildly exulting people who with one accord dropped to their knees with mute gestures of love and obedience. Then as countless flags waved and dipped there arose from the lips and hearts of that vast assembly the moving strains of our great hymn: "God Save the Tsar."

Thus in a passion of renewed love and patriotism began in Russia the war of 1914. ...

Above: Alexandra with Anna Vyrubova in happier times.

Pierre Gilliard's account of Russia entering World War One and Alexandra's reaction to it, July 20 to August 1 (New Style), 1914

Sources:

Treize années à la cour de Russie: Le tragique destin de Nicolas II et de sa famille, pages 81 to 86, by Pierre Gilliard, 1921

https://archive.org/details/LeTragiqueDestinDeNicolasIiEtDeSaFamille/page/n79/mode/2up

Thirteen Years at the Russian Court, pages 98 to 106, by Pierre Gilliard, translated by F. Appelby Holt, 1921

https://archive.org/details/cu31924028372088/page/n117/mode/2up

The account:

Le [20 juillet] après-midi le président de la République arrivait sur le cuirassé La France en rade de Cronstadt où l'empereur était venu l'attendre. Ils rentrèrent ensemble à Péterhof et M. Poincaré fut conduit dans les appartements au Grand Palais. Le soir un dîner de gala fut donné en son honneur, l'impératrice et les dames de sa suite y assistèrent.

Le président de la République fut pendant quatre jours l'hôte de Nicolas II et de nombreuses solennités marquèrent son court séjour. L'impression qu'il fît sur l'empereur fut excellente et j'eus personellement l'occasion de m'en convaincre dans les circonstances suivantes.

M. Poincaré avait été invité à prendre part au déjeuner de la famille impériale, dont il était le seul convive. On le reçut sans le moindre apparat au petit cottage d'Alexandria, dans le cadre intime de la vie de tous les jours. ...

Le 23 juillet, après un dîner d'adieu offert à Leurs Majestés sur La France, le président quittait Cronstadt à destination de Stockholm.

Le lendemain nous apprenions avec stupeur que l'Autriche avait remis la veille au soir un ultimatum à la Serbie. Je rencontrai l'après-midi l'empereur dans le parc, il était préoccupé, mais ne semblait pas inquiet.

Le 25, un Conseil extraordinaire est réuni à Krasnoïé-Sélo sous la présidence de l'empereur. On décide d'observer une politique de conciliation, digne et ferme toutefois. Les journaux commentent avec passion la démarche de l'Autriche.

Les jours suivants, le ton de la presse devient de plus en plus violent. On accuse l'Autriche de vouloir écraser la Serbie. La Russie ne peut laisser anéantir la petite nation slave. Elle ne peut tolérer la suprématie austro-allemande dans les Balkans. L'honneur national est en jeu.

Cependant, tandis que les esprits s'échauffent, et que la diplomatie met en branle tous les rouages de ses chancelleries, des télégrammes angoissés partent du cottage d'Alexandria pour la lointaine Sibérie où Raspoutine se remet lentement de sa blessure à l'hôpital de Tioumen. Ils sont tous à peu près la même teneur: «Nous sommes effrayés par la perspective de la guerre. Crois-tu qu'elle soit possible? Prie pour nous. Soutiens-nous de tes conseils.» Et Raspoutine de répondre qu'il faut éviter la guerre à tout prix si l'on ne veut pas attirer les pires calamités sur la dynastie et sur le pays tout entier. Ces conseils répondaient bien au vœu intime de l'empereur dont les intentions pacifiques ne sauraient être mises en doute. Il faut l'avoir vu pendant cette terrible semaine de la fin de juillet pour comprendre par quelles angoisses et quelles tortures morales il a passé. Mais le moment était venu où l'ambition et la perfidie germaniques devaient avoir raison de ses dernières hésitations et allaient tout entraîner dans la tourmente.

Malgré toutes les offres de médiation, et bien que le gouvernement russe eût proposé de liquider l'incident par un entretien direct entre Saint-Pétersbourg et Vienne, nous apprenions le 29 juillet que la mobilisation générale avait été ordonnée en Autriche. Le lendemain c'était la nouvelle du bombardement de Belgrade et le surlendemain la Russie répondait par la mobilisation de toute son armée. Le soir de ce même jour, le comte de Portalès, ambassadeur d'Allemagne à Saint-Pétersbourg, venait déclarer à Sazonof que son gouvernement donnait un délai de douze heures à la Russie pour arrêter la mobilisation, faute de quoi l'Allemagne mobiliserait à son tour.

Le délai accordé par l'ultimatum à la Russie expirait le samedi, 1er août, à midi. Le comte de Portalès ne parut cependant que le soir au ministère des affaires étrangères. Introduit chez Sazonof, il lui remit solennellement la déclaration de guerre de l'Allemagne à la Russie. Il était 7 heures 10; l'acte irréparable venait de s'accomplir.

...

Au moment où cette scène historique se déroulait dans le cabinet du ministre des affaires étrangères à Saint-Pétersbourg, l'empereur, l'impératrice et leurs filles assistaient à l'office du soir dans la petite église d'Alexandria. En rencontrant l'empereur quelque heures plus tôt, j'avais été frappé de son expression de grande lassitude: il avait les traits tirés, le teint terreux, et les petites poches qui se formaient sous ses yeux quand il était fatigué semblaient avoir démesurément grandi. Et maintenant il priait de toute son âme pour que Dieu écartât de son peuple cette guerre qu'il sentait déjà toute proche et presque inévitable. Tout son être semblait tendu dans un élan de sa foi simple et confiante. A côté de lui, l'impératrice, dont le visage douloureux avait l'expression de grande souffrance que je lui avais vue si souvent au chevet d'Alexis Nicolaïévitch. Elle aussi priait ce soir-là avec une ferveur ardente, comme pour conjurer la menace redoutable...

Le service religieux terminé, Leurs Majestés et les grandes-duchesses rentrèrent au cottage d'Alexandria; il était près de huit heures. L'empereur, avant de se rendre à table, passa dans son cabinet de travail pour prendre connaissance des dépêches qui avaient été apportées en son absence, et c'est ainsi qu'il apprit, par un message de Sazonof, la déclaration de guerre de l'Allemagne. Il eut un court entretien par téléphone avec son ministre et le pria de venir le rejoindre à Alexandria dès qu'il en aurait la possibilité.

Cependant l'impératrice et les grandes-duchesses attendaient à la salle à manger. Sa Majesté, inquiète de ce long retard, venait de prier Tatiana Nicolaïevna d'aller chercher son père, lorsque l'empereur, très pâle, apparut enfin et leur annonça, d'une voix qui malgré lui trahissait son émotion, que la guerre était déclarée. A cette nouvelle l'impératrice se mit à pleurer et les grandes-duchesses, voyant la désolation de leur mère, fondirent en larmes à leur tour. ...

English translation (by Holt):

In the afternoon of [the 20th of July] the cruiser La France arrived in Cronstadt harbour with the French President on board. The Czar was there to receive him. They returned to Peterhof together, and M. Poincaré was taken to the apartments prepared for him in the palace. In the evening a gala banquet was given in his honour, and the Czarina and the ladies-in-waiting were present.

For four days the President of the French Republic was the guest of Nicholas II., and many ceremonies marked his short visit. He made an excellent impression upon the Czar, a fact which I was able to prove to my own satisfaction under the following circumstances.

M. Poincaré had been invited to the Imperial luncheon-table, where he was the sole guest. He was received without the slightest formality into the family circle at the little Alexandria Cottage. ...

On July 23rd the President left Cronstadt for Stockholm, immediately after a dinner given in Their Majesties' honour on the La France.

The next day, to our utter amazement, we learned that Austria had presented an ultimatum to Serbia on the previous evening. I met the Czar in the park in the afternoon. He was preoccupied, but did not seem anxious.

On the 25th an Extraordinary Council was held at Krasnoïe-Selo in the Czar's presence. It was decided to pursue a policy of dignified but firm conciliation. The Press was extremely angry at the step taken by Austria.

The next few days the tone of the Press became increasingly violent. Austria was accused of desiring to annihilate Serbia. Russia could not let the little Slav state be overwhelmed. She could not tolerate an Austro-Hungarian supremacy in the Balkans. The national honour was at stake.

Yet while tempers were rising and the diplomats were setting the machinery of all the chancellories in motion, heart-rending telegrams left Alexandria Cottage for distant Siberia, where Rasputin was slowly recovering from his wound in the hospital at Tioumen. They were nearly all of the same tenor: "We are horrified at the prospect of war. Do you think it is possible? Pray for us. Help us with your counsel."

Rasputin would reply that war must be avoided at any cost if the worst calamities were not to overtake the dynasty and the Empire.

This advice was consonant with the dearest wish of the Czar, whose pacific intentions could not be doubted for a moment. We had only to see him during that terrible last week of July to realise what mental and moral torture he had passed through. But the moment had come when the ambition and perfidy of Germany were to steel him against his own last hesitation and sweep everything with them into the whirlpool.

In spite of all the offers of mediation and the fact that the Russian Government had suggested closing the incident by direct negotiations between St. Petersburg and Vienna, we learned on July 29th that general mobilisation had been ordered in Austria. The next day we heard of the bombardment of Belgrade, and on the following day Russia replied with the mobilisation of her whole army. In the evening of that day Count Portalès, the German Ambassador at St. Petersburg, called to inform M. Sazonoff that his Government would give Russia twelve hours in which to stop her mobilisation, failing which Germany would mobilise in turn.

The twelve hours granted to Russia in the ultimatum expired at noon on Saturday, August 1st. Count Portalès, however, did not appear at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs until the evening. He was shown into Sazonoff, and then formally handed him Germany's declaration of war on Russia. It was ten minutes past seven. The irreparable step had been taken.

...

At the moment when this historic scene was taking place in the Foreign Minister's room at St. Petersburg, the Czar, the Czarina, and their daughters were attending evensong in the little Alexandria church. I had met the Czar a few hours before, and been much struck by the air of weary exhaustion he wore. The pouches which always appeared under his eyes when he was tired seemed to be markedly larger. He was now praying with all the fervour of his nature that God would avert the war which he felt was imminent and all but inevitable.

His whole being seemed to go out in an expression of simple and confident faith. At his side was the Czarina, whose care-worn face wore that look of suffering I had so often seen at her son's bedside. She too was praying fervently that night, as if she wished to banish an evil dream. ...

When the service was over Their Majesties and the Grand-Duchesses returned to Alexandria Cottage. It was almost eight o'clock. Before the Czar came down to dinner he went into his study to read the dispatches which had been brought in his absence. It was thus, from a message from Sazonoff, that he learned of Germany's declaration of war. He spoke to his Minister on the telephone for a short time and asked him to come down to Alexandria Cottage the moment he could get away.

Meanwhile the Czarina and the Grand-Duchesses were waiting for him in the dining-room. Her Majesty, becoming uneasy at the long delay, had just asked Tatiana Nicolaïevna to fetch her father, when the Czar appeared, looking very pale, and told them that war was declared, in a voice which betrayed his agitation, notwithstanding all his efforts. On learning the news the Czarina began to weep, and the Grand-Duchesses likewise dissolved into tears on seeing their mother's distress. ...

Above: Alexandra.

Above: Pierre Gilliard.