We sisters gave a French play before our guests. I was delighted that

our Swiss tutor, M. Pierre Gilliard, gave me a part that contributed

largely to the success of our little performance. But, while performing

before our audience, I mixed up my lines and could not hear the

prompter; so I resorted to improvising. At this moment, while the

guests were hilarious over my ad libbing, an elastic of my most

delicate undergarment broke and the embarrassing white ruffled cambric

fell to the floor. The audience became well-nigh hysterical and laughed

far more than if I had remembered my lines.

The secrecy surrounding Alexei’s illness had always tormented me. I

knew bleeding was involved, like the bleeding of a wound that could not

be stopped. Marie and I were almost as ignorant as the general public

as to the real nature of his illness. I remember tiptoeing into my

brother’s room and there I saw Mother lying on a couch. In one corner

was a basin filled with pieces of cotton which she had been applying

to the blue swelling. As Alexei’s condition became worse, the rest of

the family joined Mother at the side of his bed. I would have preferred

to be outside where I could not see my brother’s suffering or hear

his moans, yet something held me inside. There they were, Father,

Olga, Tatiana, and Marie, all huddled together, a thin layer of hope

spread over their despair. They were all in an attitude of prayer, and

totally unaware of the struggle that was taking place in me. Suddenly,

shame-faced, I slipped in beside them and found myself in the front

ranks of the sorrowing family.

We all watched Mother, her hand enclosing Alexei’s as though she were

trying to transmit her own strength into his frail body. He was not

lying in a pool of blood as I had always expected but looked quite

normal, except that he was very pale and moaned pitifully. His eyes

seemed to be sunk into his head and he wore a peculiar expression on

his face. Mother knelt beside him, encouraging her little son with

a smile which seemed to say, “You will be well soon.” So long as

Mother did not give up, Alexei knew his condition was not hopeless. We

knew her heart was breaking, but before Alexei she was a picture of

confidence and hope. Mother knew that if she left Alexei to the nurses,

the boy would stop fighting, for it was her heroic presence which

strengthened him.

Dr. Botkin, Mother’s private physician, relieved her on many nights as

did my Aunt Irene. Dr. Fedorov, Dr. Dreifuss and Dr. Ostrogorsky were

all summoned to repeat all the treatments which had helped in previous

attacks. Dr. Fedorov, a renowned specialist in haemophilia, was in

charge of Alexei. He had brought my brother through several other

attacks, after which Dr. Derevenko, who was Dr. Fedorov’s assistant,

became Alexei’s personal physician. The doctors’ efforts did not seem

to bring about any change. Mother, however, remained confident even

when the doctors were shaking their heads in despair. Mother understood

every agony of the boy and seemed to be able to relieve his suffering.

Alexei extended his feverish hands to her in appreciation. They

understood each other perfectly.

Hopelessness was crushing Father. It was such double torture with the

fear of losing Mother as well as Alexei in the event anything happened

to Alexei. We had practically given up hope, but not Mother. She would

not give up. We braced ourselves to meet the inevitable. Mother’s face

was white but calm before Alexei’s searching eyes. As a last resort she

directed that a telegram be sent to Rasputin at his home in Siberia,

imploring him to pray for Alexei’s recovery. In the morning Mother

sent for Father Vassiliev to administer the holy sacrament to our

brother. Alexei and Mother looked straight into each other’s eyes, the

one sending out waves of assurance, the other hopefully receptive. The

light in her eyes never failed him.

In the meantime a bulletin had been issued about the boy’s serious

condition. Father felt that the people had the right to know about

their Tsarevich, although it was torture to reveal the secret kept so

long. At this time Father also ordered the sending of wires to our

foreign diplomatic representatives with a view to locating specialists

who might be able to help Alexei, but no medic for this malady was

found.

The doctors worked feverishly, their foreheads moist with their

exertions. Silence was broken as Alexei moaned and Mother whispered,

“Has no word come from the Starets?” Alexei clung to life even when all

of us except Mother thought each breath might be his last. Under the

tension we even wished that it would be, to spare him further agony!

Suddenly one of the officers approached with a quick step and handed

a telegram to Father. He read it aloud to all of us in a clear voice.

“The little one will not die, do not let him be bothered too much.”

(This was the sense of the telegram, the words are my own.) When we all

heard these words, the air became charged with renewed hope. Alexei

must have felt it too for he relaxed into a deep sleep. It continued

for so long that Mother kept listening to his heart to make sure that

he was still with us. When he awoke, the bleeding had stopped. Whether

it was the medicine, the holy sacrament, or our prayers, as well as

those of Rasputin, which caused the sudden turn for the better, we

could not tell, but we knew that death had been averted. We had seen a

miracle before our very eyes.

From that moment on, the boy’s ravaged body began to mend. We could

only think of Rasputin as a holy man and the instrument in the healing

of my brother. I recall seeing him later--only three or four times--but

he made a deep impression on me. He was so different from other human

beings. His piercing eyes seemed to look right through me even into the

depths of my innermost self. He frightened me. When I first saw him he

said, “Is this the little one?” and I was afraid that he would touch

me, but he didn’t. He wore a long cassock with a cross hanging down on

his chest. He looked like a monk. I was told he walked long distances

barefoot, not having the necessary money to travel by train. But when I

saw him he wore boots. By nature he was a son of the soil, like a wild

plant nourished by accident.

Grigory Rasputin was not a monk at all except in a very loose sense. He

was not even a member of any holy order. He was a Starets, a pilgrim

and lay preacher among peasants. Could he be a biblical character

come to life? I wondered. On his many journeys he had learned many

of nature’s remedies. He had faith in them in the face of modern

scientific medicine. He believed nature had made provision for man’s

health as she had made provision for his food and drink. He knew an

herb or berry for various maladies. His remedies were simple; it did

not seem possible they could be effective. I heard he used to put dried

berries in his tea. For bronchitis, he used high bush cranberries or

red raspberry juice. We did not follow any of his remedies for my

brother. We believed that ultimately God was the only Healer.

Father Vassiliev, our chaplain, held services twice a day in the

camp chapel, which had been especially built in a large tent in the

garden, until our departure from Spala in the late fall. Many different

gifts were sent to Alexei during his illness, including some enamel

and silver icons of St. Alexius and a Virgin and Christ in gold and

decorated with precious stones. These and others came with the blessing

of the churches in their incessant prayer for his health.

After this dreadful experience in Poland, Alexei was like something

that had been lost but was now found. We could not do enough for him,

but in spite of the attention we gave him, he was not spoiled. He was

only an average boy and there was no reason for him to be different

because he had been born to a royal family. There was a magnetism about

the little fellow which no one could resist, yet Mother and Father

tried to be firm with him. We all knew Alexei was the most important

thing in Mother’s life; in fact, he was in all of ours. His condition

meant misery or happiness to the whole family. Our first question every

morning was, “How is Alexei?” We really did not need to ask because

when Mother was happy, obviously he was all right.

Later we heard all kinds of atrocious stories spread about the illness

of this innocent little boy. How could any human being think of

anything so cruel and untrue is beyond my imagination.

Alexei was very sensitive and sometimes when Mother rebuked him he

would run to Olga for sympathy. He adored Olga and said he was going to

marry her. He was even jealous of her in a way, because he did not want

her to pay attention to strangers when he was present. He had a talent

for making us forget to scold him when he had done something wrong by

distracting our attention. We all knew his strategy but it was hard to

punish him when we saw him perched on a chair like a little sparrow,

wondering what he would say to get our minds off the coming reprimand.

Late in the fall a few weeks before Christmas when the snow had buried

the ground, Alexei was well enough to be moved to Tsarskoe Selo and

there he made further recovery from his recent attack. This illness

damaged the nerve and caused his left leg to become shorter. It

required painful treatments and a special pad was placed in his shoe to

build up the heel, so that he limped only slightly.

Mother had put so much of herself into the agonizing condition that it

was hard for her to be herself again. For weeks she lay prostrate from

her nursing and emotional strain but blissfully conscious of victory.

She was disappointed not to be able to go to church to give fitting

thanks for Alexei’s recovery, but the priest came to the house and

conducted a special service in the palace chapel. When she felt well

enough to be up and around again, Dr. Botkin found her heart again in a

weakened condition and confined her to her room.

During these periods of rest, following the exhausting care of Alexei,

Mother devoted herself to intensive religious study. The sparing of

Alexei was God’s answer to her prayers; her gratitude was so consuming

she lived in a realm of religious dedication. She had a rare collection

of Bibles, which were brought to her from St. Petersburg and Moscow;

these she studied, making comparisons of the various editions. She

would then discuss what she had learned with Father who was no less

interested but who did not have the time he would have liked to devote

to the subject.

In our library we had some rare scrolls and texts. They had come from

Egypt, Persia, Palestine, Sinai, and elsewhere. One of these was the

famous Codex Sinaiticus, dating from the fourth century A.D., which was

first discovered by the German scholar Tischendorff in a monastery on

the Sinai peninsula. Great-grandfather, Alexander II, had acquired the

manuscript; later, in 1862, he had it published. There were also very

early Russian texts. All these were under lock and key but we could

see them in the glass case. Father knew the history of each of these

texts and versions. The children’s library was separate. On its shelves

were Russian fables and stories, and there were translations from the

Danish. We had some originals signed by Hans Christian Andersen.

Mother was reared and educated in England and Germany and distinguished

herself in her studies. She, herself, was a philosopher and often

discussed philosophy with her friends. She saw things the others could

not see and sometimes connected religion with the writings of the great

philosophers.

However, she was not a fanatic as many described her, but she could

see and understand things the others did not. She was well informed on

various subjects. She understood and reasoned the value and depth of

her religion. Her and Father’s knowledge of history surpassed that of

many historians and their vocabulary was powerfully rich.

When Mother was strong enough, we children joined her at luncheon or

tea. In the winter she selected a sunny room where a folding table

was used for the occasion. One of Mother’s rooms was decorated in her

favorite color, mauve, and was cosy with matching brocades, curtains

and upholstery. One wall was covered with a collection of icons which

were gifts from different people. These were continually lighted by

two lamps, one blue and one pink. Some of these icons were the most

beautiful that Byzantine art could produce, others were very simple,

but all were symbols to Mother and a means of remembering the donors.

Mother loved every one of them, and was most appreciative when people

presented her one of these religious treasures. Some of them she

carried with her from Tsarskoe Selo to Alexandria and Livadia palaces

and later to Tobolsk and Ekaterinburg. She wanted to have the most

meaningful in her room. Others hung in one of the small rooms of the

chapel together with some of her Bibles and a panagia. She also had

some icons of great historic importance.

Icons of these types were made only by the Greeks, Russians, Serbians,

Bulgarians, and Rumanians. No statues were permitted in our churches,

since we discarded the pagan idols at the time of the adoption of the

Greek orthodox religion. A lot of the best treasures in the country

were looted during the revolution. Other gifts were hung in the long

hall which ran the whole length of the palace including all kinds of

plates and other objects of historical value which we had received

during many trips in Russia and abroad.

We were shocked to see how frail Mother looked when she finally emerged

from her convalescence. It was an effort for her to walk the length of

the hall and she was wheeled to the lift which took her to Alexei’s

room. She permitted him to come down to the music room and lie on the

sofa, or to amuse himself in the library with his electric trains. He

built villages, fountains, churches out of blocks. We girls read to

him or engaged him in games to keep him occupied. I can still see my

brother in the blue nightshirt which he wore after his bath when he

came down every evening before retiring. Mother took his emaciated

hand and they went upstairs to hear his prayers. She had a tendency

to overdo, hoping no one would suspect how much these illnesses of

Alexei took out of her. It is true that bulletins had been issued

telling of the serious condition of the Tsarevich but the nature of the

illness had never been revealed to the people--that would be admitting

hopelessness. When Alexei and Mother were well enough to travel we went

down to the Crimea where the change and rest were always refreshing to

both.

These attacks of Alexei were hard on us. For one thing our education

was disrupted. It was difficult for us to concentrate on anything

other than our brother’s health. The shared sorrow welded us into a

closer family and the realization of this brought a change in my life.

Thoughts of self seemed empty; childish pleasures began to lose their

charm. My life was now so bound up with the family that I could no

longer be lighthearted and free as before.

Reluctantly I realized I was taming down, through sorrow, not

discipline. My childhood pastime of painting took a more serious turn.

I even attempted to write imaginary stories about animals. Mother was

so pleased with my efforts she sent one of these stories to Aunt Irene

saying, “See what our little Nastia has done.” I now took a greater

interest in music and hoped that by working hard I might sing as well

as Mother or play like Olga. I loved Olga for her true kinship and

often kissed her hand for her understanding of us younger sisters.

A week or two was a long time for me to stick to anything. Again and

again I would revert to my childhood spirit but each time with less

of my former zest. My reputation of being a problem child persisted.

People often asked, “Where does the little one, small in size, store so

much, much energy? She has an endless supply of jokes and pranks.” Some

enjoyed my humor as I could tell from the expression on their faces,

and some did not.

Marie and I had all kinds of “properties” with which to carry out our

practical jokes. We had a set of stuffed animals which we called our

“Circus Kingdom.” We had a mechanical mouse, a yellow iridescent snake

with a moving head and a red, sharp tongue, a snapping turtle which

might tangle in a victim’s dress. Frightened, our victim would jump up

on a sofa or chair while Marie and I pretended to be equally scared and

put on an act with wide-open mouths.

Often, new attendants were warned to watch out for me and my pranks,

but in the end they suffered. In all these activities I was the leader

and most of the time in disgrace. Once Alexei sprinkled water over

me saying, “You must have been born in a dry summer, your jokes have

outgrown you.”

Perhaps my most effective toy for playing pranks was a large doll with

brown phosphorescent eyes that shone in the dark. This mechanical

doll, when wound, would open and close its eyes, making life-like,

blinking motions. On one occasion, I wound my doll while Marie was

watching at the bedroom door and, when we heard our victim coming, I

left the doll on the floor facing the door. We then jumped into our

beds and pretended we were asleep. The attendant, who had come to see

if we were all right, saw this awful thing on the floor in the dark

with its blinking eyes. Terrified she ran screaming into the hall and

awakened everyone on the whole floor. After this a sign was put up on

our playroom door which read, “Enter only by permission of Olga and

Tatiana.” This was designed to prevent Marie, Alexei, and myself from

entering the room at will.

In the face of recent family heartaches I was less and less proud of my

reputation as a prankster.

VI JUBILEE: 1913

The spring of 1913 marked the three hundredth anniversary of the

Romanov dynasty. Celebrations began with a great jubilee in St.

Petersburg. We arrived from Tsarskoe Selo a few days ahead of the

festivities and took up our residence in the Winter Palace. On the

first day we drove in open carriages through streets lined with troops

to the Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan where a picturesque ceremony was

held. It was a gray, cold and rainy day, in contrast to the brilliance

that awaited us inside the Cathedral.

According to custom the Tsar entered first, followed by the Heir to the

Crown. When Alexei appeared, it was not a strapping, healthy Tsarevich

to whom all the Grand Dukes and dignitaries bowed, but a frail little

boy of nine, carried in the arms of a Cossack. This was a sad moment

for us. We had hoped Alexei would at least be well enough to walk but

he had not recovered sufficiently from his recent illness. We stood

under a canopy in the middle of the great church. Alexei sat in a

chair. Mother worried about Alexei. She asked us to watch him also.

Dr. Derevenko stood nearby. We sisters were dressed in white, as was

Mother. She wore the blue ribbon of St. Andrew, the order studded

with diamonds and rubies. We had the red ribbon of the order of St.

Catherine with its dazzling star. Grandmother Marie stood with us,

trim and regal as always, blazing with diamonds, rubies and emeralds.

The elite of St. Petersburg were assembled here, a magnificent sight,

with the high clergy in golden robes and elaborate mitres, and the high

military dignitaries in uniforms embroidered in gold.

During the service a dove flew into the Cathedral and circled above

our canopy. Afterwards friends told us they were afraid it would fly

into the lighted candles and start a fire, but fortunately it flew out

of the church through a door. Since the dove is an important symbol

of peace in our religion, a representation of the Holy Ghost, we all

wondered if this event had a special significance. (It is worthwhile

mentioning that also during the coronation, Father said, “A pigeon flew

during the ceremonies.” Later, in Ekaterinburg on the day of tragedy,

while we were having our last walk in the yard, a pigeon flew over

us three times and then dashed repeatedly against the window.) After

the ceremony, in the afternoon, we were attired in national costumes,

as were our guests. Mother was especially beautiful, in her high

_kokoshnik_, with her white robe exquisitely embroidered in silver

and long veil. In the evening she wore a tiara of Catherine II and a

necklace of diamonds. It was valued at several million rubles. It was

so heavy that she used it in all only a few times. Olga and Tatiana

were attired in soft pink tulle gowns, Marie and I in white silk and

lace.

Some evenings later a ball was held in the Winter Palace. It was the

first official appearance for us two younger sisters, the first time we

participated in such a grand affair. I remember how excitedly we looked

forward to that occasion. Mother was indisposed that evening and, after

a short while, suggested that we leave early and go to our rooms.

Grandmother, however, took our side and asked Mother to let us stay

longer, and promised that she would personally look after us. Mother

burst into tears and said: “These women of St. Petersburg might talk

about the girls, and Anastasia’s jokes might be misinterpreted.”

I was very unhappy that evening for fear that every move I might make

or every word I might speak would be used against me. All the innocent

joy was taken from me that gala night for fear of those women’s sharp

tongues.

From St. Petersburg we proceeded by train to Moscow where the Jubilee

continued. On this occasion Mother wore the crown jewels. She never

cared for them after the unfortunate incident which occurred during

her early married life. At that time Granny felt that she still was

entitled to wear the crown jewels instead of the young Empress. In

the underground vaults in the Winter Palace there was a section where

Mother kept some of her personal jewels. Any time she wished to have

them, she notified the court chamberlain, Count Benckendorff, who sent

several responsible persons with papers to fetch the desired pieces

which were then brought under guard to Mother.

After the anniversary festivities we never spent another night

at the Winter Palace, our childhood home. But during the war my

sisters often stopped in the rooms for a glass of tea, after various

charitable meetings. It is sad to think what became of the treasures

stored in those vaults and elsewhere for generations, belonging not

only to the Imperial family but to the Russian people as well. These

treasures, worth billions of rubles, were held until the leaders of

the revolution, Lenin, Trotsky (Bronstein), Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld and

others got their clutches upon them. It was rumored that much of it

was divided among their relatives who came to our country for that

purpose and to kill and loot. These people and their successors have

been exporting our Russian national treasures, so long guarded by the

Imperial family, and selling them to foreign countries.

From Moscow we went to Vladimir, then to Nizhni Novgorod and to

Yaroslavl. The latter--an old historic city with a view of the wide

river--was a charming sight. I cannot even begin to describe the

enthusiastic reception. Throngs of children, cadets, the nobility and

the townspeople lined the streets right down to the dock. What a rich

sight from the river--this beautiful city on a little hill! The bells

were still ringing until we could no longer hear them. We passed an

expanse of meadows, shimmering fields, and the breeze was sweeping like

a soft veil over that heavenly country.

In every city there were similar festivities, and dinners with

many guests who had been especially selected to honor my Father and

my Mother. Father’s guests at dinner were mostly men, and Mother

entertained ladies in separate drawing rooms. The famous Plevitskaya

sang again and bowed gracefully before the appreciative audience. There

were many outstanding entertainments at which we made many new friends.

We were so tired at the end of our trip that Tatiana, in this mood,

said: “People and more people--I am tired of them!” Mother, overhearing

her say this, reprimanded her.

On our way to Kostroma we sailed on the Volga. People lined the shores,

some even wading into the water up to their waists. When our boat

developed some trouble and while the repairs were being made, the

people thronged the shores and sang “God Save the Tsar.” The Imperial

party was delayed in reaching Kostroma. It was in this terraced city

overlooking the Volga River that the Romanov dynasty had its official

beginning, and now a special ceremony was to be held to celebrate the

three hundredth anniversary of the Romanov reign.

At last we reached the city and proceeded to the monument of Susanin.

This was a column on which rested a bronze bust of the first Romanov

Tsar, Michael Feodorovich. This column was supported by the peasant,

Susanin. The latter was the Russian patriot who deliberately misled the

Polish army which had invaded Russia and asked Susanin to lead the way

to the whereabouts of the newly elected Tsar, who was in hiding. As a

result of Susanin’s false directions, the Polish army was destroyed and

was driven out. The plot of the famous opera, “A Life for the Tsar” by

Glinka, was drawn from this heroic incident. This opera was one of my

Father’s favorites. From the time of Feodor Romanov, a number of the

brides of the Grand Dukes upon marriage adopted Saint Feodor and took

the name of Feodorovna as a patronymic.

From the monument, the procession continued to the Ipatiev Monastery,

where the first Romanov was sheltered in 1613. In the monastery

courtyard was the beautiful Cathedral of the Holy Trinity and within

it stood the iconostasis and the throne of Tsar Michael Feodorovich.

This monastery had been built by a Tartar prince who was the founder of

the Godunov family and who was the first to be baptized there.

While in the Cathedral we visited the dark rooms in which Michael once

had lived. We sat on the chairs with the beautifully embroidered double

eagles on their backs, and drank tea from the original containers at

the same table once used by Tsar Alexei. In one of the rooms was a

portrait of Michael and Alexei Romanov. Both looked a little like my

Father. The legend tells us that Alexei was born on St. Job’s day, and

so was my Father. And their experiences were sad, but those of Alexei

were not as tragic as those of my Father.

Also, we went to the cemetery and laid an exquisite wreath made of

silver in the form of the cap of Monomakh and decorated with jewels on

the grave of Michael.

Parenthetically speaking, it was a strange coincidence that, in

Ekaterinburg in 1918, in the Ipatiev House, the last Emperor of Russia,

Nicholas II came to his tragic end. The Romanov dynasty was born in the

Ipatiev Monastery in Kostroma in 1613 and died in the Ipatiev House

in Ekaterinburg, three hundred and five years later. History tells

us that, at the election of Michael Feodorovich Romanov, a crippled

beggar woman who claimed to be a wandering saint had predicted that

the Romanov dynasty was born with Michael and would die with another

Michael. And so it happened. When Father abdicated, his brother Michael

succeeded him to the throne but soon abdicated.

Another strange incident was that a three hundred year old tree of

immense diameter, said to have been planted by Michael, had been cut

down just before we arrived in Kostroma. We saw it mounted on huge

wooden blocks to be preserved as an object of historical interest.

One of the members of our party on this trip was Prince Dolgorukov, a

direct descendant of the family that built the city of Kostroma and

also the first church in the Kremlin in Moscow. Prince Dolgorukov,

faithful friend of our family, followed us to Tobolsk and later to

Ekaterinburg where he, too, came to a tragic end.

The year 1913 also marked two hundred years since the seat of

government moved from Moscow to St. Petersburg in 1713.

During this entire trip we received many gifts and pictures, and our

albums were filled with photographs of historic events. On our way

home we stopped at the Nicholas Palace in Moscow. At the functions

there, Mother wore the old Slavonic robe and the crown jewels. These

jewels she never wore again after the Jubilee celebrations ended.

This was a year of many anniversaries and festivities. Several

regiments celebrated their hundredth anniversary. The Naval Cathedral

at Kronstadt was reconsecrated in celebration of its hundredth

anniversary. We attended all these functions.

Soon we were back in Tsarskoe Selo resuming our daily routine. During

this busy year Baroness Iza Buxhoeveden became lady in waiting,

replacing the young Princess Elizabeth (Lili) Obolensky whose health

had become impaired. Lili had taken several trips with us, including

the one to England. We had known Baroness Buxhoeveden previously.

She had already assumed some responsibilities in the palace. All the

ladies in waiting were required to be single and to come from titled

families. Mother did not believe in all the old court etiquette with

its traditions and restrictions. To her it did not matter whether these

young ladies were princesses or baronesses. She selected them on the

basis of the best possible ability, education and culture. Baroness

Buxhoeveden came from a Baltic family which had produced several

ambassadors. Her father had been an ambassador to Denmark.

The position of lady in waiting was an honorary one to which many young

ladies looked forward. To distinguish their rank from the other staff,

they received badges studded with diamonds, with Mother’s initial and

a crown on its top. Some were in silver and some in gold according to

their length of service. The ladies in waiting were not permitted to

discuss political affairs at any time and all the happenings were to be

kept in strict secrecy. They were not allowed to enjoy the company of

the officers and aides in the palace.

Their duty was to accept telephone calls for Mother and for us girls,

make notations of the calls, note incoming and outgoing telegrams,

filing them by date, and make a memorandum of all telegrams and

letters. They also were to chaperon us on drives or at any other

function. Maids, a footman and a carriage were provided for their

comfort. Extra ladies were called to the palace for the day if needed.

Later during our arrest in Tsarskoe Selo, our letters and telegrams did

not escape from being read. Iza shared our deprivations and followed

us later to Tobolsk, Siberia, but was not permitted entry into the

governor’s house.

PART II The First World War

VII EVE OF THE WAR: 1914

Early in the spring of 1914 we went to Livadia. Full days of school

work were continued here. M. Pierre Gilliard and our Russian tutor,

M. Peter Vasilievich Petrov, accompanied us as usual. Sometimes our

tutors were invited to lunch with us and afterwards joined us in our

hikes when the sun was bright and warm, or in some other recreational

pastime. Our hikes took us through the park or along the shore to Yalta

or to the Church of Alexander Nevsky on the opposite hill. Dinner was

the focal point of the day with friends and relatives as guests. We

children, especially, enjoyed Prince Igor Constantinovich and the Grand

Duke Dimitri Pavlovich. Aunt Ella, Mother’s older sister, the widow of

the Grand Duke Serge, brother of Alexander III, was another cherished

guest. She and Mother had similar religious views, having inherited

this mysticism from their mother, Princess Alice, Grand Duchess of

Hesse, daughter of Queen Victoria of England.

Grandmother Alice, I was told, was a student of religious history and

movements, having been inspired by her tutor, a theologian who was a

close friend of the Hesse family. He also had a direct influence on

Mother. This theologian imbedded into her thoughts the terrible fear

of sin. For years we children watched her struggle, trying to leave

this deeply-buried mysticism and return to reality. However, due to

the thoughtless criticism by my other grandmother, Father’s mother,

Marie Feodorovna, and also the unsympathetic attitude of the Russian

court, she sought comfort in this mysticism and her whole soul once

more overflowed with it. Then with the misfortune of her son’s illness,

she reverted to it all the more. At the same time she pretended not to

notice the criticism and tried to hide her pride; but her sensitive

heart suffered and the words which she should have spoken hardened in

her soul. Courtiers took her for a heartless, cold and eccentric woman.

She, having been raised by her austere grandmother, tried to carry

on in an efficient English manner. Even though her humble faith grew

stronger, her English upbringing never left her and she never became

a true Russian in manners, but in her heart and soul she was a better

Russian than most native-born Russians.

We boarded our yacht, the “Standard”, which had been brought to the

Crimean waters from the Baltic Sea via the North Sea. We went on

several short cruises on the Black Sea. Once we crossed to Constantsa

on the Rumanian coast to return a visit of King Carol and Queen

Elizabeth (Carmen Sylva) of Rumania. They had come to see us with their

grandnephew, the future King Carol II. It was an overnight trip to

Constantsa. Carmen Sylva at her late age was still beautiful, as also

was Princess Marie (Missy), wife of Prince Ferdinand; later they became

sovereigns of Rumania. During this visit Princess Marie and my sister

Olga developed a close friendship. The strained relationship between

Mother and Missy’s sister Victoria, who was divorced from Mother’s

brother Ernest, was improved; all was forgotten now. We had luncheon in

a pavilion which seemed to rise right out of the sea. From this vantage

point we could see many yachts and smaller boats cruising back and

forth for a closer look at the “Standard”.

In the afternoon, tea was served on board the “Standard” for the

members of the two families. After tea a great many dignitaries joined

us on board ship.

[Illustration:

1906]

[Illustration:

1913--JUBILEE YEAR]

THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA

[Illustration: COMMUNICATION. DATED JUNE 14TH, 1901 (OLD STYLE),

FROM THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS II TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES

ANNOUNCING THE BIRTH ON JUNE 5TH (OLD STYLE) OF THE GRAND DUCHESS

ANASTASIA] [Illustration: CONTINUATION OF COMMUNICATION ANNOUNCING THE

BIRTH OF ANASTASIA, SIGNED BY NICHOLAS II AND COUNTERSIGNED BY COUNT

LAMSDORF, MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The P.B. Corporation_

_ca._ 1896

THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The P.B. Corporation_

PETERHOF--1901

THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA, THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI

NICHOLAEVICH, AND THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS II ON A TENDER APPROACHING THE

“STANDARD”--_ca._ 1908 ]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The P. B. Corporation_

THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI, THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA, AND THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS

II--_ca._ 1908]

[Illustration: THE RUSSIAN IMPERIAL FAMILY ON VISIT TO BRITISH ROYAL

FAMILY--ENGLAND--1909

SEATED ON THE GROUND (l. to r.): THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI AND THE GRAND

DUCHESS ANASTASIA. SEATED ON CHAIRS (l. to r.): MARY, PRINCESS OF

WALES (LATER QUEEN MARY); NICHOLAS II; KING EDWARD VII; THE EMPRESS

ALEXANDRA; GEORGE, PRINCE OF WALES (LATER KING GEORGE V); AND THE

GRAND DUCHESS MARIE NICHOLAEVNA. STANDING (l. to r.): PRINCE EDWARD

DAVID (LATER PRINCE OF WALES AND KING EDWARD VIII, NOW THE DUKE OF

WINDSOR); QUEEN ALEXANDRA; PRINCESS MARY, NOW THE PRINCESS ROYAL,

DOWAGER COUNTESS OF HAREWOOD; PRINCESS VICTORIA; THE GRAND DUCHESS OLGA

NICHOLAEVNA; AND THE GRAND DUCHESS TATIANA NICHOLAEVNA.]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUKE ALEXANDER MIKHAILOVICH AND THE GRAND

DUCHESS XENIA ALEXANDROVNA AND THEIR CHILDREN (l. to r.): THE PRINCE

NIKITA, THE PRINCESS IRINA, AND THE PRINCES ANDREI, DIMITRI, VASILI,

FEODOR, AND ROSTISLAV--_ca._ 1909]

[Illustration: Царское Село.

ZARSKOJE SELO.

_Courtesy E. L. Packer_

ALEXANDER PALACE, TSARSKOE SELO--_ca._ 1912]

[Illustration: Ливадія. Дворецъ. Крымъ.

_Courtesy E. L. Packer_

THE NEW PALACE, LIVADIA--_ca._ 1912]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy E. L. Packer_

NICHOLAS II--_ca._ 1914]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy E. L. Packer_

THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA--_ca._ 1910]

[Illustration: THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI--_ca._ 1913]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The P. B. Corporation_

THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI TESTING FOOD OF RUSSIAN TROOPS--1911]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy E. L. Packer_

NICHOLAS II AND THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA--_ca._ 1914]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA--TSARSKOE SELO--1914]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE, TATIANA, ANASTASIA AND

OLGA--_ca._ 1913]

[Illustration: THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA WITH HER DAUGHTERS, THE GRAND

DUCHESSES OLGA, TATIANA, ANASTASIA AND MARIE--_ca._ 1913]

[Illustration: NICHOLAS II AND THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA AND THEIR

CHILDREN, THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE, TATIANA, OLGA AND ANASTASIA AND

THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI--_ca._ 1913]

[Illustration: NICHOLAS II AND THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA AND THEIR

CHILDREN (l. to r.) THE GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA, MARIE AND ANASTASIA, THE

TSESAREVICH ALEXEI AND THE GRAND DUCHESS TATIANA--_ca._ 1913]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The P.B. Corporation_

THE GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA AND TATIANA--_ca._ 1914]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The P.B. Corporation_

THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE AND ANASTASIA--_ca._ 1914]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESSES ANASTASIA, OLGA, TATIANA AND MARIE

ON BOARD THE “STANDARD”--1914] [Illustration:

_Photograph by the late Colonel N. Koishevski_

NICHOLAS II]

[Illustration:

_Photograph by the late Colonel N. Koishevski_

(l. to r.) THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA, THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA AND

PRESIDENT POINCARÉ

STATE VISIT OF FRENCH PRESIDENT RAYMOND POINCARÉ TO RUSSIA--1914]

That night a grand banquet was held in the beautifully decorated

pavilion overlooking the sea. The lights reflected on the water as

various craft sailed by, and the sound of music spread over the sea

like a cloud. It was a gala occasion with many garlands and flags

flying. I could not help watching Olga intently for I had overheard

someone say that this trip was planned with a view to her possible

marriage into the Rumanian royal family. At the dinner table Olga and

Prince Carol sat side by side, apparently having a good time. The

table was decorated with tricolors: red, white and blue, and small

gifts were exchanged. Olga received a Rumanian national costume which

was beautifully embroidered; the skirt was in a dark color woven in a

pattern of gold and silver thread, and the blouse daintily embroidered

in white. Princess Marie did not hesitate to admit that she herself

was a beauty, especially her blue eyes. She was the eldest daughter

of Prince Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, and the Grand Duchess Marie

Alexandrovna of Russia. She was named Marie Alexandra Victoria, after

both her grandmothers, the Russian Empress Marie Alexandrovna and Queen

Victoria of England. As already mentioned, her younger sister Victoria

Melita (Ducky) was the divorced wife of Mother’s brother Ernest of

Hesse; she was now married to the Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich.

Another sister, Alexandra (Sandra), married Prince Ernest of

Hohenlohe-Langenburg. A third sister was Beatrice (Baby B.), wife of

the Infante Alfonso of Spain, first cousin of Alfonso XIII.

I was filled with a compelling interest I had never before experienced.

But when we sailed away that night, I learned it had been decided Olga

was too young to marry. Later she told us that she would rather stay

single than marry outside of Russia. We sisters were so happy we could

not help teasing her about losing a husband. It was a good thing that

Alexei did not know about Olga; he would have been sick with worry that

she might leave Russia. Later I wished Olga had married at that time,

she might be alive today.

During the war Prince Carol came to Russia several times and stayed

with us for a few days. Once he was accompanied by Prime Minister

Bratianu. However, even this time, Olga was not given an opportunity of

being left with him alone for one single minute, entirely apart from

others. There were always ladies in waiting and we the younger ones

excitedly were in and out of the room. She had no chance to hold his

hand and less of being kissed.

Nor was any one else given an opportunity to be with Olga unchaperoned.

It was in Tobolsk that Mother first realized her mistake in not giving

more independence to her older daughters.

Olga was named after my Aunt Olga. She was tall, slender, blonde with

a lovely fresh complexion. Her eyes were a lustrous blue, her nose was

slightly turned up. She often jokingly referred to it as “the little

stub”. When she smiled she displayed beautiful white teeth. As I look

back, I am more and more appreciative of her fine character. She was an

omnivorous reader and wrote some stories which she sent to Aunt Missy,

Queen Marie of Rumania, who in turn sent Olga stories she had written.

Olga’s poetry was destroyed by herself at the time of the revolution.

She had a deep religious faith and often sat beside a patient at

the hospital praying that God might spare the life of the young

soldiers. Her touch on the piano was excellent and was able to master

the most difficult compositions of Tchaikovsky, Wagner, Mozart, and

Beethoven. Mother and Olga often played duets on the piano. Her talent

for composing and writing was inherited from her Danish and Romanov

sides which boasted a long line of artists, poets, sculptors and

musicians. She was a mezzo soprano; she memorized musical compositions

very easily. Mr. Konrad was her musical instructor, as well as ours.

Father’s favorite was Tchaikovsky’s “Chanson Sans Paroles”. When she

played it for him, his face lighted up with pleasure. She loved Father

tenderly. Often, when Father was troubled, he talked over his problems

with Olga and permitted no other member of the family to be present.

She loved children and sponsored several who were confined to the

hospital. She even provided for their education by setting aside money

from her allowance.

Going back to our Rumanian cruise, we arrived in Odessa at night, where

the Imperial train was ready to take us to Kishinev for the unveiling

of the monument to Alexander I. I remember the trip especially because

Alexei misbehaved. No doubt this was due to fatigue brought on by the

heat on the train. In Kishinev we were the guests of the Governor,

an old friend, who wore the longest beard I have ever seen, reaching

almost to his waist.

At the tea which followed, champagne was served. At an opportune

moment, Alexei took a glass of champagne and drank it down before

anyone could stop him. Soon this champagne took effect and he became

very gay so that all the ladies, old and young surrounded him. I never

realized he possessed such a sense of humor. Youngster that he was,

he did not realize what the champagne had done to him. Of course the

family was terrified at this display. In the evening back on the train

when the effect had worn off, Father gave him a scolding and he was put

to bed.

We children now realized that Alexei’s illness and the Jubilee had

brought our studies to a virtual halt. Alexei and I used to have

our French lessons together, but now he was far ahead of me. French

was much easier for him than for me. I was really bored with all my

studies. When I entered the classroom, my face grew long, but when

school hours were over, I shot out of the detested place like a bullet.

As a result my tutors were not fond of me and I felt their disapproval.

We had been home a short while when the world was shocked at the news

of the assassination of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria and

his wife on the streets of Sarajevo, on June 28th, 1914. After that

date Father spent very little time with us. He was constantly busy

with his ministers, diplomats and the Grand Dukes. The President of

France, M. Poincaré, spent four or five days with us at Alexandria

Cottage in Peterhof. He was as complaisant as President Fallières whom

he had recently replaced. Father felt drawn to him from the start,

admiring his diplomacy and friendly manner. Several dinners were given

in his honor with the Imperial family attending. Everyone looked grave

and alarmed, and I gathered matters must be serious. Why should the

assassination of an Austrian be so threatening to Russia? I was told

that Russia had an agreement which might implicate us all unless the

affair could be settled amicably. The hour the President departed, the

Austrian ultimatum was served at once on Russia and on Serbia.

Out of this puzzling dilemma which hung over Russia, two things

were clear to me: the quiet paleness of Father and Mother’s tearful

entreaties imploring that Russia be kept out of war. Mother kept

repeating, “The country is not recovered from one war before it is in

another.” She was thinking of the Japanese war, whose horrors were

still fresh in her mind. Mother’s agonized face vividly foreshadowed

the tragedy ahead.

Every summer there was a review of regimental maneuvers at Krasnoe

Selo (near Tsarskoe Selo). This time they were held in honor of King

Frederick Augustus III of Saxony. We sisters enjoyed horses and each

had a favorite horse of her own. Tatiana especially knew a great deal

about them, since she had been taught riding by a competent riding

master, but so did we all. The two older sisters were unusually

graceful on horseback, more so than Marie and I.

Cossack horses were especially fascinating to me, since they seemed

to understand one’s very thoughts. Tatiana described to me how the

Cossack and his horse grow up together. Training begins when the young

Cossack is given a horse, a progeny of a Cossack horse, trained to

the requirements of the Cossack regiment. From then on boy and horse

are one, inseparable, each learning to understand the other: the boy

is the head and the horse is the body. When the responses are mutual,

they are ready to enter actively the Cossack regiment. I often wished I

were a boy so that I might be a Cossack with a noble horse and wear a

stunning uniform.

We drove speedily past the cheering crowds. To see these maneuvers was

most interesting and exciting as we watched from the Imperial pavilion.

In one performance a large unit trotted in perfect formation, then

suddenly all the riders jumped off their horses in unison, then jumped

back on their saddles without a single horse breaking its gait or

changing its speed. In another exercise each horseman threw his black

cape around his own shoulders and over his horse, so skilfully that the

cape covered both horse and rider. There were many stunts and jumps

over wide trenches filled with water; no one fell into them. During

the luncheon, which was served under tents following the exercise, a

message came stating that Austria-Hungary had declared war on Serbia

(August 1st, 1914). At once we left for home.

I remember previous years when I was taken to see the review of the

troops annually in May. All the society of St. Petersburg felt it was a

privilege to pay hundreds of rubles for a box seat at these maneuvers.

The proceeds from the sale of tickets went to charities. I still carry

in my mind that upon our approach a signal was given and cheers spread

along the quays.

Our carriages were drawn each by two pairs of pure white horses. Father

always rode to the left side of Mother’s and Grandmother’s equipage,

accompanied by the staff. We sisters followed swiftly in our carriage

between the lines of troops until we reached the Imperial box under a

green tent. Father reviewed his troops. First to march were the men

of his own Preobrazhensky regiment, then the Hussars, the Pavlovsky

regiment, the Lancers, the cuirassiers and the others.

Father did not think that the Emperor Francis Joseph would wage war on

Serbia on account of the killing of the Archduke and his wife. Father

thought so because of the remark the old Emperor had made, in the

presence of Father and persons about him, that the Archduke was good

for nothing, that not a bone in his body was worth saving, and that he

was not fit to carry the Crown.

During the latter part of the war several captured, high-ranking

Austrian officers told the Court Chamberlain, General Tatishchev,

that the old Emperor was directly responsible for the Sarajevo

incident and that the Archduke was purposely sent there, where he was

hated and murdered by oppressed Bosnians of the Dual Monarchy. The

officers thought it was a deliberate excuse to provoke war and the

aim was to destroy the little Kingdom of Serbia and take it under

control as had happened earlier with Bosnia and Herzegovina. They

knew that this little country would not be able to resist the two

powers, Austria-Hungary and Germany. But those millions of suppressed

plucky Serbs had already endured deprivation of freedom and arrests

and confiscation of their property under the Dual Monarchy. They

were determined to defend what was left of their country from being

dismembered again, and all were willing to die for the right to live in

their own land.

Father sent a telegram to Kaiser Wilhelm asking that the

Austro-Hungarian-Serbian dispute be tried by the International

Arbitration Court at The Hague. He also sent word to King Carol of

Rumania to wire the Kaiser that Russia did not want war. But all was

in vain. They took the killing of this good-for-nothing Archduke as a

deliberate excuse, even though the murder was committed by their own

citizens who resented the Dual Monarchy. It was common knowledge that

Russian mobilization which was under way was directed against Austria,

not Germany.

VIII NO CHOICE BUT WAR

Events moved rapidly. Austria and Germany declared war on Serbia. More

than ever Father was shut away from us, doing all in his power to keep

Russia out of the conflict. But Russia was an ally of Serbia. There was

no choice. German and Austrian troops were already mobilized and were

conducting maneuvers near our border, and soon we, too, were in war.

Mother wept copiously. “Why,” she asked, “should millions of Russians

lose their lives because one man is killed? Wilhelm has brought this

on. I never trusted him. I never forgave him the humiliation and

indignities toward our Granny (Queen Victoria).” My thoughts flew back

to the visit in Germany when the Kaiser was my friend. Only two years

ago we had exchanged jokes. Now he was Russia’s enemy, Mother’s enemy,

and mine. Wilhelm, Mother’s own cousin.

Before we knew it the Austrian troops were threatening the old Russian

fortification of Bendery. I was filled with forebodings. Being a

believer in dreams, I tried to interpret a dream I had had the night

before this news arrived. I dreamed that the forest on the Russian

western border was ablaze. I could hear the crackling of the timber and

could see fierce fire raging high into the sky.

A few years later, during my escape, I crossed these same forests and

remembered my dream. Then the trees were not on fire but lay with

their huge roots pulled out of the ground--witnesses of the terrific

suffering and tragedy that had occurred there.

At Tsarskoe Selo that evening, after the news of the German advance, we

prayed to the Almighty, hoping that disaster could still be averted and

peace could be maintained. We realized how much Father was suffering

when he appeared late for dinner. His face was pale, his bearing

indicated anguish. He said, “Russia has no choice but war, when the

armies of Germany and Austria are already on Russian soil.” Mother

burst into tears, and so did we all. Supper was not finished that

night. We left the table. That same evening, Foreign Minister Sazonov

and the British Ambassador, Sir George Buchanan, spent half of the

night conferring with Father. The next day Father was at his desk at

five in the morning, working until breakfast. Alexei, who was ill, did

not know about the war until the next morning.

In the afternoon we all went to St. Petersburg, except Alexei. As we

were entering the Winter Palace, people gathered in the square and

surrounded us as they cheered. After an old Russian tradition they

kissed Father’s shoulders and Mother’s skirt. This display of loyalty

brought tears to Mother’s eyes. Father went directly to a meeting at

the huge Nicholas Concert Hall with the ministers and generals. Then

the Te Deum was sung. When Father appeared on the balcony of the Winter

Palace to read the Manifesto declaring war, all of us children and

other relatives stood behind him. At once the voices died down and all

was quiet as though the whole world had suddenly fallen asleep. The

thousands of people who had assembled in the square knelt down, their

garments making a rustling sound, and in unison sang “God Save the

Tsar.” At this time Father took an oath that he would never make peace

so long as one enemy remained on Russian soil. Then he promised his

people that he would defend all the Slavs, even if he would have to

shed his own blood. It was a painful moment to announce to the people

that war was an actuality.

We returned to Alexandria and several days later we all left for

Moscow. We were greeted with the same enthusiasm there. The church

bells rang continually as we passed from the station to the Kremlin.

People were everywhere, on roof tops, balconies and trees. The Russian

national anthem was heard repeatedly along the way. Alexei was ill, and

had to be carried to the Cathedral of the Assumption to hear the Te

Deum. The patriotic demonstrations lasted three days. “Ura” (hurrah)

resounded everywhere. From Moscow we went near by to Sergievo to pray

at the celebrated Troitsko-Sergievskaya Lavra. Practically every living

person in the area lined the streets to the monastery, the richest and

most important monastery in Russia. It covered a large territory and

was surrounded by a lofty, thick wall with many towers. It contained

some dozen of churches and many historical treasures, some dating from

ancient days. Many pages of Russian history had been devoted to this

monastery, about the heroic defense by the monks in 1608 against the

Poles. Here were the tombs of Tsar Boris Godunov and his family. Here

Father received an icon to carry with him through the battles. This

icon was sent to the field chapel at General Headquarters and remained

there to the last.

With war an actuality, all Russia seemed to unite in a determination

to win a quick victory. Whenever Father travelled, the people greeted

him enthusiastically; sometimes the whole family went with him and

heard him deliver his war messages. During these trips the air was full

of unity and the family never felt closer to the people. Many letters

were received from students who begged to be allowed to go to war. “A

beautiful patriotism,” Father said. “But how little they understand

what war is.”

During the first days of the war, all factions drew together in a great

patriotic surge. We saw some of our own relatives return to Russia to

take part in the war. We sisters hardly knew some of these relations.

All helped in the war effort; even our frail Grandmother did her bit in

hospital work. Later she spent a great deal of time in Kiev, with her

younger daughter Olga, our aunt, who worked in her own hospital there

as a Sister of Mercy. Being so near the front, she received the most

critical cases.

Life in the palace quickened. For days on end Mother could not think

of anything but the hospitals. Were they adequate for the most certain

strain ahead? She was not ignorant of the heavy task. In her younger

days, before her marriage, she had taken up medicine for a while,

knowing that the dreaded haemophilia might be in her genes. She wanted

to be prepared to take personal care of any children she might have in

the event they should inherit it. Later on, through the long illness of

Alexei and during the war, her previous knowledge of this affliction

helped enormously in her work. Mother also had a medical library on the

second floor in Tsarskoe Selo, where in addition to texts, all kinds

of anatomical diagrams and other materials could be found. Even before

the war she was an excellent organizer of hospitals and charitable

institutions, being particularly interested in orphanages. In addition

to her medical training, Mother had studied philosophy in one of the

German universities. In fact I recall the very drawer in the desk in

a room on the balcony where she kept her documents and other papers

of this nature. Most of all, I was always sure, Mother was determined

to meet with courage any problems she had to face. So now, a nurses’

course was arranged for Mother, Olga and Tatiana, so that they might

serve the wounded more effectively.

Alexei no longer played at soldiering. He was now in serious military

training. In Father’s study there was always a chair for Alexei,

where he sat on certain days listening to various reports brought

by the Ministers. He was not allowed to make any comments at these

conferences, although, after the Ministers left, he could ask questions

about anything that puzzled him.

“If Alexei could take part in things, why not I?” Mother said,

“During a war there are first duties. Yours is to continue your

education in order to be useful later on.” How disappointing. Yet

the war-electrified patriotism compelled me to dig in at my school

work and to pursue my formal education. Stirring sounds of bands and

marching feet often disturbed my good intentions. I learned the meaning

of discipline and self-sacrifice from the men under arms.

My newly awakened conscientiousness would not let me waste a minute.

Besides working on my lessons, I joined a group of young women in

hemming children’s dresses for various charities. Later under Marie’s

supervision we worked in the palace workroom on garments and often we

called officers of Father’s own regiment on duty in the palace to turn

the wheels of the sewing machines and sort the garments.

We had learned sewing at an early age because Mother had always

stressed its importance in any woman’s life. She, herself, was expert

at sewing and during the early years of her marriage made some of the

layettes for us infants. Many of her embroideries sold at benefits

and some handmade blouses in silk or linen, beautifully tucked and

embroidered, went as gifts to our relatives in England and in Germany.

Grandmother, too, was clever at hand work. She could repair her own

exquisite handkerchiefs so perfectly one would never know they had

been mended. Grandmother could knit well, too; during the war she made

fine woolen gloves for the soldiers and sent some to Father. Marie and

I concentrated on socks, gloves, and caps, and received our war news

while we were knitting in the evening. War and our mutual problems

became the greatest teachers of responsibility. When I became the

honorary chief of a regiment, the 148th Caspian Infantry, the monthly

reports I received of my regiment brought to me news of the losses in

dead and wounded. These reports were frightening and I ran to Olga to

find what could be done to ease the situation. She said; “Hundreds of

wounded are coming every day and it is horrible the way they suffer.” I

heard that the German losses were even greater.

Once again I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up. Soon after this,

Mother allowed Marie and me to visit our own hospital more often. As

we entered the building they were carrying a wounded man with bloody

bandages. He was taken directly to the operating room; a moment later

they carried him right out again. The doctors had found he was already

dead when he was brought to the operating room. I had a dizzy spell.

I was ill. No, I never could be a doctor. The sight of that poor boy

could never be erased from my mind. For weeks I could smell blood.

Red became a haunting color with its reminder of the horror of that

picture. Even red medicine made me ill all over again.

Day after day Olga and Tatiana worked beside Mother at the hospital.

They got up at seven, attended lectures, and then again resumed their

hospital work. In the evening, they read while knitting. I could not

understand how they endured it all. It was comforting, however, to

learn that Olga, like me, could not bear to see suffering. Tatiana was

like Mother in her ability to see beyond the suffering to the relief

she was able to give. Doctors were scarce, and Mother assisted in many

operations. Each day before going to the hospital she stopped at the

Znamensky Sobor, the little church she had restored, to pray that her

hands might be blessed with the power to do things right. She felt so

obligated to each wounded soldier, she wanted to nurse him with her own

hands to relieve his suffering. At the sight of each new patient she

prayed anew for the war to end. She spent all day at the hospital and

came home exhausted and would lie on her sofa for a short rest.

With tragedy on all sides Father ordered strict economy. Every possible

kopeck must be saved to benefit the soldiers. Mother reduced our staff

of servants. Our meals became simpler. Father insisted that the Court,

without exception, must observe all the restrictions. These economies

were not too difficult for us children, since we had not been brought

up to expect extravagant luxuries. Mother had always preached to us

against wastefulness, and against idleness. These ideals were now

more necessary. We accepted whatever we received with appreciation.

We had very few dresses. I wore the ones handed down from my sisters.

Being much smaller than they, the fit was not perfect and required

alterations. A few tucks here and there made me happy in them. When we

did get a new dress we were so careful with it that we could hardly

bear to sit down. Each of us had definite duties to perform.

Olga and Tatiana continued their studies and carried on with their

hospital work and also made out schedules for us younger sisters for

the next day. In addition they checked supplies for the hospitals,

attended meetings for charitable organizations, and supervised the

raising of money through concerts and plays. Many of the leading

artists donated their services and large sums were raised for the

expanding hospitals and other charities. Our friend Madame Plevitskaya

proved most helpful by generously donating her time and her talent to

the war effort. Mother eagerly awaited reports showing the financial

account of these benefits.

Marie and I selected gramophone records to be sent to the convalescent

wards, also books which the soldiers might like to read. We ordered

fruit, candies, cakes, games, stationery, soap and pencils. Box after

box was taken to the hospitals. Sometimes we played dominoes with the

men, or watched those who could play croquet, or wrote letters to their

families.

Our playrooms were now deserted. Alexei’s electric automobile had been

stored under the slide. His special duties kept him occupied, as did

his class work. When he did go for a ride, with a friend or with one of

his cousins, he made it appear as if they were engaged in an important

war project.

With the beginning of war most gaiety ceased. Benefits became the

social functions; anyone not helping was out of fashion. Everyone

worked together to make each benefit a successful affair. To raise

money, photographs of the Imperial family were sold. There were name

days set aside when one member of the family was played up throughout

Russia; the newspapers helped in the competition. It was exciting to

see whose photographs sold best. Tatiana proved a great favorite with

the people.

Many relatives and friends turned their homes into hospitals, often

paying the expenses themselves. In addition, they devoted all their

time to the wounded. Some had as many as seventy patients in their

residences. Olga designed an attractive calendar, each page gave the

historical event of that day. It became a favorite and was ordered by

the thousand. Aunt Olga, Father’s sister, made drawings and paintings

which brought large sums to charities. Moreover there were outright

gifts in large amounts. A banker named Yaroshinsky donated over a

quarter of a million rubles. Yaroshinsky was assistant manager of

Mother’s own hospital train. He reappears later in my memories of

Tobolsk and Ekaterinburg.

In 1915, before Father took over the Supreme Command of the Russian

Armies in the Field, there were occasional officers’ balls. Father and

Mother attended these affairs but stayed only long enough to show their

interest in them, always having in mind that it might be their last

gaiety. Marie and I were too young to attend any of these functions at

this time, but Olga and Tatiana went. When they were dressed to leave

they came to show themselves to Marie and me that we might have a

little touch of festivity. Their joy in being gowned in evening clothes

instead of the customary nurse’s uniform made them radiantly happy.

Their eyes sparkled and their cheeks were flushed, making them look

more beautiful, so that I was sure each might meet her Prince. Mother

always wanted her daughters to be poised and act natural in the company

of men. It was all so romantic, I could hardly wait until I, too, could

go to such affairs. My sisters looked every bit the princesses they

were, soft and graceful in manner, stately and tall, and we younger

sisters had to be told about these parties over and over again in every

detail.

Aunt Olga, Father’s sister, from the kindness of her heart realized,

while the young men were at the front, the young ladies at home were

more than ever appreciative of a little gaiety. She, too, planned

several parties at her home in Petrograd (the new name for St.

Petersburg). These usually came on Sunday when we met a great many

young people. At other times, we were asked to see stage plays at

Countess Sheremetieva’s. The Countess was a close friend of our Aunt

Olga. We had a wonderful time at these parties.

Aunt Olga was very close to us girls, more like a sister than an aunt,

only thirteen years older than my sister Olga. She understood the art

of living; she was full of life and gaiety; her visits brought joy to

our lives. When she left, it seemed all the fun went with her. She

loved sports; besides tennis she liked skating and skiing; she played

a good game of billiards, often with her mother; also croquet and

many other games. She was an excellent painter. Her religious art was

appreciated by many churches. She was a woman of deep faith and loved

her religion. Mother and Aunt Olga often talked about religion. The

latter had a good voice and played several instruments. An excellent

linguist she spoke at that time Russian, English, French and had some

command of both Danish and German.

Her love for peasants was great. She disliked formality, and was happy

to by-pass the rules of etiquette, which were forced upon the royal

families. She considered them old-fashioned. She loved to dress like

a peasant. Because of her liberal views she became a target of cheap

gossip. Her husband, Prince Peter of Oldenburg, was chronically ill.

Uncle Peter was tremendously rich, but all his wealth could not give

her the child she so longed for. For this marriage my Grandmother was

responsible. Finally and after fifteen years of marriage the Grand

Duchess obtained an annulment, against my Father’s wishes, and married

Colonel Nicholai Koulikovsky, a tall handsome officer, who was her

former husband’s aide-de-camp and the head of her hospital in Kiev.

For this she was criticized by gossiping women, but Aunt Olga felt it

was her own affair and not that of the women who did nothing good in

their lifetime but interfered with the lives of others. Prince Peter

indeed was nice but companionship alone was not enough to make their

marriage completely successful. This condition caused a strained family

relationship, and she was eventually to be exiled. But while we were

in Tobolsk even Father wrote to her.

While Grandmother was in Petrograd, even for a short visit, she

utilized her time folding bandages with her companions. Olga and

Tatiana after their meetings in the Winter Palace often drove to

the Anichkov Palace to take tea with Granny. They brought us news

of her. When she was not well, Mother sent us children to see her.

We took along some delicacies as a present. For some reason I felt

uncomfortable and self-conscious in Grandmother’s presence. I could not

help but admire her; she carried herself in such a stately manner in

her pretty clothes, mostly black.

During the early part of the war, Mother took us to Moscow to see

our Aunt Ella (Elizabeth), whose husband, the Grand Duke Serge, was

murdered by a bomb. I did not remember Aunt Ella in any other way than

in a nun’s costume with its finely draped habit covering her hair

entirely. Her features were beautiful and symmetrical. Many highly

titled men would have given anything if she would but consider a second

marriage; some even made suggestions to Mother who, knowing her sister,

realized it was useless.

I learned a great deal of history from her. She told us that when she

first came to Russia as the bride of Serge Alexandrovich, she studied

the Greek Orthodox religion with the court priest for several years

before she felt sufficiently versed in it to join the Church. The night

before Uncle Serge’s name day, she said to him, “I have a gift for your

name day.” “A piece of jewelry?” “No, my dear, something more precious

to you.” At breakfast next morning she said, “My gift to you today is

my embracing the Greek Orthodox religion.” Uncle Serge replied: “This

is the happiest day of my life since our marriage.”

In 1914 when Aunt Ella was with us in the Crimea, she told us sisters

that during the Japanese war Uncle Serge offered to take command of the

army, confident that he would win and prevent a civil war. But Count

Witte, the Prime Minister, opposed it. A controversy ensued and the two

men became enemies. After the signing of the peace treaty, which was

encouraged by the President of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt,

Uncle Serge and Count Witte fought over it.

Soon after this someone threw a bomb at Uncle Serge as he was leaving

the Kremlin in a sleigh. Aunt Ella heard the explosion and she knew

it was intended for her husband. This occurred just outside the gate.

She and her lady in waiting ran out to find only the remnants of his

body which the two gathered with their bare hands for burial. They also

gathered the pieces of his torn uniform which Aunt Ella enclosed in a

holder in the shape of a cross and later kept in her convent cell. It

was after his death that Aunt Ella went into the convent of Martha and

Mary. From then on she wore a habit of her order in soft pale gray,

which was artistically draped around her head. She thought Count Witte

was behind the man who killed her husband. Yet she forgave them. She

even sent food, cigarettes, and clothing to the prisoners who had

murdered her husband and frequently went to visit them in prison in

spite of Father’s objections.

Many sufferings and much unrest took place while Count Witte was

Prime Minister (1905-6). Madame Narishkina often spoke to us children

about the opening of the Duma in 1906. She said that at the time

Mother, Grandmother and many others cried when during a reception

people marched to the Tauride Palace singing the revolutionary song.

She said, “Witte gave all the power to the Duma, and because of the

character of this power the Duma was dissolved in 1906.” But it left

the most damaging results, and these effects germinated and were ripe

at the opening of the Fourth Duma in 1912. Witte was still living at

that time. Even during the war the Duma so jeopardized the life of the

nation that finally it collapsed.

The news from the front was for a time encouraging; there was talk of a

short war. People seemed to work harder than ever. At this time Father

was often summoned to the telephone which he did not want to have on

his desk in his study. Even while Father was on his daily short walks,

frequently an officer on a velocipede was dispatched to fetch him on an

urgent matter.

IX FAMILY HEARTACHES

The news from the front was bad. There were serious reverses. Father

was staggered. The people and the army were dissatisfied with Grand

Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich, who was in command of the Russian armies at

the front. A change had become imperative.

My father now decided to take over the Supreme Command of the Russian

Armies in the Field. He realized that a tragic hour was at hand. The

Army already had begun to show disunity, under the Grand Duke Nicholai

Nicholaevich who continually complained about Father, not only to

Grandmother and our Aunts but also to the officers of the high command.

Father thought that this older giant who was at least 6′ 4′′, would be

better off in the warmer climate of the Persian front as he suffered

from rheumatism. But the Grand Duke claimed that Father was jealous of

his position.

Father’s decision meant going to General Headquarters and entrusting

the government to others in his absence, hoping for the wholehearted

support of the Duma. It also meant separation from the family. Mother

believed completely that this was the correct decision, but never from

that moment on was she free from constant worry.

Before his departure Mother drove with Father to the Cathedral of Sts.

Peter and Paul, then to Our Lady of Kazan to pray for guidance in his

undertaking and to dedicate all, even life itself, to the task. Then

they crossed the Troitsky bridge over the Neva, which was built as a

memorial to the silver wedding anniversary of Alexander III and Marie

Feodorovna.

At this time Mother believed she saw the sign of a cross in the sky.

This saddened her, for she became worried that Father by taking command

would encounter personal danger. She dreaded lest he become the victim

of some fanatic assassin, as was his grandfather, Alexander II.

We realized this risk when we went to the Alexander Station to see

Father entrain for Mogilev. The waiting room was filled with guards

and secret police. No one was admitted except by special permit. Even

ministers and relatives could not enter except by invitation. When the

big, blue, Imperial train, with its double eagle crest, pulled out of

the station, we saw Father standing at the wide window of his sitting

room.

It was a comfort to know that each hundred feet of track was guarded by

a soldier against accidents or bombs. No one knew in which car Father

rode. All the church bells rang until the train was no longer in sight.

The Nicholas railway on which they travelled provided a direct line to

General Headquarters. Several days before the trip, roads were searched

and guards were posted. As a further precaution, railroad tracks

crossing the Nicholas line were removed until Father’s train passed.

Once he said, “I have known from my early years that I will fall a

victim for my country.” Nevertheless, Father disliked all the fuss.

With Father speeding away from us, we knew he would carry on

efficiently and with determination. Of course he would miss his family,

but we were going to send him letters daily and an occasional package

containing needed articles. We often sent him fruit and books and

occasionally flowers received from Livadia. I can still hear Mother

say, as she examined the flowers while placing them in the box,

“When one sees these heavenly blossoms, how can one be reconciled to

this terrible war?” Whatever went into each package was lovingly and

tenderly packed; and Father knew it. Mother often packed everything

with her own hands and made a list of what she included. A jaeger

(messenger), an aide-de-camp, or a relative waited until it was ready.

Mother sometimes handed the package to him personally and he departed

to the undisclosed destination where Father was. There was always a

letter in the package, describing our activities, sometimes only a

note from Mother, containing a language just the two of them could

understand, words that made her love sing in Father’s heart.

In going to General Headquarters, Father discarded all conventionality.

He went behind the lines to fight with his men in arms. He took it as a

matter of faith that it was his duty to sacrifice everything in order

to save Russia. He promised to do so the day he took the Crown. He

said, “I shall not allow my people to be insulted and to be trampled

upon by the enemy.”

His cheerful disposition gave great inspiration and happiness to the

Army whom he loved more than his family; here he found happiness among

his men in arms.

We heard of victories. Surely the war would soon end especially since

reports from the front showed that prisoners were captured by tens of

thousands at a time. “A supreme success,” Father wrote home. No wonder

a few months later the Kaiser wanted to sign a peace.

Spring, 1916. Father sent word it would be impossible for him to

be with us at Easter. This was his first absence from home at this

important holiday, which in the Greek Orthodox religion is celebrated

more fervently than Christmas. Instead he sent Mother a gift from

G.H.Q., a most beautiful Easter egg, which he himself had designed.

It was indeed a rare gift, made by Fabergé himself because his many

workers were at the front and some of them had been killed. M. Fabergé

delivered it in person, and, in our presence, Mother opened the

beautifully wrapped package and exclaimed, “It is exquisite. How can

human hands make such a beautiful work of art?” Then, when she opened

the egg itself, five dainty miniatures of us children unfolded in a

row. Father had remembered Mother’s expressed wish to own a miniature

of us children. M. Fabergé beamed with pleasure, as did Mother and we

children. That Easter the service was held by Father Vassiliev at the

Feodorovsky Sobor and we all took Communion.

Easter afternoon was the customary time to distribute gifts to the

hospital patients. These consisted of china eggs and real eggs and some

sweets. We “tied” hundreds of the special china eggs. They had been

decorated with the gold-crested double eagle with Mother’s initials

on one side and the Red Cross emblem on the other. Usually they had

the hole lengthwise from one end to the other so that a ribbon could

be pulled through to be suspended below an icon under which there was

a burning lamp (lampadka). Also, special Easter eggs were made by

Fabergé, and Father distributed them to the Allied Mission as well as

to deserving men. Mother, too, sent some of these to Petrograd to the

English Hospital for Lady Sybil Grey so that she might give them to her

patients. Mother also sent a beautifully hand-painted one to Lady Sybil

herself in appreciation for her excellent work at the hospital, also to

Lady Buchanan. Our household maids received gold enamel bijou trinkets;

many girls wore a necklace of them for six weeks preceding Ascension

Day.

This particular Easter afternoon, a little family argument ensued

between Mother and Olga, who wanted to wear a pretty dress for this

occasion. Mother insisted that Olga and Tatiana wear their nurse’s

uniforms as usual. There were pleadings, opinions, and disagreements,

but Mother stood her ground. We all went to the hospital to which we

were assigned and we sisters agreed among ourselves that Mother was

wrong and unfair to deny a change for the two young girls, who would

have found pleasure in appearing before the patients in a different

dress. In the evening, Alexei came running into our bedroom. He was

excited and upset. He informed us that “Olga was crying.” He ran to

his tutor’s room and returned. We rushed into her bedroom and tried to

comfort her, assuring her that we felt Mother had been unjust. Olga

soon forgot the whole thing and Mother never knew of our indignation.

Mother worried about Father’s loneliness, in the midst of

responsibilities and without the comforts of home and family. However,

Mother was quite surprised when Father wrote that he had no time to

be lonely, and that, on his next trip home, he would take Alexei with

him to G.H.Q. M. Gilliard, his Swiss tutor, and others would accompany

Alexei, so that his studies need not be neglected. Dina Derevenko and

Nagorny would watch over him. Dr. Fedorov was already at G.H.Q. as

Father’s physician and also as lecturer to the Headquarters hospital

staff.

The more Mother thought on this subject the more reasonable it seemed

to her. Alexei would learn military science first hand. He would get

acquainted with officers and men, and learn about war in general and

foreign representatives in particular. Above all, he would be the best

possible company for his Father. So Alexei left home--in tears. It was

the first time he had been separated from Mother. While Alexei was

away, Mother would slip into his room every day and pray on her knees

beside his empty bed. His absence was a heartrending experience for

her. We tried hard to comfort and console her by showing how much we,

too, missed the little fellow.

So Alexei joined his Papa, but now Mother’s worries began to increase.

She telephoned almost every day, asking about Father’s and Alexei’s

health. She wondered whether Alexei was getting the proper food, having

enough sleep. Was he careful, or was Father too busy to pay attention

to Alexei? In spite of these worries she was proud to hear that they

were together, sharing the same room.

While Mother worried, Alexei was proud of his association with Father.

We discovered it when we arrived in Mogilev. With great pride Alexei

showed us his bed beside Father’s, then added, “We say our prayers

together, too. But sometimes, when I am tired and forget, Papa says

them for both of us.” He could not wait to show us photographs of

himself standing beside Father reviewing troops and partaking of

the soldiers’ rations. Father was proud to show Russia what a real

Tsarevich she had in Alexei and the tender relationship between Father

and son and the country. This made Mother proud enough to endure the

heartache of the little boy’s absence from home. Alexei remained at

General Headquarters.

Mother talked constantly about her “boys” at the hospitals. They were

all her boys. On her trips to nursing centers to visit the wounded,

Olga and Tatiana accompanied her when she made her rounds. When the

sickrooms were on the second floor, she had to be carried upstairs

in a wheel chair. She was their symbol of courage, representing home

and loved ones, and they died in peace. When the day was done she was

exhausted, but it seemed to mean so much to the men that the Empress

herself cared so deeply for their welfare. She could never face death

philosophically. She considered each death as that of her own son, each

death a fresh cause to despair at the futility of war and the greed of

Wilhelm.

She was a very good Christian and followed the religious teaching, but

towards the Kaiser she disregarded all the teachings of Christianity

and her hatred for him was beyond description.

Mother, seeing all the young on the verge of death, suffered

vicariously with them, and spent many sleepless nights pacing the

floor. Often in the darkness of the night, she ordered her chauffeur to

drive her to the cemetery. From grave to grave this tall shadow went

and said a prayer in this quiet place for the young men. She knew them

all and grieved over the loss of the lives they gave to their country.

She often sent us sisters to plant flowers on the graves of these men;

they were all her children.

I cannot describe more deeply nor find words that could give a better

understanding and do justice to this much misunderstood woman. She

insisted upon being present at the most gruesome operations. Carefully

she handed the instruments to the surgeon, while one of my sisters

stood by with the freshly threaded needles ready for use. Mother,

looking upon these heartrending scenes, tried to give her very inner

self to these sons and husbands and brothers of Russia. So did the

nurses who worked heroically in our hospitals or public institutions,

practically all of them volunteers. Mother never postponed taking care

of important matters. She checked the reports on supplies for the

hospitals to see if they were sufficient.

Mother had at first considered the question of the duration of Alexei’s

stay at G.H.Q. Now she planned a hospital inspection tour in the area,

so that she would be able to bring him home. But Father and General

Hanbury-Williams asked Mother to let the little boy stay at G.H.Q. We

left for home without Alexei.

When Father was absent for any reason, General Alexeiev was in complete

command. All military matters were discussed between them; they worked

together congenially. A number of times Father took Alexei with him to

inspect the troops of Generals Ivanov and Brussilov and to decorate all

those involved in heroic action with crosses. The soldiers were quite

impressed with Alexei. In the uniform of a private, he stood proudly

beside Father during military reviews. By the erectness of his posture

and the tenseness of his expression, it was obvious he felt deeply

responsible. They returned to G.H.Q. from the front, which was within

the range of German guns. Fortunately the Kaiser did not know this.

Father insisted that his food come from the field kitchen--the same

that the soldiers had.

My sisters continued working; when they were tired they rested on

little stools at a bedside reading, praying for the sick, or writing

letters if the patients were unable to do so. Olga was deliberate in

her decisions and very exact in all her work. She was responsible and

successful in raising a great deal of money by her carefully planned

programs of entertainment, which were always carried out successfully.

Tatiana who was physically stronger was prone to take the lead in their

hospital work. We heard from doctors that she was unusually gifted

in this type of work, took everything calmly and systematically and

with a clear head. Mother always counted on her to carry out the most

pressing work with accuracy, and she never failed.

Mother also used to sit with the sick men for hours and when the

officers were returning to the front, Mother was introduced to

each as he passed her and gave him a prayer book. Standing next to

Mother, Madame Narishkina gave each one a package containing a set of

underwear, made out of silk in the “Marie-Anastasia Workshop.” It was

to protect them from body lice, mainly at the front.

Alexei, when home, visited the wounded often at our hospital. He

enjoyed listening to the men of war speak of their experiences at the

front, never tired of hearing stories. Often he told them jokes to make

them laugh. He felt indignant when the time came to leave, when the

merriment might only have begun.

As to our trips no one knew the date of our departure or return. Count

Fredericks, Minister of the Court, made all the arrangements. In

the fall we left for an inspection of different military hospitals,

stopping on our way in Mogilev. We made our headquarters on the train

which stood on the track in a deep forest, some distance from the

station. A few days later, Father and Alexei returned home with us.

The many dangerous trips to the front, the sight of the wounded in the

hospitals, and the feeling of responsibility made a deep impression on

Alexei, causing him to be nervous.

While at home, Father had a long talk with Olga, and asked her to see

that Mother kept all those hated people out of our house. But Mother,

thinking they were helping her, continued to have them. Olga disliked

Rasputin, never wanting his name brought up in her presence. When our

company mentioned his name she changed the conversation. Once I heard

her say to Mother, “Why do you listen to some of these women? Their

minds and upbringing are so different from yours. Why do they come to

you with all kinds of gossip? In their position, they should not be

permitted to interfere with things that do not concern them.”

Mother answered, “But, my dear, every ruler must have contact with the

people outside. That is the only way to get at the truth. Granny (Queen

Victoria) had confidential informers, and consequently knew everything

that was going on.”

Olga replied, “That is all right, Mother, but these people were not

constantly in Granny’s company. Especially we like to have a visit with

Father when he is home for a short period. You must keep your public

and private lives separate.”

These unworthy, capricious people irritated Olga when they became

involved in matters about which they knew nothing. Their careless words

later ignited a devastating flame. Marie often was reprimanded because

of friction with one of them who was a constant friend of Mother’s.

Soon Father and Alexei left for an inspection at the front; they went

as far as Chernovitsy, Bukovina, where I spent some time after my

escape. Could Father ever have dreamed that a child of his would ask

shelter near this battered city? He was also in Warsaw, and described

the battle in that area to us. He brought back many pictures, showing,

as I recall, on one side of a road thousands of crosses on the graves

of Russian soldiers and on the other side the enemy’s graves. We prayed

God that our men would be able to defend our country.

My parents visited the Red Cross units and ambulance trains for

the evacuation of the wounded village people and went to the field

hospitals to say a few encouraging words to the wounded. Mother and

we sisters carried envelopes containing writing paper, handkerchiefs,

sweets, fruit and other articles for distribution. Father depended

on us sisters for these supplies. Ambulance trains were named after

us children and the train was met by that person whose name it bore.

Often these trains arrived simply packed with the wounded who in some

cases were even lying on the floors which were covered with straw and

blankets. Frequently infections set in, when flesh was torn and bones

were shattered. German bullets usually made a jagged hole, tearing the

flesh. Russian bullets made a clean cut. Infections were especially

prevalent during springtime when the snow had melted and the trenches

were filled with polluted water which made it impossible for the men

to lie down. It was difficult to move the wounded along roads cut up

by the heavy artillery. Instead muddy fields had to be used for their

transportation to the nearest hospital or the train; often the mobile

hospital got stuck in the field and the rescue work had to be done in

the dark. It was heartbreaking.

Every possible space was used. Even the Catherine Palace in Tsarskoe

Selo had to be utilized. Mother also had built many new hospitals with

Father’s and her own money; she appointed Madame Zizi Narishkina as the

head of the hospitals. Mother also established refugee homes for the

unfortunates whose farms were plundered and laid waste by artillery.

For the evacuated village people, shelters and orphanages, hospitals

and convalescent homes were constructed. She had built about ninety

military hospitals from Petrograd down into the Ukraine.

Many men released from the hospital were unable to return to the front.

Some of them were sent to farms and trades. Others learned to paint

and their pictures were bought and sold at different bazaars; some

were taught to weave rugs; others did wood carving; still others took

up sculpture, photography, printing or bookkeeping. All this was made

possible through the organized efforts of my family.

Grandmother and other members of the Imperial family did the same. She

even built camps in Germany to house Russian prisoners of war there.

But a Red Cross doctor and a nurse returned from Germany with a report

of the terrible conditions, the mistreatment of prisoners, and the lack

of heat and sanitation. They said that many wounded were infected with

sores and no nurses were permitted to help them. Officers were insulted

and beaten, because they refused to give the Germans information as to

the situation at the front. One of the Kaiser’s sons was present and

saw all these conditions and indignities. Over the Russian prisoners

the Germans put Russian Jews, who had run away to avoid serving in the

army. The mistreatment of the prisoners was unbelievable.

Through the Red Cross, Mother sent supplies to these camps in Germany

including Bibles, books, bandages and other necessities. She also

helped to organize camps near the railroad stations in Siberia for

German and Austrian prisoners of war; many such prisoners were sent

to work on farms. These camps were well regulated as she was eager

to demonstrate that Russia could lead in the humane treatment of

prisoners. For this she was deeply criticized on the ground that she

was saving the lives of our enemy. Maybe later the same men were the

killers of her own family.

Often my sisters came with a story of some unusual occurrences. One

young patient coming out of anesthesia sang and moved his arms as if

conducting an orchestra. When he was told later what he had done and

that Mother was present, he apologized, fearing he might have used some

vulgar words. Another said that he had received a letter from his girl

friend. He kept on repeating all the sweet words only a bride-to-be can

write to her fiancé.

We looked forward to the evening when we could snuggle around Mother

in her room. Usually there was a letter from Father. These arrived by

special messenger and were delivered to Mother by Mother’s ladies in

waiting or maids. Mother read parts to us and afterwards seemed more

contented. She preferred to open her own personal mail. Mother eyed

her other letters with suspicion, turning them over. When she read

a line or two, her face grew dark, her eyes flashed anger; she tore

them to bits and threw them in the wastebasket. With all the misery in

the world, many found time to criticize her and were too cowardly to

sign their name. God forgive them for the unpleasant hours they caused

Mother, not to mention the injury to our war effort. She said the

Germans used the same method of propaganda as did the Japanese in 1905.

Father never allowed us girls to discuss these unpleasant matters. Once

when Father was absent, I mimicked one of the suspected trouble-makers.

I was promptly reprimanded, then everyone burst out in laughter. My

technique worked. The next morning Mother’s eyes were red and swollen.

She said she had read late and her eyes hurt. It was obvious to us

that she had cried herself to sleep. We four sisters got off a letter

to Father begging him to come home for a day or two. Father and Alexei

arrived. Now Mother was a new person. She gave all her heart and soul

to Father, and Alexei’s entertaining chatter lifted her spirits. Her

eyes were no longer red and swollen; instead they glistened. Evenings

found the whole family gathered together in Mother’s boudoir. If one

had looked in, he would have been impressed by the harmony in that room.

Mother expressed her wish to have a little house, away from everybody,

where she could have peace and quiet. We wished so, too. Mother’s and

Father’s love for each other would have made a home out of any humble

dwelling.

All too soon Father had to leave. Alexei was so diverting, we wished

we could keep him home, but the little fellow was too proud of his

association with Father even to listen to such a suggestion. Good-byes

were hard on Mother, and we often wondered whether we had been wise in

asking Father to come from G.H.Q. After he left, Mother prayed daily

for his safe return; she was proud of his service to the country.

Almost on the very day of Father’s departure, the anonymous letters

began to come in greater numbers. Mother almost dreaded reading the

numerous letters because of their venomous content. One of the letters

was signed by Princess Vasilchikova. She accused Mother of many things

and claimed to be speaking for the women of Petrograd. She suggested

that Mother leave Russia and go back to Germany where she had come

from. How little she knew that Mother came from the little province of

Hesse and had no connection with Prussia. I wondered what this woman

thought the Empress’ children would do? Obviously this and other

letters were inspired by those who wanted to overthrow the Imperial

family and its government in order to gain control of the country, as

they eventually did.

Mother even was accused of sitting behind a curtain at the top of the

stairway of her maple sitting room which let into Father’s study,

listening to all the reports given Father on the progress on the war.

These reports she was supposed to transmit to Kaiser Wilhelm. This

ridiculous gossip was not only believed by many in Russia but was even

circulated in foreign countries. The story was so impossible it hardly

needs refuting. To reach the spot, Mother would have had to climb some

dozen steps to the top of the balcony room, which she could not have

done because of her heart condition. Besides, Mother never was left

alone. She always had a personal attendant with her on duty, day and

night. In a room next to Mother’s bedchamber, a bell was connected

with the maid’s room in which there was a narrow bed and a comfortable

armchair; also a small table on which were magazines and books for the

maid’s relaxation. The other personnel were dismissed at 11:00 P.M.

Most of her help had been with Mother since her marriage; we parted

with some, when we left for Tobolsk. Her loyalty to her adopted country

was unquestionable and her personal dislike for the Kaiser and his

government was almost an obsession with her.

Another rumor, freely circulated, was to the effect that Mother had

been visited secretly by the German General Ludendorff. This and many

other similar rumors were part of the propaganda to destroy Russia by

attacking the heart of the Russian government. Mother was depressed and

exhausted as these accusations multiplied. Some of the writers demanded

the discharge of all officials with foreign names. This would have

meant dismissing people like faithful Trina Schneider whose loyalty

was beyond suspicion. In the end she, too, was killed outside of Perm.

She had taught both Mother and Aunt Ella the Russian language. Now she

served as a reader and a governess to Marie and myself. Some of the

people had German names but were Scandinavian; others were descendants

of people brought to Russia during the reign of Catherine the Great.

With Father at G.H.Q., there was much he could not follow first hand.

Mother felt she must report to him everything that came to her notice.

All the praise, criticism, advice, countless suggestions of many

individuals were brought to her that she might pass them on to Father.

Sometimes these were important messages, sometimes they were petty and

trivial in comparison with the momentous questions that confronted

the nation. Mother was eager for advice but unfortunately most of the

suggestions came from those she had the least reason to trust, persons

who were suspected of being the real instigators of the propaganda

against her. More and more she felt that most of those who volunteered

to advise her were serving their own self-interest.

Reports often brought depressing information: that Father’s orders, his

telegrams, were purposely sabotaged, and often were replaced by others.

Inefficiency and betrayals were noticeable. Father was frequently

imposed upon as a result of his kindness and generosity. Mother

said, “He must make his will felt, inspire wholesome fear through

firmness and discipline. To inspire love is not enough.” With her own

background Mother often wished that Russia had some of the efficiency

of the Germans. She thought Russia needed more ingenuity and greater

economic independence. She felt the need of more railroads for the

transportation of troops and supplies, though one Siberian line had

just been completed during the war (in 1915).

Petrograd was full of crosscurrents. One said this, another said that.

Mother did not know whom she should believe. In spite of slanders that

were heaped on her, she still wanted to find out the truth to pass

on to Father. The people were tired, tired of everything, especially

of war. Whatever the reason, they were in a careless mood in their

attitude toward their country. No one had brought proof to back

up their accusations of Anna and Rasputin. These two, in Mother’s

opinion, were continually persecuted. Had not Anna given every kopeck

of her compensation for injury in a terrible train wreck to establish

a hospital for convalescent soldiers so that they might receive

training in some trade? The hospital was so successful that before the

Revolution hundreds of invalids had been trained and she had purchased

the land on which to build an additional building. What greater proof

of her loyalty was needed? Could anyone know better than Mother the

power of Rasputin’s prayers? Had she not witnessed his miracle on

Alexei? Now all she wanted for Father was divine guidance to see things

straight and to bring Russia safely through this ordeal. Had not

Rasputin used his foreknowledge which made him see what others could

not? He had foretold several events which later came true. Once he

predicted that our death would follow his death and that in the event

of a member of the family surviving, he or she would meet with disaster

in 1960.

Another accusation was that Mother was hiding Uncle Ernest in the

palace. Uncle Ernie had been in Russia with his family in 1912.

It was at the new palace in the Crimea. That was the last time he

visited Russia. During the war, the Kaiser made it so disagreeable

for Uncle Ernest that, in 1918, he abdicated. He and his father had

worked so hard to make their country economically sound. We had a few

letters from Aunt Victoria, Mother’s sister in England. Prince Louis

of Battenberg, her husband, was the First Sea Lord of the British

Admiralty. Pressure was brought against him also during the war

hysteria so that he was forced to resign his commission, in spite of

his loyalty to his adopted country, Great Britain.

When the war broke out, the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich

and his wife were in Germany. They were subjected to considerable

mistreatment so that, a year after, he died. Father was furious when

he received the report of the abuses from the Grand Duke himself.

Grandmother also was passing through Germany at the outbreak of the

war, and she, too, was subjected to the same indignities. The death of

the Grand Duke Constantine was a great loss, not only to the family,

but to all Russia. The Grand Duke was a most brilliant scholar, poet

and patron of music and drama. He wrote plays, essays, poems, using

a pseudonym. He translated _Hamlet_ into Russian. He wrote a play

entitled _King of Judea_. It was a magnificent production, in which he

took part. Even when his health was failing, he continued to promote

the arts. The last production in which I saw him on the stage was

_Hamlet_. He played the leading role of the Danish Prince himself. Some

of his children had parts in it. During the last performance my family

was present. Alexei sat with Mother in the front row and excitedly

called out, “Mother, Mother, do you know that is Uncle Constantine! And

that _there_ is an officer of the Guards?” Uncle Constantine sponsored

a number of young people in music and drama. He had a theatre of his

own and designed his own stage settings.

He was deeply religious and brought up his family in the best Christian

tradition. Despite his good life he suffered great misfortune. Shortly

before he died, his son-in-law was killed in the war. Earlier, one of

his sons, Prince Oleg, had been a battle casualty. While the Germans

were retreating Oleg followed them on his horse when a wounded German

officer played dead and shot him; he soon died in the hospital. The

names of his children were all taken from early history. During the

revolution, three more sons were brutally murdered, together with Aunt

Ella, near Alapaevsk.

I remember Aunt Mavra, Constantine’s wife, and one of her daughters

having tea with us for the last time, shortly before the revolution.

Always deeply religious, they crossed themselves for safe driving

before they entered their car. Whoever could have known that we would

never see one another again? Still Aunt Mavra lived through all the

tragedy that befell her innocent family.

Mother seldom came to the dinner table these days. She was served

in one of her rooms and we joined her after the meal. At that time

Father’s letters were read and reread. Usually there was a clever one

from Alexei, too. His note was always so cheering to Mother that we

hoped she could retain the mood till bedtime. To break the monotony, I

planned on entertaining them, even though it made me feel sad rather

than lighthearted, but, once I started, everybody began to laugh and we

were soon all in the midst of great merriment.

Watching Mother carefully, when she looked troubled, I sprang a new

joke or some lighthearted remark to cheer her up again. In this

self-appointed task I had a helper. I found a book of funny stories,

which I kept in one of the drawers in the round table in the music

room, and in privacy I delved through it. It contained many jokes which

I did not understand, but, believing they must be funny, I put my own

interpretation upon these and tried them out on the family in the

evening.

On Father’s last trip to the capital, his appearance before the Duma

was a great success. In his speech he urged unity and warned that only

unity would bring victory--the victory he reminded them was so near.

Hearing his inspiring message, everyone was optimistic. There was

country-wide rejoicing, especially when shortly afterward the news came

that Erzerum, which had been stubbornly held by the Turks for so long,

had fallen.

Father said that he was willing to grant liberal concessions but he

feared that this was not the time for great, radical changes. They

would have too damaging an effect during wartime.

Sir John Hanbury-Williams was in Petrograd for several days and saw

Olga and Tatiana at this presentation of Father’s at the Tauride

Palace (Duma). He afterwards said to Olga: “Knowing your Imperial

Father the way I do, I am most sorry for His Majesty; so is all the

High Command, for there is not one single word of truth in all the

propaganda circulating. He assuredly does not deserve such malicious

criticism.” Hanbury-Williams thought that Father’s address was most

enthusiastically accepted and would bring good results. However, it

created apprehension among the enemy who seemed to be losing hope of

winning the war. Nevertheless, it provoked more damaging propaganda.

Father repeated that he would not yield to Germany. More than ever,

Wilhelm made Father his target. He aimed at him with traitors who

spread their lies insidiously underground like the roots of a tree.

There were attacks on Father from all directions--a whispering

campaign spread to injure his reputation before his people. Of course

Mother already had come in for her share of this terrible barrage of

falsehood; in her case the slander centered around Anna and Rasputin.

But that only made Mother stubborn, and she closed her ears and no

longer would believe anyone around her. She had felt for a long time

that she was doomed to death from the day she set her foot on Russian

soil.

X MOGILEV

The year 1916, the date May 6th. It was Father’s forty-eighth birthday.

The day before, we went to G.H.Q. at Mogilev to be with him. As usual

we stayed on our train. On this occasion the Russian and all the Allied

High Command, as well as some of our relatives, came to extend to

Father their congratulations.

Mother, shy and reserved by nature, came with us even though she

dreaded meeting the members of the Allied Military Missions, some of

whom she had not yet met. We knew many of the officers quite well.

I particularly remember our friend General Keller, Generals Ivanov,

Lechitsky, Dieterichs, Yanin, Resin, Kornilov, Brussilov, Father’s

Chief of Staff, General Alexeiev, General Dubensky, the military

historian attached to G.H.Q., and Captain Nilov. I recall, too, the

traitor, General Ruzsky, who left such a bad impression in the Baltic.

In the morning we went to the garrison church services nearby, under

the thick pine trees. There were many high ranking men and titled

guests in attendance.

Mother had ordered flowers from the Crimea to be used as decorations

for the occasion. We sisters made two flower arrangements for Father’s

study and his bedroom. One of these was placed on the table in his

bedroom in front of an icon of Saint Nicholas. On the piano in the big

hall were large branches of white orchids artistically arranged.

Dinner was served to about fifty guests. All the members of foreign

missions and the Russian generals and their wives who happened to be

there attended, as well as a number of the Grand Dukes who came to

Mogilev especially for this occasion.

We assembled in the large hall and stood in line with Father to receive

the congratulations of the guests. We girls wore white dresses and

white hats trimmed with ostrich feathers. Uncle Serge Mikhailovich, who

was in command of the Russian artillery, was present. Others were the

Grand Duke Cyril and his brother the Grand Duke Boris Vladimirovich;

they could not disguise their bitter hatred for the family, especially

for Mother, when their turn came to take our hands.

At the dinner Mother sat next to Father and at her side was

our handsome, lively brother Alexei. Opposite them was Olga,

Hanbury-Williams and the others. In the evening we took in a movie.

Prince Igor Constantinovich was there and accompanied us next morning

on a walk in the forest, where spring flowers were abundant.

From Mogilev we went to Sevastopol, Crimea, making several stops on the

way to inspect military hospitals. At the Tsarskaya Pristan (dock) in

Sevastopol we were greeted with cheers by sailors from Navy vessels.

Everywhere we went, we were met with a great deal of friendliness by

the people who came forth with flowers, fruits, and gifts of money for

the hospitals. We also made a surprise visit to the Romanov Institute

of Physical Therapy. In Evpatoria we met Admiral Kolchak, who later

played an important role in fighting the Communists in 1918 in order

to capture Ekaterinburg and rescue us. Unfortunately he was betrayed

by the Czech troops. We had tea with Anna, who had been sent there by

Mother on a special mission some weeks earlier. Father and Alexei went

back to Mogilev and we left for Tsarskoe Selo. Anna accompanied us for

several stations, and then returned to the Crimea.

About this time the people began to show unrest as a result of a rumor,

which an investigation showed had been spread by German agents, to the

effect that Mother and Aunt Ella were hiding Uncle Ernest. It upset my

Mother so much that she had a heart attack.

When demonstrations began to take place in Moscow, because of this

false propaganda, Mother was told that Kerensky, who up to now was

biding his time, urged Guchkov to start a revolution, while the

situation was still hot. Mother said he should be hanged for it. While

Kerensky was plotting against my family, Father was at the front

making every effort to bring Kaiser Wilhelm to his knees, despite

the offers for the separate treaty which were made by the Kaiser who

stressed that an alliance with Germany would be more beneficial to

Russia than one with England. But all the proposals were ignored.

Father knew the German position in the war was the lack of physical

strength, particularly after Father’s Chamberlain, General Tatishchev

had interviewed German officer prisoners and was told by them that the

Kaiser had lost all his power which now rested in the hands of the High

Command.

Mother went to Mogilev again and this time she took Anna with her. It

caused a great deal of trouble and more hatred sprang from it. Even our

own cousin, the Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich, spread the most unjust

lies: that some drink was given to Father by Anna and that he was under

hypnosis. How shameful that this young man in return for love gave

disloyalty to the man who had given him kindness and affection as if he

were his own father. Another ridiculous rumor was that gold had been

shipped over the border to Germany in the coffins in which supposedly

were bodies of German soldiers killed in the war.

Mother became resentful toward these rumors and stubborn in her

reaction to them. Now she and Father would defend any innocent friend

who was brought under false suspicion or accusation. How could anyone

believe such falsehoods, especially against my Father, which were found

in the end not to be true. Madame Narishkina once said to us that

Mother’s friends brought her nothing but misfortune. It is true, but

for this misfortune many others also were responsible. Anybody could

have believed anything under the prevailing chaotic conditions of rumor

and deceit For example, some years before the war, while the family was

in the Crimea, every day a bouquet of fresh flowers was sent to Father

for his desk in his study, and the card in them bore the signature

“Ania.” This naturally aroused great consternation. Upon investigation,

it was found that Ania Vyrubova at that very time had been with her

family in the small village of Terijoki on the Gulf of Finland and

so could not possibly have sent the flowers. Later Princess Sonia

Orbeliani, once Mother’s lady in waiting, a bitter enemy of Anna’s, in

a fit of anger revenged herself on Anna by saying that Anna had hired a

gardener to send the flowers.

Another rumor related that Rasputin came to the palace by way of the

back porch and visited the children’s quarters. In the first place,

there was no back porch. On one occasion, he did come upstairs to

see Alexei in his sickbed, using the private spiral stairway from

Mother’s apartments, but subsequently, whenever Rasputin came, Alexei

was carried downstairs. Moreover, Rasputin was accompanied by Father

Vassiliev and almost always the Emperor was present. Father had traced

this rumor to its source, and everyone connected with the story

admitted that they had not seen Rasputin enter the palace, but that

they were told to say so by a certain person. In fact, I never saw the

peasant in any of our private quarters. These were always guarded at

the foot of each stairway. We were so surrounded with people that he

could not have avoided being detected by many.

This false rumor grew stronger and more outrageous stories were added

to it. Those spreading these cruel gossips which injured Mother’s

reputation were those who never had an opportunity even to see any

member of the Imperial family, people whose feet never had trodden the

grounds of Tsarskoe Selo. For every person living in this village was

known to the police and any stranger coming into the area was always

picked up and investigated. Anyone entering there had to carry his

credentials. Those who spread such propaganda lived to regret it, but

their remorse came much too late. Tragic as it was, these paid agents

schemed to take Father away from the front because they knew his

presence was all-important.