Alexander Park was enclosed by an iron fence, which was topped with

three rows of barbed wire. Inside and outside were sentries at regular

intervals. Every day these grounds were searched to be sure that no one

was hiding there. Not a single person could enter the palace without a

great deal of red tape. There were four entrances to the palace. The

peasant was not allowed to use the main gate. In retrospect, this was

probably a mistake as it gave an air of mystery to his rare visits.

Accompanied by Father Vassiliev, he entered through the side or garden

gate (across from the Znamensky Cathedral) which was accessible to only

a few. The procedure here was simpler but any such entry was recorded,

as was the case at the main gate. These authentic official entries were

available since the time of Peter the Great, but many were destroyed by

the invading Communists.

The visitor had to present proper credentials as to whom he was to see

and for what purpose. His name was written several times; also the

time of his arrival to the very minute. Halfway up the driveway to the

palace the door of the car or the carriage was opened and the vehicle

checked; also again a note was made of the identity of the visitor. In

the meantime, the sentry at the gate had already telephoned the palace

guard, announcing the arrival of the person. At the palace entrance,

the guard on duty opened a square, barred window, and the visitor was

ushered into a room where he presented his card to the officer on duty.

The latter checked and compared the name and description of the visitor

with names and photographs in a book, copies of which were found on

tables in various parts of the palace. Then the visitor was directed to

the reception room, where Mother received him. This was the procedure

for all.

At each end of the corridor, and at the foot of every stairway, there

was always an officer on duty who kept a record to the minute of

everyone going up and down the stairs, no matter how many times a day.

Upon departure of a visitor, the same accuracy as to time was

maintained, and a record of his stay was handed to the palace police.

There were also a number of runners and about thirty-five guards

on duty in the corridors and stairways alone; not all were armed.

That same strict rule applied to all the palace staff, including the

well-known Mistress of the Robes, Madame Narishkina, and the ladies in

waiting. In fact when any one of us, even Father, arrived, the carriage

was always inspected. We were never left unattended and we did not know

what privacy was, being always surrounded by our teachers, ladies in

waiting, governesses, nurses and chambermaids who frequently entered

our rooms.

Secret police continually checked every activity of everyone. It would

have been impossible to enter or leave in secrecy. No doubt there was

a file on Rasputin with a complete record of his visits to the minute,

showing how long he had been there and whom he had seen; and the names

of the officers on duty had to appear in the record, especially after

it was rumored that Rasputin was a spy. The secret police were watching

him; according to some it was only for his own protection. But, at

the same time, his activities were being carefully scrutinized. One

slip on his part would have sent him to his death. The palace chief

of police kept a copy of such records; another copy was delivered to

the chief of police in Petrograd. In fact, during our arrest, these

records were checked on Rasputin and on every member of our family to

the very morning of our departure from the palace. The Ministers were

responsible for many troubles, because they gathered around Rasputin

and that gave him more confidence.

As for Mother’s supposed pro-German leanings, how often I wished Kaiser

Wilhelm could have been in our household to hear the uncomplimentary

remarks attached to his name. Alexei and I used to stuff pillows and

take shots with toy guns at Uncle Wilhelm. The name Wilhelm aroused

such invectives we were ordered not to use the word.

Olga Constantinovna, wife of King George I of Greece, sister of the

Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich, spoke to Mother about the

peasant. She had become very upset about the gossip and because of it

and the hot summer of 1916, she had suffered a heart attack. Later

Father’s friend, Prince Volkonsky, came to see Father to warn him about

the peasant. At that time, Aunt Ella became so upset by these rumors

that she sent Count Sheremetiev, a friend and distant relative of ours,

to deliver the message that Rasputin had been using our family name for

his personal advantage while under the influence of liquor in Moscow.

Mother and Father even now refused to believe the tale. It left Father

very distressed. He could not understand how this highly educated man

could have allowed anyone to recount such tales to him. This good

family raised a great deal of money for hospitals; in their huge villa

in Petrograd they sponsored a hospital for officers and paid for the

upkeep from their own pockets. Besides, two of their sons were at the

front.

Shortly afterwards, Aunt Ella herself appeared at Tsarskoe Selo. First,

she talked to Mother alone about the peasant, but Mother said, “Sister,

you do not believe all that do you?” Ella said, “I do not, but the

people do.” Mother asked, “And who are those people? Please do not

speak, as the others do. There is not one word of truth in what your

friends are telling you.”

Mother was especially furious and could never forgive her sister when

she said that God might punish Mother by taking her son away from her.

That was a most painful remark for my Mother. The following morning,

Aunt Ella pleaded on her knees before my parents. Even then they

refused to believe the story. Instead Father turned to his aide-de-camp

saying, “Have a train ready for the Grand Duchess’ departure.” Father

at once left for G.H.Q. very upset. When Aunt Ella entered the room

where we had bid good-bye to Father, her eyes were wet with tears and

she was wiping them with her handkerchief. This was a sorrowful parting

for both sisters as well as for the whole family. We kissed her for

the last time, never to see her again. When she was leaving the rooms

she lifted a hand, saying, “Remember the fate of the other Empresses.”

Mother and both older sisters accompanied Aunt Ella to the station. We

were told that Aunt Ella knew then that Rasputin would be killed.

Mother often asked why people had not opened their eyes to see

something else besides an inclination for harm, which springs from

stupidity and ignorance. Why were they not able to judge us, and see

the good we had done? Even now she did not see that one could be

capable of falsehood. Mother had such a love for Russia that often

she said, “I would rather die than see Germany win the war!” She was

English in every way. She had spent most of her time with Granny (Queen

Victoria), and from her earliest childhood had taken a dislike for her

cousin Wilhelm, largely because of his lack of consideration toward

their Granny.

During this time, Mother’s mail was more voluminous than ever. One

of the letters she received called her attention to the illustrated

magazine _Niva_, in which was an article with a photograph of a dog

undergoing vivisection. Among the magazines usually to be found

on the table in the room next to Mother’s room, I could not find

this issue. Because we were not allowed to remove books or magazine

from the shelves, Mother immediately requested Mr. Shcheglov, our

librarian, to bring this magazine to her. She asked me to find the

page showing this needless cruelty. I opened the periodical; it fell

open at that page. Strapped to a table, the unfortunate animal was

being operated on without anaesthesia. This horrifying picture made

an enormous impression on us. Mother without wasting time took steps

to prevent such laboratory work being done without the animals being

anaesthetized.

At once she became unpopular with many technicians and medical men.

We all were always sympathetic towards animals, especially Alexei who

frequently took home many homeless animals; he fed them and never

feared being harmed by them. This good child repeatedly said, “Some

time I shall have a large place for all the animals who have no home. I

will feed them and care for them myself.” Many unfortunate animals were

made homeless by war. He brought dozens of cats and dogs and sent them

to our farms. Proudly he once said, “I am positive there is not a mouse

left here.” The farmer agreed with him there was none.

There were always appeals to Mother for help. If a son was missing, she

was asked to help trace him. Any injustice which came to her attention

she tried to resolve by appealing to the proper authorities. When the

burdens became too heavy, Mother rushed to the Church. To her, religion

was more than worship, it was life. She loved the rituals, candles,

chanting and prayers. Through the unburdening of her heart, through

supplication for guidance, she was strengthened and helped to think

more clearly, to understand more deeply and accept God’s will with

greater humility. But dishonesty, insincerity, friction and perfidious

gossip were continually clouding her sense of God’s will. At such a

time disunity was high treason to Church and State. She wanted a new

regime so that Alexei would not have to struggle with the old autocracy

handed down by his Grandfather.

Father had taken an oath in his war manifesto that he would never make

peace so long as one enemy soldier remained on Russian soil. The enemy

knew that only a revolution could defeat the Russian armies, so they

spread a network of lies to poison the Russian mind. Their central

theme held that Mother was redoubling her pro-German activities. In the

Duma attacks were made on Father in an effort to discredit him. Many

friends no longer participated at the meetings of the Duma; they could

not stand to hear the slander of their Emperor.

These words are painful for me to put in writing, and I shall not

further denounce these slanderers, as it would be against my Christian

belief.

Word was brought from General Headquarters that Alexei had caught cold

on the train during a trip to the front. He had sneezed and burst a

blood vessel in his nose. When Dr. Fedorov was unable to stop the

bleeding, also fearing that his cold might get worse, he suggested

that Father return Alexei to Tsarskoe Selo. He had almost died on his

way home because of the jolting and jarring and it had been necessary

to stop the train several times at night in order to change Alexei’s

dressings. He collapsed into unconsciousness several times and seemed

to be on the verge of death. All night Nagorny had to support his head.

Meanwhile in Tsarskoe Selo, we were receiving wires posting us on his

condition. Some arrived late in the evening so that Mother sat up

all night, fearing that the end had come. At six in the morning Anna

called Rasputin and requested him to pray for Alexei. Rasputin replied

that Alexei would be better, not to worry, and that the bleeding would

stop. Strange as it may seem, the bleeding did stop shortly thereafter.

Later we were told that Anna informed the peasant that Alexei was

better. Mother went to the station to meet the train and when Alexei

was carried down the platform, he smiled at her. She was thankfully

relieved. His bleeding stopped. Mother kissed him and he drew her hand

to his lips. Father left again for G.H.Q. and Alexei remained at home

recovering from his illness.

In spite of my brother’s poor health, our parents insisted that, as

soon as his condition improved and the weather permitted, he must

return to Mogilev. It was felt necessary that he prepare himself for

his future responsibilities, even though his health had been impaired.

Father said that Alexei was not to be shielded behind the scenes as

he himself had been during the reign of Alexander III. As soon as the

war should be over, Alexei, accompanied by his tutors, was to go to

England to receive special training. My little brother became nervous

under the strain, and we all felt sorry for him. Once, at two o’clock

in the morning, Alexei awakened Olga in her room and said, “I cannot

sleep; I am worried.”

The fact that I had been asked to share the responsibility with Olga

and Tatiana deeply stirred me. They suggested that Mother should not be

left alone in her bedroom at night while Father was away even though a

maid was in the room next to Mother’s. We sisters decided to take turns

spending the nights with Mother, as well as time after school hours.

Alexei was hurt, because he was not asked to share this loving trust.

He protested: “Am I not a member of the family? I am tired of taking

humiliations from you. You seem to enjoy giving me orders.” I explained

that he could do his share by sleeping in Father’s bedroom when he

returned to G.H.Q. This satisfied him.

I shadowed Mother, amused her, and did everything in my power to make

her happy. I did many things by which I hoped to spare her needless

steps. I accepted my responsibility seriously and was a little hurt at

Mother’s amused surprise at my obvious attentiveness. It pleased me to

have Mother call me her little helper, because I saved her many steps.

Often Alexei called Mother on the telephone and, while she was talking

to him, I would run up and warn him not to call Mother again. I felt

responsible for her and at the same time I was filled with a sense of

importance while on duty at her side. For some time we thought Mother’s

health was deteriorating under the strain of worry and sorrow. Now her

heart became worse and she no longer was able to give actual care to

the wounded at the hospital.

While Father was home, he had several stories about Rasputin

investigated. One report declared that Rasputin had boasted in a

restaurant, in public, that the embroidered upper blouse which he wore

that evening had been presented to him by the Empress. Father sent for

this man, whom he had disliked for so long. He questioned him about

his claim. The peasant appeared to be surprised and frightened, but had

finally admitted that he had made the remark. “How dare you?” Father

looked straight into his eyes. Then, Father pointed to the door and

Rasputin was shown out by an aide-de-camp. Olga remarked later to us

sisters that the only regret she had was that the peasant had not been

thrown out long before this.

Father never liked nor believed in the Starets and neither did we

girls. Even Alexei was doubtful about the peasant’s honesty. In our

presence, Rasputin was always respectful and unobtrusive. Mother,

however, was convinced that Alexei’s life during his most severe

attacks was saved by Rasputin’s prayers. Mother was impressed by the

man’s simple common sense. He had such a saintly approach that Mother

believed that he was a man sent by God. Most of the messages from

Rasputin had come to Mother through Anna. It was at Anna’s house that

Mother saw this wandering monk and their conversation was always about

religion. There was little doubt that he was a healer of a sort which

some Christian Churches have always known and recognized. However, many

discounted Rasputin’s healing claims by explaining that he always came

into the picture when Alexei was already on the way to recovery. When

Alexei was previously ill, because some one inserted into his lower

body some kind of serum which caused him untold suffering and many

sleepless nights, Rasputin was blamed for it. It was Rasputin who made

all the nurses and maids go to confess at the church as a result of

which it was found that someone close to the family was responsible for

this illness.

The attacks Alexei suffered had become fewer and less serious. My

parents were hopeful Alexei would eventually outgrow his trouble.

Alexei was often puzzled about Rasputin, whom he considered to be a

healer. One day he asked, “Tell me, Mommy, why is it that God listens

to the peasant’s prayers, but not to mine.” Mother honestly believed

that Rasputin was sent to save her son. Under similar circumstances

any mother would have felt the same.

On another occasion we had Father Vassiliev as our guest. Alexei was

just getting over a bad cold. He asked why people said that the peasant

was a saint. Papa replied that he would rather have Father Vassiliev

explain this to Alexei. The clergyman answered that anyone who does

good and lives according to the Holy Scriptures could be a saint. “Then

what shall I do that God will listen to my prayers?” asked Alexei.

Father Vassiliev of the Feodorovsky Sobor taught Alexei religion.

Alexei was deeply attached to his instructor, who was very religious,

had a kind heart, loved people, made friends easily and was loyal and

defended them when they were in trouble. Alexei was bright, lively, had

a quick mind, delicate features, a white, clear complexion and coppery,

auburn hair. In secret among the family he was called “Ruchka” (the

hand). This he knew, although we did not at first know it.

XI OUR LAST AUTUMN IN TSARSKOE SELO

The fall of 1916 was a beautiful one, with the brilliant flames of

orange oak and russet beech trees, elms and avenues of lime trees all

fused harmoniously as in a painting. It was our last autumn in Tsarskoe

Selo. Again, Alexei joined his Father at G.H.Q. and both went to review

the troops at the front. As usual, Father inspected the field kitchens

and tasted the food to be sure that it was kept up to the prescribed

standards. Then they visited the hospitals in Kiev, at the same time

spending several days with Granny who had been living there in the

palace near the beautiful Dnieper river for the duration of the war, in

order to be near her daughter Olga.

Upon their return to G.H.Q., Alexei sent a note home to say that

Father was distressed after having had a talk with Granny; she had

changed. Alexei, although a child, was conscious of the fact that this

disquieting conversation stemmed from Ruchka’s illness and the peasant.

Granny did not know that Alexei knew that in secret he was called

“Ruchka”. There were other relatives present at this discussion, one of

them being Uncle Sandro (Alexander Mikhailovich). He was the head of

military aviation and was stationed in Kiev.

During this conversation, Aunt Olga defended Alicky (Mother) whereas

Granny blamed everything on her. Grandmother openly predicted then that

all would end in disaster. Alexei promised Mother that he would never

cause Father trouble, and would be careful of his own health. He told

us later that he had cried on the train while Father was in his study,

and that he no longer loved his Granny as he used to. At this time

Aunt Olga was happily remarried. Her husband was the handsome officer

of the Guard whom she had known for a long time, Colonel Nicholai

Koulikovsky.

Soon Mother and we sisters went on another tour to the hospitals and

were greeted enthusiastically everywhere. We received big donations

for the hospitals. During this tour we stopped for a several days’

visit with Father. This was to be our last trip to G.H.Q. We knew right

away that something connected with Rasputin was troubling Father, as a

result of his last visit to Kiev.

Now Father asked Granny to leave for the Crimea in order to end the

gossip, which without Granny’s encouragement would never have taken

place. Later even Olga wrote her asking for God’s sake to leave for the

Crimea. But all was in vain.

At this time Uncle Sandro, the husband of Aunt Xenia, proposed to

Father that he should promulgate the constitution on his name day,

December 6th, but Father said it was impossible because at the

coronation he had sworn on the Bible to uphold the autocracy.

Now we already knew of the plan to assassinate Mother, Father and many

of his aides, especially Prince Dolgorukov, Captain Nilov, A.D.C.

Mordvinov, Count Fredericks and others. It was organized in Kiev by

Guchkov. Granny and the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich in Caucasia

supported the idea, but Granny confessed to Father, during her last

conversation with him, that she did not know that the Guchkov plan

was to assassinate Father and the others. She believed that they were

working towards Father’s abdicating the throne to the Grand Duke

Nicholai Nicholaevich.

The former Governor of Mogilev, Mr. Pelts, who let my Father use his

residence, and others also warned Father of the plot and told him that

many officers were approached by Guchkov to carry out the mass murder

but they all refused. The secret police were to close in on Guchkov

but Father wanted to have more proof. On this visit Granny wanted

us children to come to Kiev, but we feared that the murder might be

committed while we were away. After the abdication and before Father

left Mogilev, Granny came on her train to Mogilev. Even then she blamed

the abdication on Mother. Then Father asked her whether she knew of

the plan to assassinate him and Alicky, his wife. She cried that she

had not known of the plan to murder but had encouraged the abdication.

With these words they parted forever. No matter what, Father was

condemned from the day of Lenin’s brother’s execution during the reign

of Alexander III, and also from the day of the execution of Trotsky’s

brother who was connected with one of the most dangerous revolutionary

organizations during the Japanese war.

Father occupied a section of one floor in the Governor’s home in

Mogilev. Built on a wooded hill, it enjoyed a magnificent view of

the broad Dnieper River. Father had two large rooms, one being the

bedroom he shared with Alexei. In it, two iron beds stood side by side,

separated by a little table on which was a Bible and an icon. There

were also a mahogany dressing table, a wash stand, a settee, and a

bookcase. The windows of this room faced the river on one side, the

garden and the parade grounds on the other. The adjoining room was

Father’s office with windows facing the parade grounds. It held a large

Victorian desk fully equipped, some photographs of the family, several

barometers and a floor lamp; also Alexei’s desk used for his school

work, a settee, and a bookcase. Next to the office was a large anteroom

with two big portraits of Father and Mother, plus a couch, a piano, and

numerous chairs. Next was a large, gloomy dining room. The entire suite

had parquet floors and fine carpets.

Some of the upper and lower floors were occupied by Father’s staff:

General Voyeykov, Count Benckendorff, Prince Vasily Dolgorukov, A.D.C.

Nilov, Dr. Fedorov and Dr. Derevenko, now in charge of Alexei; Prince

Igor Constantinovich often came here. With Father was also General

Dubensky, a friend of the Grand Duke Dimitri, Count Sheremetiev,

A.D.C. Drenteln, and others. Father was accompanied by his rather

numerous military escorts and by his tall bodyguard Dendeniev, a

Cossack officer, who almost always was at his side. This officer could

fire at the smallest flying object in the air without ever missing one

shot. Also present was Father’s personal guard, Polupanov.

In Mogilev, we took some short trips, sometimes driving to the

beautiful Archayerevsky woods; or we walked in the deep snow, while

Alexei played in the park with young cadets.

At some distance from the Governor’s home under the pine trees was the

Army field chapel. The General Staff office was within a short distance

of the house. Due to the shortage of houses, all government buildings

and some private residences were converted into living quarters for the

military staff and hospitals. In the winter Father had his luncheons

in the dining room at the Governor’s house. The General Staff officers

and officers on duty from the front were usually asked to join him

at the noon meal. At these meals no military business was discussed.

Discussions of such matters took place every morning in the Supreme

Command office near by. Father disliked sitting at the table longer

than necessary and, as soon as the meal was over, he rose from the

table and his guests followed. During the summer, the luncheons were

held in a large tent on a hill in the pine woods.

In the evening, when we were there, Father tried to be with us on our

train. He poured the tea himself with only the family present. Father’s

train stood on a sidetrack in the woods, his study was at the end and

two strong Cossacks stood always on guard.

On one visit, we saw General Hanbury-Williams. He spoke to us about

his children, especially his two sons who were actively engaged in the

war. The General and Alexei became great friends. He and General Rickel

both spoke to Mother about the boy, saying that his presence made them

forget about the war and that Mother should leave him in Mogilev. My

brother remained at G.H.Q. General Hanbury-Williams was often invited

to dinner with Father and Alexei.

We left Mogilev. When we arrived at Tsarskoe Selo, we found one of

Mother’s ladies in waiting, Princess Sonia Orbeliani, critically ill.

This young friend of ours had suffered some years earlier a back injury

caused by a fall from her horse. Now the spine began to trouble her

seriously. In the end she was totally paralyzed. We had a special nurse

for her, and she continued to stay in our house. Her room adjoined our

rooms, and Mother went to see her every night to make sure that she was

comfortable. Having her in our home caused a great deal of jealousy

among the other ladies in waiting and our staff. Sonia, herself, was

jealous of Anna Vyrubova, who in turn quarrelled with her. Poor Sonia

was still young when she left the world. Several times during her

illness, before the war, we took her to the Crimea and we sisters

pushed her about in her wheel chair. Fortunately for her she passed

away quietly before the fear of devastation settled over our family.

Father returned home with Alexei just in time to attend Sonia’s funeral.

Father was home for a few days only. He wanted to have a quiet evening

with just the family. Anna invited herself the very first evening. This

upset Mother so much that she said exasperatedly, “I hope Anna can live

one day without seeing me!”

We sisters and brother left Mother’s room early, hoping that Anna

would do the same, but Mother told us the next morning that Anna had

continued to stay until very late. Father told Olga that after the

Christmas holidays, he would keep Alexei at G.H.Q. most of the time in

order to avoid having Rasputin called in the event Alexei should become

ill.

While home Father told us of a report that in one of the military

hospitals a wounded soldier who had been decorated for his bravery

with the St. George Cross--one of the highest decorations in the

Russian army--had asked for and received photographs autographed by

each member of the Imperial family. After he was discharged from the

hospital, in his bedside table drawer was found a German code. It was

intended to use the pictures signed by us in propaganda leaflets which

were to be dropped in the Russian trenches. This soldier was identified

and he confessed. There were important names involved in the plot. He

was executed, and his Latvian mother was placed under surveillance.

Meantime Father investigated everything in the palace. To his great

dismay and disappointment, he found disloyalty. German machine guns

were found hidden near Peterhof, and in the outskirts of our farms

at Dudendorff near the Swiss chalet. No one knew how these were

smuggled in. Our own family was now being exposed to danger. The

propaganda having failed at the front, it started to penetrate into

homes, schools, hospitals and elsewhere. One day a folder was found

on our library table. The headline said, “Germans are killing the

Russian peasants, confiscating their cattle and taking everything for

themselves.” The article went on to say that Mother was a spy and was

collaborating with German agents. How this folder came to be placed on

the table remained a mystery. Mother’s real sorrow was that now Russia

had begun to believe these unfounded lies. At this time, King George

of England wanted Mother to come to Sandringham for a rest, but she

refused to hear of it. “I shall rest when the war is over,” she said.

Father also discovered that many peacetime guards had been removed from

duty at the palace and sent to the front without his knowledge, leaving

the palace guard insufficiently manned. Father ordered additional

guards to be sent from the mixed regiments but his orders were

disobeyed. Instead, revolutionists were assigned to guard the palace.

The last time we saw Granny was in Kiev some weeks before Christmas of

1916.

Our last trip to inspect hospitals was shortly before Christmas.

Accompanying us was Anna Vyrubova. More and more we discovered

how much, under a superficial politeness, Anna was hated. She was

aware that her friendship with Mother caused Mother a great deal

of suffering. It was at this time that we went to the old city of

Novgorod. At the station we were met by the Governor with bread and

salt and his family presented us with flowers; greetings came from

a squadron of Mother’s own Uhlan Guards. Both sides of the streets

were lined with military men, school children, and civilians. With

cheers and “ura” they threw their caps into the air, waved their

handkerchiefs, and pelted our limousines with flowers. At last we

reached the cathedral where special carpets were stretched and the

church was packed with well-wishers. Princes Igor Constantinovich and

Andrei Alexandrovich came from nearby. At luncheon Igor remarked, “The

people most assuredly displayed great joy and devotion to you.”

In the afternoon we went to the hospital and Mother was touched by

the kind reception. It gave her courage and strength. To everybody’s

surprise she was able to walk to the second floor to see the sick

men. Here, too, we were given money to aid the wounded. At twilight,

with music, our automobiles were escorted to the station. We reached

home late that night. This trip gave Mother a lift and confidence and

for days she carried a smile of contentment, thanks to the people of

Novgorod.

The Christmas of 1916 stands out brilliantly in contrast to the

Christmas that followed. None of the secret joy was missing. Before

the war, when still quite young, we children used to be sent on a long

drive as the Christmas Eve dusk gathered. Oh, the thrill of watching

the daylight merge into night’s cocoon, knowing the excitement that

would come with darkness! At last the drive was over and we stood on

the very threshold of the mysterious room where Christmas Eve was to

be celebrated. From somewhere nearby Christmas carols were wafted

up to us. As the door opened, there stood the glittering tree, each

year more beautiful than any before. The room was filled with people:

family, friends, and the palace staff. From the highest to the most

humble servant, everyone gathered around the tree. Each was remembered

with a gift, no one was forgotten. For weeks my sisters, with the help

of ladies of the court, had wrapped the presents, each looking like a

gleaming jewel. The day before Christmas, most Russians take no food,

only water, until the first star appears in the heavens. This year, in

the early morning, we went to a service at the Feodorovsky Sobor, and

at dawn the Christmas trees were lighted for us, the officers and the

guard. We sisters had helped to decorate the trees.

The fast was followed by the Christmas Eve dinner of twelve courses,

representing the Twelve Apostles. No meat was served, but there were

many kinds of fish, each course having a symbolic meaning. There were

hors d’oeuvre, soup, mushrooms, fruit and nuts, etc.

We decided to keep our own tree, set up on the second floor, until late

after the New Year. The flames of war and intrigue hissed and sizzled

but could not outshine the glow of Christmas. First of all there were

plans for the hospitals and orphanages, great effort being put into the

personal cheer of each invalid and needy person. There were sparkling

trees decorated by Mother’s own hands, with white and silver ornaments.

With the hospitals full of wounded men and the tense condition at the

front, every one made a special effort to effect a semblance of gaiety.

On Christmas day, in the early afternoon, the tree was lighted for

the Guard, the regimental orchestra played, and the Cossacks danced

and sang. Everyone stood around the tree and Olga, acting for Mother,

presented the gifts. Our gifts were usually simple and useful.

Although that Christmas had the familiar setting, it did not have the

customary joyous spirit. First of all, Father’s duties claimed his

time with heavy responsibilities. I remember that the day before his

departure for Mogilev, he was discouraged and upset. He had a long talk

with Olga in his study before he left. Asking her to persuade Mother in

some way that she should not write him daily long letters, he relied

on the help of our oldest sister. For these letters, telling Father

what should be done, were resented by him. He was especially annoyed

when Anna sent along her own naive suggestions; these he called stupid.

“Everyone is issuing orders and I have to listen to them,” he said. He

also asked Mother not to talk with her friends regarding matters they

knew nothing about. That, he pointed out, was the Ministers’ business

and no one else’s. Father himself had asked Mother not to do this.

He was tired and worried about the things she mentioned, long before

she was aware of the fact that Father’s replies to her were short and

concise. Mother felt surprise that he made no comment on what she had

written. Then she decided to go and see Father in Mogilev.

Mother was a great thinker and a reader of scientific books, natural

science, religion and astronomy. She could solve the hardest

mathematical problems. She spent many hours in her small library next

to her sitting room, reading her rare books on Indian philosophy,

given her by the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nicholaevna, the divorced

wife of the Duke of Leuchtenberg and later the wife of the Grand Duke

Nicholai Nicholaevich, who himself was also a scholar of Persian and

Indian history. Mother never wasted one minute. Everyday she spent many

hours with her secretary on reports. Her mail was enormous. She wrote

beautifully and her letters were sad and touching. She cared little

for wealth. She left behind in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd, Livadia,

and Alexandria items of immense value--her platinum, rock crystal desk

set, and a gold one; her dressing table accessories; her collection of

crosses and boxes; the dozen genuine blue sapphire, gold-rimmed glasses

(the work of Bolin) given her one at a time over a period of years by

Father; valuable laces; and over 300 Easter eggs. She took with her

only a few keepsakes; many of the most valuable items were left in

Tsarskoe Selo in the care of Count Benckendorff.

At the end of the holiday week there came a great change. On December

30th, 1916, Olga came to us excitedly and whispered: “Rasputin is

missing!” His daughter had just telephoned Anna that he had not been

home all night. This had alarmed Anna who had seen Rasputin just the

previous evening, in Petrograd--for a few minutes only, in order to

avoid further talk. Anna remembered that Rasputin had told her then

that Prince Felix Youssoupoff was to call for him late in the evening

to take him to his home to meet his wife, Irina. Mother was sure that

our pretty cousin, Princess Irina, was in the Crimea and ill at that

time. Irina was the daughter of Father’s sister, Xenia, and the Grand

Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, the grandson of the Emperor Nicholas I,

and Father’s favorite cousin and his brother-in-law.

Olga and Tatiana left to attend to their work in the hospital as

usual, while Marie and I reluctantly went to the schoolroom. After

classes we joined the family and found, to our horror, that suspicion

of Rasputin’s disappearance pointed not only to Prince Youssoupoff but

to our own cousin, the Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich. After a thorough

investigation by the police, it was established that Rasputin had been

murdered, his body wrapped in a military blanket and thrown into the

Neva river in Petrograd.

The frozen corpse was found two days later, under the ice. It was

assumed that the body had been carried in a Red Cross car, then thrown

into the river from the bridge. Inasmuch as a Red Cross conveyance

had been involved, it came as a sickening shock to learn that the

murder was linked to these two young men with the knowledge of the

Commander of the Red Cross, Purishkevich, who was a member of the Duma.

Several previous unsuccessful attempts on Rasputin’s life had been

made. Once he was stabbed by a young woman in Siberia and another time

deliberately run over by a carriage. Each time he had escaped serious

injury.

It was especially shocking to find Dimitri Pavlovich involved for,

ever since he had been a young man, he had had a room in our home in

Tsarskoe Selo and in the Crimea. His sister, Marie, had also spent many

happy days with us. Aunt Ella had brought him up as her own son after

his widowed father married a second time and left Russia for a while.

Dimitri was considered a member of our family and we all were extremely

fond of him. It was almost impossible for us to believe that he could

be implicated in the murder of this much despised man. Later we heard

that his role in the affair was very minor.

Suddenly the news came that General Hanbury-Williams’ son had gone

down with Lord Kitchener on the torpedoed “Hampshire” in the North

Sea. It was such a blow to our family that we all cried on hearing the

tragic news. Mother sent some orchids to the General with our profound

sympathy. Later, Alexei told us that, when the General appeared that

evening for dinner, and when they greeted each other, the General threw

his arms around Alexei in tears. Alexei said: “My heart went out to

him.” After dinner, they kissed each other, the General calling Alexei

the most loving child as he departed for his quarters. The next day

General Hanbury-Williams once more joined Father and Alexei at dinner.

In the meantime, Father had received a telegram announcing that

Rasputin had been killed. Father and Alexei left for Tsarskoe Selo,

and Alexei never saw the General again. Painfully Alexei described to

us the last evening he had with the General. Alexei, sympathetic and

sensitive, suffered with him and felt he, himself, should return to

G.H.Q. as the unfortunate General needed someone to comfort him. The

General later sustained another sad blow, upon learning that his second

son had been wounded. We all felt his tragedies as though they were our

personal loss.

Father posed for a moment only for a family picture beside the tree.

Then he read the report of the Rasputin murder. His reaction was: “To

think that a member of the Imperial family could commit such a crime as

to kill the Starets. I am ashamed to face the peasants who are fighting

valiantly for Russia, and many of whom have died. And yet these boys

find time for murder, as though there is not enough crime in the world.”

Those who committed the murder should have been at the front. How

unjust to kill a man without a trial and without an opportunity to

defend himself. It may be these young men imagined themselves to be

patriots in killing one who had repeatedly prophesied future reverses

for the Empire. If this despised man was undermining the foundation

of Russia by promoting a dishonorable peace with the enemy, then he

deserved even a greater punishment. But there was no proof. Father did

not come home because Rasputin was killed but because our two relatives

were involved in the crime, and the punishment had to come from him

only.

Because of Rasputin’s death, a great rejoicing had swept over

Petrograd. There were telegrams of congratulation for the illustrious

deed, toasts with the touching of glasses filled with champagne. No one

could foresee that these toasts, with glasses “bottoms up”, were for

their own funeral.

Father struggled with the problem of how to punish the young men. He

ordered Felix to be exiled to one of his estates in the province of

Kursk. It was during my escape in 1918, when I set foot there, that the

whole picture seemed to come into focus before me: Mother, Dimitri,

Felix. It must have been a great shock to the quiet, beautiful, young

wife, Irina, who was deeply in love with her husband, Felix. Most of

the people thought of this Oxford graduate as a fascinating handsome

man, having a great deal of humor, one who could never do such a

terrible thing. But he believed that this was the solution to save

Russia. Dimitri was sent to the General Staff on the Persian border,

where the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was. Luckily Dimitri escaped

the fate of his father, his half-brother, his cousins, and other

relatives who were killed in 1918-1919. Immediately, his relatives

tried to intercede, as had been done at the time of the coronation

disaster, which it was claimed, was the result of the negligence of the

Grand Duke Serge Alexandrovich.

It was a blow to Father himself, since we all were so fond of Dimitri.

Besides he was Father’s ward and like a brother to us. On account

of Dimitri’s poor health, after having spent several months at the

front early in the war, he was sent back to Petrograd and, since then,

he had spent his time there without occupation and so had become

involved in this crime. His own father, the Grand Duke Paul, expressed

dissatisfaction. Even though the punishment was light, still the

relatives resented it and expressed coolness towards us. The Grand Duke

Alexander Mikhailovich, Father’s brother-in-law, came to see Father but

to no avail. Father said forcefully: “No matter whether it was a Grand

Duke or a peasant, the law is the same for all.”

Almost the whole Romanov family, led by the Grand Duke Cyril, his

mother, Marie Pavlovna, and his brothers, Andrew and Boris, signed a

petition in which they asked for the release of the two young heroes.

My father was so angered by this, he said: “They would never have dared

ask such a favor from my austere father, Alexander III” and “No one has

the right to commit a murder, especially in time of war and within my

realm.”

The Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna (née Duchess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin)

being successful in turning almost all the relatives, as well as many

influential friends, against my family hoped by this division of the

family to bring the crown to her son. She invited to her parties some

mutual friends and continued her slander against my family. Among these

courted guests was Rodzianko, President of the Duma. Some of these

could no longer tolerate her scheming and, to her amazement, they asked

to be excused and left in the midst of the conversation. The most

damaging effect, due to this division of the Imperial family, was the

plot organized by the Grand Duke Cyril to kill Mother and Father. The

planning had taken place at the Imperial Yacht Club in Petrograd, of

which my Father and all the relatives were members. Many friends also

belonged to it.

They were given a warning to discontinue making trouble while other men

were dying in the trenches. Father gave orders to separate them, and

they were to go to their various estates. This blow was more than they

could bear. No matter what the cost, they were determined to uproot

this man who was a thorn in their side.

After the sad parting of the two sisters in Tsarskoe Selo, Aunt Ella’s

bitterness toward my Mother increased. I was told that she knew then

that there was to be an attempt on the life of Rasputin, yet she did

not discourage Dimitri from taking part in it; instead, she spent

her time in a convent where she met one of her friends, and prayed

on her knees in this convent while the murder in Petrograd was being

committed. I wonder now whether she was praying for her own soul. To my

sorrow her life also ended very painfully in 1918.

XII REVOLUTION

Mother once thought that, if Alexei could not be spared, Dimitri might

marry one of her daughters in order to carry on the Romanov line. Now

she had to take Rasputin’s death philosophically. At the same time,

she grieved over the mistake of the young men, especially the one

whom she had loved as her own son. Unfortunately, the Emperor Paul

(1796-1801) had decreed that no female be allowed to succeed to the

Russian throne. I think that, in case of political turmoil, the decree

could have been set aside. Olga would have made a wonderful Empress.

She was intelligent, well-read, had a kind disposition, was popular

among her friends, and understood human nature. She was a true Russian

in heart and soul. She could not have been easily deceived. I am sure

that she would have ruled wisely in the interest of her people. Father

had inherited from his father, Alexander III, the autocratic form of

government which contributed in part to the downfall of Russia.

Father stayed on but we hardly saw him, except at mealtime. He left

the table hurriedly and buried himself in state papers and military

problems. It was a great comfort, nevertheless, to have him with us.

The Germans reasoned that Rasputin’s death would remove one of the most

fruitful subjects of their propaganda. Consequently they hastened to

push forward another subject. German agents dropped leaflets into the

Russian trenches stating that the Tsar was about to sign a separate

peace treaty with Germany. It was also said that Mother, while she

visited Father in Mogilev, had entertained Generals Ludendorff and

Hindenburg at night and received letters from her brother, Uncle

Ernest. Another rumor had it that the Russian officers of the General

Staff and the Grand Dukes were gambling and wasting their time in

cabarets while Russian soldiers were dying in the trenches.

The patriotic army was not taken in by this propaganda, because

they had seen Father’s devotion to the cause of Russia. But General

Ludendorff and the Kaiser intensified this propaganda because they

knew it was impossible to defeat the brave Russian army without the

connivance of a revolution behind the lines. The idea was to divide,

conquer, poison the mind of the Russian people and weaken loyalty to

the Emperor. Mutiny was feared at the front since Father was away in

Tsarskoe Selo, not because our troops were inadequately fed, clothed

and supplied with arms. On the contrary the troops, Father said, were

never so strong and well-fed, and our military strength was now greater

than at the beginning of the war. But the supplies were deliberately

delayed by the merchants who received bribes from German agents

while Father was away. So the goods were withheld from the markets

by the merchants. Ten million rubles were spent to overthrow Russia

by revolution. It was this money that originally had been intended

to be used to improve the conditions of the Russian prisoners of war

in Germany. Father’s presence was needed at General Headquarters. In

spite of Alexei’s symptoms of measles and the fever that raged in him,

Father left for G.H.Q., promising to return soon. For Mother, always

apprehensive of Alexei, had begged Father to stay home a few days until

the boy’s condition could be better determined. But Father’s plans had

been made some months ahead for a surprise attack on the enemy and

could not be changed.

Father had hardly departed before riots and strikes became a common

occurrence in Petrograd. Shortages were reported; there was plenty of

bread, even though it was not available in the stores. However, many

merchants--some were foreigners and some were not--hid the products

or raised the prices so high that the poor could not purchase any

meat, butter, or other essential commodities. Train loads of grain

stood on the tracks until the grain became mouldy and unfit for human

consumption.

One morning Mother entered her room to find Father’s picture lying

on the floor. The glass covering this picture, taken recently at

the trenches, was broken at the position of Father’s neck in the

photograph. Immediately Mother’s superstitious nature reappeared. There

was, she felt, something wrong with Father. This breakage could have

been the work of a hostile servant but, more likely, the wind had done

it. To Mother it was a bad omen. Again her anxious mind went back to

the large cross she saw in the sky as they crossed the Troitsky bridge

a few years before. Did these signs indicate that Father was to bear a

heavy cross in the future?

Then she had a dream which increased her anxiety. In it she saw the

Grand Duke Serge, who had been blamed for the coronation disaster and

had been dead for years, come to visit us; suddenly he began to dance

and wave a chiffon veil. Father sat and watched him. All at once the

Grand Duke came to the end of his little dance, and the veil he was

waving caught on the stone on top of the crown on Father’s head. A

quick move of the Grand Duke and the crown was off Father’s head and

dashed to the floor. Seven of the large stones seemed to disappear,

only one being left. Soon that, too, began to evaporate slowly until

it became a tiny pebble and finally vanished. The dream haunted her.

Did it mean that the crown would be lost? The little stone that

vanished--did that indicate that Alexei might be taken away from us?

Another bad omen! The chain which held the cross and the ruby ring

(actually it was a red diamond) which Father had given to Mother and

which she lately had been wearing around her neck, had broken. These

she had always considered her good luck charms. She often placed her

ruby ring on the chain with the cross and now, when the chain broke,

the ring rolled one way and the cross another. Did this have a meaning

in relation to Father’s safety or did it indicate a rift between

Father and the Church? Later this same ring was taken from Mother by

Voykov several weeks before the tragic night at Ekaterinburg; he wore

this red diamond on his little finger. Mother and I, myself, were great

believers in dreams; I still believe in mysticism.

Mother had not heard of Father’s safe arrival at G.H.Q. Finally

we received the news that he had reached his destination. Serious

disorders in the streets of Petrograd began two days later and lasted

for about ten days. While the air was thick with suspicion, strikes,

riots, and accusations, we children were seized with measles. Alexei

had been ill before Father left; next Olga was stricken; then Tatiana;

and, at last, I caught the disease. Marie helped Mother to care for

us, but not for long because she, too, fell ill. Then both she and I

contracted pneumonia and had to be placed in oxygen tents.

Early in March, we heard through General von Grooten, assistant to

General Voyeykov, Commandant of the Palaces, and at that time with

Father at G.H.Q., of the conversation he had had with the military

commandant in Petrograd, General Belyayev. He had, himself, been able,

through General Voyeykov, to speak to Father and tell him of the true

state of affairs. Rodzianko had wired His Majesty that everything was

quiet. The General had acted on his own initiative because he could see

the critical conditions in Petrograd and in Tsarskoe Selo. Father was

relieved to hear that we were alive. Through General Belyayev, Father

sent word that we should do nothing until he returned home. But we must

be ready to go away at a moment’s notice. He had also been informed

that we all were ill, but he hoped that, when he arrived home, we would

be well enough to leave. He did not know that Marie and I and several

others at the palace had pneumonia.

At this time Rodzianko called the palace to say that Father was well

but we were in great danger and should go at once to Gatchina Palace,

about thirty miles southwest of Petrograd. Uncle Michael also had his

residence there, and many other relatives of the Imperial family

maintained villas in the park. Had we gone there, we would have had

more freedom. Two parallel wings, connected by a third, were almost

completely enclosed. Each wing had more than several hundred rooms, and

the grounds held a fair-sized lake in the middle. The estate included

thousands of acres of gardens, forest and ravines. We might more easily

have escaped from there abroad.

There were rumors that Uncle Ernest was hiding in a tunnel. People

probably confused a tunnel at Alexander Palace in Tsarskoe Selo with a

natural passage at Gatchina. This natural passage could be entered from

the stairway of the palace into a dark narrow hall, the exit of which

led to the bank of Silver Lake adjoining the Baltic Sea. This spooky

tunnel was cold, damp, and had a mournful echo. All these gruesome

things came to my mind. I could see the statue of Paul I in front of

the palace. His clothes, which were brought into his room after his

assassination, remained there undisturbed as on the day he left the

palace. There was a belief that Paul’s ghost walked at night about the

vast rooms, corridors, and terraces. Others even claimed that they had

heard him calling in the tunnel, and some servants were afraid to leave

their rooms when the clock struck twelve midnight. This palace was my

Grandfather’s favorite residence.

In Tsarskoe Selo there was a tunnel or passage through one of the park

entrances. This entrance, with a stone structure over the gate, was

carefully watched, and was used by the workers--delivery men, repair

men, cooks, maids, gardeners and others. No one could enter this

passage without showing his or her pass and the picture on the pass had

to correspond with the one in the book which was at the disposal of the

guard. When these workers reached the inner end of the tunnel, they

were in the English basement of the palace where there were a number of

rooms set aside for their use. These included a lounge, dining rooms,

etc. In another section of the basement were rooms for the officers,

including a dining room which was below Mother’s bedroom. Five or six

hundred workers used this tunnel daily. It was one of the busiest

and most widely used entrances. Practically all these people using

this gate had been known to the guards, inasmuch as they had used this

entrance for many years.

We heard that the soldiers were breaking into stores, getting drunk,

and even becoming intoxicated on wood alcohol. As a result, some were

poisoned and died. These deaths were blamed on the palace guard.

Mother was on duty with us children all night for several nights.

Although she made frequent changes, she appeared constantly in her

nurse’s uniforms. She rested on the sofa in order to be near us.

The trials my Mother endured during these turbulent days are beyond

description. One of the first things Mother did as a prisoner was to go

through her personal letters. She burned some of the intimate ones she

had received from Father during their courtship. Other letters which

she destroyed were those from her Granny, Queen Victoria. When Mother

was a young bride, expecting her first child, her Granny gave her

useful advice. All letters written by the Imperial family were almost

always numbered and dated so that it was easy to know whether any were

missing. When the palace was searched by the commissars appointed

by the Provisional Government, they noticed the paper ashes in the

fireplace. They accused Mother of having burned important evidence. She

could not change their suspicion that she had burned more than personal

letters of sentiment. When she was through burning them, she said; “All

is dead--but not my memories. No one can take them from me.” Then she

buried her face in her hands, resting her arms on the mantel of the

fireplace where she had burned her Granny’s own handwritten, cherished

letters. She wept bitterly over the flame that carried Queen Victoria’s

precious words into smoke.

The authorities now read all the remaining letters of my Father and my

Mother. When they were unable to find anything detrimental with which

they could accuse them, they fabricated all kinds of lies in order to

deceive the general public. They even forged Mother’s handwriting

and signature and published all sorts of atrocious lies against my

parents. Several of those “letters” we saw later in Ekaterinburg;

the handwriting was very much like Mother’s. Mother was accused of

pro-German sympathies and actually of being a spy. What would it have

mattered to the traitors if Mother had been a spy? But she was not.

It was purposely done with a view to putting the blame on someone who

would have produced the most damaging results to the country. It was

all a part of the traitors’ pattern of intrigue to wreck the country

and to weaken the Russian government, if necessary by revolution.

All these accusations were a betrayal and deceit. They sprang from

the rumor that Mother, with the help of her brother, was seeking a

separate peace with Germany. Mother was falsely accused, had absolutely

nothing to do with it. It was caused by the actions of Princess Maria

Vasilchikova, of whom I have written before, who also knew Uncle

Ernest. She came from a Russian family who were also friends of Aunt

Ella. She had known Mother for some ten years. She was a friend of

the Imperial families of Austria and Germany, and, just before the

outbreak of war in 1914, she was in Austria. Sometime in 1916, she had

been persuaded by the Austrian and German Governments to write letters

to Mother in which she stressed that both Governments had always been

friendly with Russia, that they wished to renew this friendship, but

that they did not put much faith in the alliance with England. Three or

four such letters came to my family. These letters were known to all

the High Command, the secret police and to the Minister of War. Father

did not answer them. Both Governments, he said, should have known

better. Instead, they waged war rather than take Serbia to the tribunal

at the Hague.

Father was angered when he heard that Maria had been to see the Russian

prisoners of war in Germany, expecting that they would put pressure

on Father to agree to a truce. He had received information that these

prisoners were well cared for, but the subsequent report from the

Red Cross proved that was not true. In one of her letters Maria

stated that, if the treaty were not considered, all Russia would be

endangered. Evidently Maria well knew the aim of the enemy: fostering

revolution. She also went to see Uncle Ernest, and subsequently a

letter came from her and Uncle Ernest, addressed to Mother, sent by way

of Sweden.

Mother was very angry and terribly upset about Maria and Uncle Ernest,

particularly that he would even think that Father might conclude such

a treaty. She said that she never wanted to see her brother again. She

answered this letter herself and emphasized that no separate peace

treaty would be signed with Germany. Because Mother sent this letter

without Father’s consent, he was greatly upset.

Then a letter from Wilhelm II came to Count Benckendorff asking him to

encourage Father to sign a separate treaty. Father said, let him write

such letters to all my Allies, but a separate German treaty with Russia

only, will never take place.

Still later a letter came from Petrograd from that same Maria,

enclosing a note from Uncle Ernest. She begged for an audience with my

Mother, who refused to grant her request but, instead, referred Maria’s

letter to the proper authorities. Her appearance in Petrograd stirred

up considerable trouble because it made people believe that she had

been to see Mother. Then she wrote to Aunt Ella and, when Aunt Ella did

not answer, she went to see Minister Sazonov. He, too, angrily said:

“There will be no separate peace with Germany.” All the letters were

turned over to the secret police who were especially furious at her

saying that her estate in Austria would be confiscated. At this, Mother

remarked: “Why should Russia be held responsible because Maria’s estate

will be confiscated?” Father ordered that Maria be sent to her sister’s

estate. Father was very angry, saying “Wilhelm must be mad.” How could

anyone forget the actions of the German and Austrian Emperors which

brought on the war and resulted in the loss of thousands of Russian

lives, widespread suffering and enormous destruction of property,

especially in the Ukraine.

How absurd for anyone to think that Mother would spy for Germany. For

she had waited so long for a son to fulfill the need of the country

when Father’s time was to come. How could she betray anyone she loved

dearly, her husband, her son, or her adopted Mother Country! Anyone

believing such illogical and unintelligent propaganda was not a healthy

thinker.

One day the commissars, in searching the palace again, discovered a

secret panel cupboard. No one knew how they discovered the secret door

as it was so well concealed in the wall. This secret closet contained

a number of Mother’s treasures of various kinds. There was a keepsake

of no value, an accordion-pleated fan which had upon it pictures of

Mother and Father when they were young. It had been presented to them

on one of their visits to France. From one angle, when you looked at

it, there appeared a picture of Mother; from another angle, it showed a

picture of Father. At this time, some others of Mother’s keepsakes were

removed. One, especially beautiful, was a fan with a tortoise shell

handle, jewelled with emeralds; the pleated lace was studded with tiny,

double eagle, gold sequins. There were many other items of great value.

As we lay in our darkened rooms trying to recuperate, we kept asking

why Father did not come. Five invalids at once! When Madame Lili Dehn,

the wife of Charles Dehn, the captain on our yacht and a friend since

our childhood, received the news of our illness, she left her little

boy with a nurse and rushed to help us, but the day of her arrival she

became a prisoner in the palace with the others. She brought us the

news that shops had been plundered, and that serious clashes had arisen

between rebels and police. Dr. Derevenko brought news that the Liteiny

Arsenal in Petrograd was in the hands of the rebels, that explosions in

factories were taking place and that soldiers had been deserting their

posts in panic.

Princess Obolensky, Olga Butsova and Princess Dundakova, once ladies

in waiting, and the brother of Captain Charles Dehn likewise offered

their assistance, but were denied entry to the palace. Mother had

so wished that they could be with us, because they had always been

faithful to us. Countess Anastasia (Nastinka) Hendrikova, a lady in

waiting, heard of our illness and she left the Caucasus and came to

Tsarskoe Selo to offer her assistance.

To Mother’s distress she found that many of her servants had contracted

the flu as the epidemic swept the palace and some had run away in fear,

including Derevenko, the sailor, Alexei’s servant. He told the other

employees that he might prefer to serve the new regime; he was finally

arrested by order of the Provisional Government, which had found stolen

property on him.

We could hear the clashing of the mutineers, the screams and the shouts

and some shooting near the palace gate. Mother was shocked to find

there were so few soldiers on duty. She hurried to the phone to speak

with the officer at the main gate, but there was no answer. She phoned

the other entrance and the officer on duty informed her that many

guards had deserted their posts, only a few being left to guard the

palace.

A cannon was brought into the courtyard in readiness, but Mother begged

the guards not to fire even one single bullet into the crowds. No

matter what the consequences, she wished no blood shed on account of

her family.

Mother heard noises in the officers’ room below her bedroom. She

went down personally with Marie. She requested one of the officers

to accompany her to the section where the guards came in to warm

themselves. Mother ordered that hot tea should be served to them as

often as they came in, because the temperature had dropped to 18° below

zero.

Dr. Botkin was announced and when he entered our rooms he looked pale

and distressed. He told Mother of a rumor that Father had been shot.

But Mother refused to believe this. With the world collapsing around

her, she crept back to her children. This good man, who was Mother’s

personal physician, offered to care for the five invalids. Because of

the emergency he even helped to change our garments, although there

was a rule that no man could render such assistance.

Some time after the New Year, the Grand Duke Paul, in spite of his

failing health, took command of the regiments in Tsarskoe Selo. This

was most encouraging to us. All became quiet for a short period. The

Grand Duke came to the palace and talked with Mother at some length.

Marie heard raised voices in the next room. The conversation was mostly

about Anna Vyrubova. The public objected to her staying in the palace.

At this time her parents, the Taneevs, came from Terijoki on the

Gulf of Finland to be with their daughter during her illness, as she

demanded so much attention. Everyone thought that Anna with her measles

required more care than all five of us put together. So her parents

continued to stay with us until Anna had recovered. This increased the

public’s resentment.

We had known for a long time that an attempt had been made on Anna’s

life, in her own home, so, in order to prevent another crime, she had

been asked to stay with us. Mother became resentful toward the Grand

Duke Paul, who warned her that the palace would be stormed and that

Anna would be carried away dead. Mother indignantly said that it was no

one’s business whom she had in her home and that she had the right to

keep anybody she wished in the palace. Mother and the Grand Duke parted

in hot anger. It went on and on, so that this talk left Mother in an

agitated mood.

Anna was told by the others of the unpleasantness Mother had on her

account with the Grand Duke Paul. Mother had suffered many such

experiences before, just because of her strong will; she always

defended this friend from jealous creatures. Several servants, because

they so despised Anna, later reported to the Provisional Government

everything that took place in the palace; they even told about the

letters that Anna suggested be burned. They were dismissed and, before

their departure, they asked to speak with Count Benckendorff. But this

was denied them. However, no one could convince Mother that Anna’s

presence in our home caused a great deal of trouble and, at the same

time, endangered our lives. Even after she had recovered from her

illness, Anna continued to stay with us.

When we were little girls, Mother resented Anna’s intrusions, but when

Anna confided in Mother that her parents were harsh to her, Mother

felt sorry and took the girl under her wing. Mother told Madame Zizi

Narishkina that she remembered how unpleasant her own life had been

when her own brother, Ernest, was first married. At the time, she could

not even speak to her brother and, in order to avoid conflict, with

her new sister-in-law, she spent her days in her rooms. Subsequently,

Granny took her to England.

Anna continued to come to the house on the pretense that her husband

was away. At the same time she was telling her husband that she was

being called for duty at the palace. When Mother found out that Anna

misrepresented the facts, she became so upset that it caused her first

heart attack. At the same time, Mother’s personal physician resigned

his post because he felt that the heart attacks would continue as long

as Anna was present. Mother never told us children about this, but we

learned about it from Madame Narishkina. However, to my Mother, no one

could say one word against Anna and many felt that she had some undue

influence over the Empress.

We sisters became aware of the general feeling of the greater danger

we were facing. So we displayed coolness toward Anna. That again

displeased Mother, and she insisted that we be friendlier to Anna. She

reprimanded us in spite of our weakened condition. She became angry

with Olga and Marie, and said, “I will not allow anyone to criticize

my friend.” Olga however said; “Anna, with her petty talks has made

herself indispensable to you.” This, though true, so agitated Mother

that we were sorry Olga ever brought the matter up. Even Dr. Botkin

felt that, for the sake of the children, Anna should be sent back to

Terijoki in Finland.

Now all who entered the palace were searched, the women by a woman, and

the men by a guard.

XIII ABDICATION

At Mogilev, Captain Nilov, Major General Prince Vasily Dolgorukov and

others with whom Father discussed the matter agreed that he should

leave immediately for the capital. He was then ready to grant the

Constitution. Mother also wired him to this effect. Soon afterwards a

telegram was received informing Father that the revolution in Petrograd

had been crushed. The news displeased General Ruzsky, who at that time

was the Commanding General of the Northern Front. He and others were

afraid that people would accuse the Duma and himself of treason, so

they made one last attempt to damage the standing of my Father. At the

same time they knew that our troops were strong, were well provided

for, and eager for the spring offensive, for the last surprise attack,

which was to bring a complete victory to our armies within three months.

Ruzsky disliked General Alexeiev and his son, and openly displayed

hatred for them both. He did everything to separate Father and General

Alexeiev, whom Father had known for some time and found most capable.

General Ruzsky also had an animosity toward Count Fredericks because he

knew that the old Count was suspicious of him. General Ruzsky wanted

Father to relieve the Baltic Baron from his post as Court Minister,

saying that the people resented anyone with a German name in a high

position. When Father took the Supreme Command of the Armies in the

Field, the Count had warned him that Ruzsky was a dangerous man and

would inevitably weaken Father’s position among the people. Granny

too tried to discourage Father and felt that Alicky (Mother) was

responsible for this appointment. But Father was determined to correct

the inefficiency and raise the morale of his army.

It had been reported the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was inclined

to favor one officer over another with resulting injustices. General

Krymov told Prince Dolgorukov at the time Father took the Supreme

Command that there was great rejoicing among the officers and soldiers.

They knew that from now on there would be no favoritism shown in the

army. The effect of this new spirit was shown in the victories that

followed when thousands of German and Austrian soldiers were captured,

together with vast quantities of ammunition. Every night thousands of

the enemy soldiers escaped across the border and sought sanctuary in

Russia. The German High Command indeed had a good reason for ordering

Princess Vasilchikova to write numerous letters suggesting a separate

peace treaty.

Going back to General Ruzsky, the officers became suspicious of the

old General. Knowing that Father disliked gossip and accusations,

they were so secretly enraged with Ruzsky that they were ready to

kill him. Later, Prince Dolgorukov told us that Captain Nilov, at the

time of Father’s abdication, became so furious at Ruzsky’s attitude

that he angrily struck the table with his fist and declared; “His

Majesty must not abdicate! He has the Army and the peasants with him.

Ruzsky will destroy the Empire and the Emperor, but I will have the

pleasure of killing him with my own hand.” However, the rapid progress

of the revolution deprived him of this privilege, and the General’s

life was spared by a narrow margin. Whoever would suspect that this

near-sighted man with thick glasses, this short, insignificant, old

man with a wrinkled face whose gray hair stood up like the bristle of

a stiff brush was capable of spying? Even his epaulets, his sloping

shoulders, were not commensurate with the military bearing one expected

of a general. He was well aware of the rapidly changing conditions in

Petrograd. This was the man of whom Father said; “I can never forgive

Ruzsky because, as a Russian general, he committed the most terrible

crime against his country.” During one of our visits to Mogilev,

General Ruzsky was there. He acted strangely toward Mother, trying

to avoid her eyes. His nervousness indicated that his conscience was

bothering him.

About this time Father received a telegram from the Caucasus from the

Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich suggesting that Father abdicate. This

was a disheartening blow to Father. He knew however it was a deliberate

gesture of revenge, because Father had found it necessary to relieve

the Grand Duke from his supreme command in the field. At the same time,

Father had relieved Prince Orlov (Fat Orlov), who had held the position

of Director of Chancery, and had sent him to the Caucasus with the

Grand Duke. While Nicholai Nicholaevich was in Tiflis, he made a great

impression on the people with his enormous height and his thunderous

voice. His great physical strength and enthusiastic manner, as well as

his skilled horsemanship, added to his personal popularity.

Meanwhile General Ewers and General Ivanov were ready to send troops

to Petrograd to crush the riots. But Ruzsky wired Rodzianko, asking

him to take no action. (Rodzianko was related to Prince Youssoupoff by

marriage.) Still another blow Father received was that the Litovsky and

Volinsky regiments, constituted of recruits, had capitulated to the

revolutionists. On top of this, Father was misinformed that Mother had

been killed and that the children who had been ill were in grave danger!

About this time, Father still at G.H.Q., felt that there was still

time to avert the revolution if he could get support from the people

of Petrograd who would recognize that the coming spring offensive

would defeat Germany. He discussed this with his Chief of Staff,

General Alexeiev, who had confidence in the strength and loyalty of

the Army. They decided that Father should leave for the capital where

he was to grant the Constitution. But Ruzsky, Shulgin, and Guchkov

prevented Father’s reaching the city on time. Purposely, by direction

of the Duma, the train was shunted back and forth until the revolution

had taken a stronger root and the abdication, which Father had so

stubbornly resisted all night long, was finally forced upon him.

Before Father left G.H.Q., he wired to General Khabalov in Petrograd

that riots during the war were not tolerable, and must be crushed

at once. But the General wired back that it was all too late; that

his barracks were already deserted, and that the two companies of

Life Guards, commanded by my paternal cousin, the Grand Duke Cyril

Vladimirovich, had marched through the city, led by the Grand Duke

himself with a red band on his arm and a rosette on his chest. This act

alone gave untold encouragement to the revolutionists. Cyril thought

that this was the opportune moment for him, with the help of various

members of the Imperial family, to seize the Crown.

At this time the Grand Duke Michael (Uncle Misha) who was being held

at the Tauride Palace (the Duma), knew what Cyril was trying to do

and refused to see him. Uncle Misha had been called from Gatchina to

discuss the possibility of becoming Regent. The problem was complicated

by the poor physical condition of the Tsarevich who, Uncle Michael

felt, could not assume the heavy burden of rule in view of the

condition the country was in and in view of his lack of experience.

Meanwhile Cyril Vladimirovich was seeking to establish good relations

with the newly-formed government. But, even now, Rodzianko had begun

to doubt the Vladimir family. All this was told to Mother by the Grand

Duke Paul Alexandrovich himself.

Cyril proceeded to the Duma and handed over the troops under his

command to the new regime. This was a deliberate revenge against my

Mother. Previous to this, Cyril and his German mother, Marie Pavlovna,

the elder (née Duchess of Mecklenburg), the widow of the Grand Duke

Vladimir, Father’s deceased uncle, had often spoken admiringly of

Bismarck, who had once been German Ambassador to Russia. They had also

praised Kaiser Wilhelm, in spite of the fact that the countries were at

war. The Grand Duchess had made no secret of her sympathies. She and

her son had given huge parties to which they had asked many influential

friends. We heard that among them were General Ruzsky, Princess

Radziwill and Sir George Buchanan, the British Ambassador. We heard

also that they also entertained many revolutionists and German agents

who no doubt gained much valuable information as they mingled with

other guests. Father received this report after our arrest in Tsarskoe

Selo. The invitations to these parties were most extravagant. The

double eagle and the crown were embossed in different shades of green,

yellow, and blue with real gold sheets or red and blue enamel, pressed

into the finest grade of paper.

This attractive plotter, Marie Pavlovna (the elder) was a charming

personality and an excellent conversationalist. She did everything in

her power to tarnish the names of my Father and Mother. Her son Cyril

had married the Princess Victoria Melita of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha,

granddaughter of Queen Victoria and divorced wife of Mother’s only

brother, the Grand Duke Ernest of Hesse, who was a grandson of Queen

Victoria.

Mother had had a sad experience when Victoria became Ernest’s wife,

because of Victoria’s jealous disposition. At the time Mother had

had no choice but to live in the same home with the unhappy couple.

Fortunately, the benevolent Granny, Queen Victoria, soon took Mother

to England. Then, when there was no sister-in-law to pick at, Victoria

made Uncle Ernest’s life miserable, and their marriage ended in divorce

several years later. Subsequently, Victoria married Cyril, and they

were banished from Russia, but had returned just before the outbreak

of World War I. Cyril expressed malicious joy when four daughters

in succession were born to the Imperial couple; and later, when it

became known that the new heir to the throne, Alexei, was afflicted

with haemophilia--which might kill him early in life--Cyril had felt

that the throne was already within his grasp. This was especially true

when Uncle Michael was banished from Russia, after having married a

divorcée. Now Cyril’s hopes for the Crown were redoubled and his mother

held, practically, a court of her own. But these relatives of ours

lived long enough to see the catastrophe in which they plunged their

country.

When the secret of Alexei’s haemophilia had been learned by Cyril’s

mother, she suddenly, after more than thirty years of indecision,

decided to adopt the Russian orthodox religion in order to strengthen

her son’s potentials for eligibility for the throne. Such maneuvering

was entirely in vain, inasmuch as the church would never have accepted,

let alone crowned, as Tsar a man whose wife’s first husband was still

alive. This same factor of marriage to a divorced woman also affected

the eligibility of Uncle Michael to succession.

Now at last Mother agreed to the suggestion of men who had stood by her

during the trying times: General von Grooten, Prince Putiatin, and her

secretary, Count Apraxin, who came by foot from Petrograd in the winter

cold solely to tell Mother that Father was to arrive the next morning;

also Count Adam Zamoyski, A.D.C., and General Dobrovolsky. Their

suggestion was that she visit the troops assembled in the courtyard.

Mother and Marie, accompanied by Count Benckendorff and Count Apraxin,

greeted and thanked them for their kind services. At this time Mother

could see no noticeable difference in the men’s behavior. Count Apraxin

was a devoted friend of my parents and loyal to the end. He was deeply

religious, encouraged culture and the arts, and had a knowledge of

conditions in the country.

Before the abdication, an ukase was signed by Father dismissing the

old Cabinet and appointing Prince George Lvov as Prime Minister. By it

the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was to resume his former position

as Commander-in-Chief of the Army. In spite of Prince Lvov’s protest,

all the old Ministers were arrested by the Provisional Cabinet, then

still under his direction. The pressure came from Kerensky, Shulgin and

Guchkov, the latter a bitter enemy of Mother’s. He was, it was said,

influenced by traitors from abroad.

There now was an epidemic of measles, flu and pneumonia in the

palace. Twice a day additional doctors were permitted to attend all

who were ill, officers of the guard standing behind them during all

examinations. It was embarrassing to the patients to have these strange

men in their bedrooms. Count Benckendorff spoke to the commissar,

asking that the guards remain in the hall. No extra nurses were

permitted to help care for the sick.

We heard that Countess Fredericks had contracted pneumonia and been

taken to the English Hospital, then under supervision of Lady Georgina

Buchanan. But the Ambassador, Sir George Buchanan, ordered that she be

removed at once. He expressed himself as being averse to helping any

one of the old regime, because he believed in the new social order.

In the midst of bitter cold, they carried her out on the street, but

a good Samaritan gave her refuge. Her crippled daughter, Emma, our

friend, was taken before the Duma, where her jewels were confiscated.

The rebels wanted to arrest the old Count but not finding him at home

they set his house on fire, destroying not only his residence but his

valuable family art collection as well. Strange to say, we knew that

Sir George liked us personally and also enjoyed his life and women

in Russia. He had known Mother and Uncle Ernest for a long time. He

had been in our house many times enjoying meals with us, and often

came to see the newsreels of the war which were shown in our palace.

This middle aged Ambassador was admired by many women and through

them he gained popularity in Petrograd. It was said that he accepted

hospitality from the highest to the lowest women of all kinds of

character and position. At the end he became hated by the jealous

husbands who were at the war. Later he regretted his mistakes and

praised Father’s loyalty to his Allies.

Father was disturbed when he heard that Sir George said he would not

care if Germany would invade his own country, England. Especially

when Sir George helped to spread untrue stories about Mother, which

disturbed Princess Victoria of Battenberg, Mother’s older sister, who

wrote Mother an upsetting letter. Father requested the Grand Marshal of

the Court, Count Benckendorff to write King George to recall Sir George

from his post. At the same time Father ordered Peter Bark to withdraw

all his personal money from the banks in England; the rapid progress of

the revolution made the withdrawal impossible.

In contrast, Sir George’s wife, Lady Georgina, was most energetic in

the war work, and Father presented her with the Order of St. Catherine.

She supervised a sewing group at the Embassy, also the Anglo-Russian

hospital on the Nevsky Prospect, and was the head of the British

convalescent home.

The Provisional Government sent General von Grooten, Commandant of

Tsarskoe Selo, to prison. It also placed under arrest Colonel Girardi,

Chief of Police, General Resin, once the Commandant of the Combined

Regiments, and Prince Putiatin. Mother sent A.D.C. Captain Linevich,

one of Father’s closest friends, to negotiate with Rodzianko but we

never saw him again. He too was arrested. About this time we were

told to have our bags ready to leave Russia at a moment’s notice. Our

suitcases and our trunks were brought from the storerooms and were

placed upstairs in two rooms. Mother, when free from nursing duties,

selected the most important articles to be packed. But everything that

went into these trunks later was checked by the new masters.

We heard that two revolutionary divisions were marching toward Tsarskoe

Selo with tanks and armored cars, to storm the palace, but the harsh

wintry weather prevented them from reaching the village. One night,

soon afterwards, all the lights went out for about twenty minutes. The

courtyard, the park, the gates, everything was dark. Then our water

supply was cut off, but fortunately it was soon restored. Also the lift

at the end of the hall was put out of commission and Mother had to be

carried to the second floor. All these events kept us in a continual

state of apprehension, and we became frightened, thinking that the

rebels were trying to get into the grounds.

Later we were told that on this dark night, the rebels had attempted

to remove Rasputin’s body from the grave, by order of the Provisional

Government. Not knowing the exact location, they dug up the body of our

old butler, who had died about the same time as Rasputin, and burned

his remains in the Pergolovo forest. It was this faithful butler who

carried my great-grandfather, Alexander II, into the Winter Palace

the day he was killed. Since then he had continued as a family butler

until, years before, illness overtook him, after which time he was

cared for by the family.

The rumor which said that Mother had ordered Rasputin’s body to be

buried in the park in Tsarskoe Selo was not true. She had nothing to do

with his burial, although she had sent a message suggesting that his

body should be shipped to his family in Siberia. It was Anna Vyrubova’s

desire to have this man buried on the property she owned on the other

side of the Alexander Park gate and the Alexandrovka village, near the

woods on the high road to Viborg. Anna believed that he had saved her

life and she paid the expenses of the funeral, which was officiated

over by Father Vassiliev. The gossip continued that we had signed an

icon especially to be placed in Rasputin’s coffin. It was true that

shortly before his death we had signed an icon which was for the coffin

of one of our tutor’s sons who had been killed. But as Father had

already sent one for the tutor’s son’s coffin, the other icon that had

been signed was placed in the butler’s coffin.

The first unfounded rumors about Rasputin started a long way back.

There was a foreign representative who antagonized the Christians in

Persia. My Father--defender of Christianity--was informed about this

man’s malicious actions and used his influence to have this instigator

removed from his diplomatic post in Persia. Since then this man was

looking for an opportunity to strike back at the Imperial Family.

With the help of a collaborator he wrote a book most insinuating in

its nature and based on malicious lies. The collaborator demanded

$60,000 from my Mother to prevent the publication of this slanderous

book, but Mother ignored this threat, and refused to be blackmailed,

for there was absolutely no truth in their accusation. During the

war the contents of this book was circulated throughout Russia, thus

poisoning the minds of the people against my Mother. With their first

venture a success, they now started a vicious campaign against Father

by picturing him as weak, irresponsible and incapable of holding the

Crown, and by so doing they rendered the Bolsheviks a most useful

service. Yet none of these instigators knew Father personally for they

had never had an opportunity to set foot inside the village of Tsarskoe

Selo.

One afternoon at home the mutineers insisted on seeing Mother and

Alexei, because of a rumor that Alexei had died or escaped. Mother,

accompanied by Count Benckendorff and Marie, went out on the balcony.

In a voice, clear but weak, she said; “I hear you want to see me and my

son, but why? My son is critically ill, and he must not expose himself

to cold. To see him is impossible at this time. For myself I am only a

mother who is nursing her sick children.” They left without a single

word. That same unlucky evening, March 13th, Marie became ill and was

taken into the sick room with a high temperature. With the help of

Baroness Buxhoeveden, Madame Dehn, Dr. Botkin, and several nurses and

maids, Mother managed to take care of all the invalids.

In the midst of this confusion, word reached Mother of Father’s

abdication. Then later in the same afternoon the Grand Duke Paul

returned, with a bulletin announcing Father’s abdication. He expressed

sympathy for our plight and suggested that we leave Russia as soon as

possible. Mother burst into tears saying, “Russia is lost; Russia was

betrayed.” Mother could not bear to convey this news to Alexei, and

asked M. Gilliard to do so. Alexei’s reaction was to say; “How can that

be? Father promised Alexander III that Russia would always remain an

autocracy, and Father had to swear to uphold this type of rule.” It

did not occur to him that Father no longer was the Emperor and that

he himself no longer was the Tsarevich. He was thinking only of the

life of Russia. With all his troubles, he never thought selfishly of

himself. To us sisters, Mother with quivering lips gave details of the

recent happenings. Soon afterwards, boxes containing Father’s various

documents, including the abdication papers and the speech he had

delivered to his beloved army, arrived at the palace.

We knew that Mother had been tortured with the thought that Father had

been shot; now we learned that Father too had been tormented with the

rumor that she had been murdered. But soon we heard that Father was

on his way to Petrograd; that when he was about to leave, Shulgin and

Guchkov arrived in Mogilev. Father was surprised when he saw how Ruzsky

received these men with the warmest greetings. Father knew then that

they were bosom friends and that Ruzsky was a spy.

Six men were responsible for the delay which prevented Father’s train

from reaching the capital. The train was delayed by the railway

officials on orders from the Duma, in order to give the revolution a

chance to become solidified. Kerensky worked from Petrograd; Guchkov,

Kalenin, Gribushchin and Shulgin were on the train with Father; and

at the other end was General Ruzsky, Commander of the Northern Front,

located in Pskov. When Mother heard this, she said; “I urged Father

to close the Duma long ago. Before Papa left for G.H.Q., he was

discouraged with the Duma and left a signed order with the Premier,

Prince Golitsyn, to dissolve it at once, but the Premier failed to

carry out his orders.”

Immediately after Father’s abdication, two of his close friends came

to see him. One was General Count Keller and the other was General

Khan of Nakhichevan. Both were Generals of the Guard and had known

Father for many years. They asked Father’s permission to send their

troops to Petrograd to suppress the revolution. Father was in favor of

this, but since he was no longer in power, he suggested that they make

this proposal to the Provisional Government. No doubt General Ruzsky

received the offer of these two generals, but purposely tabled their

suggestion.

From Pskov Father’s train went back to Mogilev to enable him to take

leave of his beloved Army. Here once more General Count Keller came to

see Father. He kissed his hand, saying; “Your Majesty, I would rather

be dead, before I would serve any other government.” Later, I heard, he

shot himself or was shot.

In Mogilev, General Alexeiev, Father’s trusted friend, now made known

that Father was a prisoner. Present were a number of generals and the

committee of the newly formed government, and several grand dukes,

including Boris Vladimirovich, Cyril’s brother, who wanted to see

Father, but General Voyeykov said that the Emperor could not see him.

Soon after Father’s farewell speech to the Army, the General Staff took

the loyalty pledge to the Provisional Government, which then ordered

that Father’s initials be removed from their epaulets, but these men

refused to remove them, saying that they would kill the traitors before

they would do such a thing. And Father said, “Now, it is too late.”

Prince Dolgorukov later related to us that Father’s tears were

streaming down his face and that he turned away from the window of his

study which was facing the parade ground. He could not see this painful

performance inflicted upon his beloved Army. Before he left G.H.Q., he

received the news that Granny was on her way to Mogilev. He dreaded a

meeting with her, as she usually distressed him so much that he found

her harder to handle than all of his ministers put together. He saw

her on the train; she blessed him and they parted forever.

Later after several days aboard the train, Father finally reached

Tsarskoe Selo, on March 9/22, 1917, at 11:30 A.M. Here at the pavilion

(station) many of Father’s lifelong friends his trusted officers

and his favorite aides-de-camp, who had come on the train with him,

departed in an effort to save their own lives. It was said, though no

one ever will know whether this really was true, that on the train

that same morning before they reached Tsarskoe Selo they were told

that if they stayed with Father they would be shot. “They deserted me

in my saddest hour,” said Father. Among those of whom he spoke were

Cyril Narishkin, chief of his mobile secretariat, the son of our dear

Zizi Narishkina, the Mistress of the Robes; and also Count Grabbe,

an A.D.C., whom we had known since our childhood. I remember when he

accompanied us sisters on long walks on the shore in the Crimea and the

time when I, in mischievous play, poured sand down his neck. Others

who deserted Father were a Duke of Leuchtenberg and our friend A.D.C.

Mordvinov whose daughter I knew and liked, and Sablin, whom we children

loved like one of our own, once a lieutenant on the “Standard.” All

of them had been close associates and friends. Captain Drenteln,

a most beloved friend and a member of a battalion of Father’s own

Preobrazhensky regiment, also disappeared.

Father came directly upstairs to Mother. He found Marie and myself

desperately ill; I was only partly conscious. At first I thought that

I dreamed of his being home. A few days later I realized how bad he

looked. He was thin and his eyes were sad. His left shoulder shook

nervously, much more than before. Only later Prince Dolgorukov told us

of the unpleasant experience Father had upon his arrival at Tsarskoe

Selo. Father had left the pavilion (station) and had received a shock

upon seeing that his chauffeur was already dressed in civilian clothes.

An even greater shock awaited him: although all the guards on duty,

both at the outside gate and at the Palace entry, had been informed

of the exact hour for the arrival of the Emperor, they showed their

newly-acquired importance by asking the chauffeur over the phone for

the identity of the occupants of the car. Both times the chauffeur

replied, “It’s His Majesty.” With deliberateness, they replied, “Let

Nicholai Alexandrovich pass through.” Father was very angry at this

curt treatment and was surprised to see the antechamber packed with

people, only a few of whom he knew. He passed by without saying a word.

When Mother heard of his arrival, she ran breathlessly down the stairs

and the full length of the long corridor and fell sobbing into his

arms. Both of them came directly upstairs.

We were told that the same afternoon several men from the Provisional

Government appeared to question Father at length.

At this time these terrible men ordered the staff wearing Father’s

badges on their shoulders to have them removed, without Father’s

consent, and to have Father and the family placed under arrest. Now

Mordvinov wanted to come to the palace, but the Government forbade it.

Father brought home copies of his abdication and his farewell speech

to the Army. We were able to learn more about the abdication which

had taken place at 3:00 P.M. on March 2/15, 1917, in the study of his

private train at the railroad station in Pskov. Later after talking

with Dr. Fedorov, Alexei’s physician, Father abdicated also on behalf

of the Tsarevich in favor of his brother Michael, although Father

knew that the Holy Synod of the Russian Church would not recognize

Michael as Heir to the Throne. But he did so, in order to avoid a

bloody revolution. We were also told by those who had been with Father

on the train, that General Ruzsky threatened Father, saying “If the

Emperor will not sign it now, I would hate to say what may happen to

his family.” With swimming eyes we read the touching words in which he

asked his people to uphold the Provisional Government and to try to be

loyal to it. Following is my Father’s farewell address.

LEAVE OF THE ARMY

I address you for the last time, soldiers so dear to my heart. Since I

have renounced in my name, and that of my son, the Throne of Russia,

the powers I exercised have been transmitted to the Provisional

Government which has been formed on the initiative of the Imperial

Duma.

May God help it lead Russia on the path of glory and prosperity.

May God bless you also, glorious soldiers, to defend our native land

against a cruel enemy. For two and a half years you have in every hour

undergone the fatigues and strain of a wearing campaign, much blood

has been spilt, great efforts have been crowned with success, and

already the hour is at hand when Russia with her splendid allies will

finally crush by one joint and daring effort the last resistance of

the enemy.

A war such as this, unknown in history, must be continued to the final

and definite victory. Whoever dreams of peace or desires it--at this

moment--is a traitor to his country and yields it to the enemy.

Carry out your duty, protect our beloved and glorious country, submit

yourselves to the Provisional Government, render obedience to your

chiefs, and remember that any slackness in your service means a gain

to your enemies.

With the firm conviction that the boundless love that you have for our

great country will ever remain in your hearts,

I pray that God may bless you, and that St. George the Great Martyr

may lead you to victory.

(Signed) Nicholas

(Countersigned) Alexeiev, C.G.S.

Father’s speech was a heavy blow to his men; they were stunned from

the shock. One of his personal guards had a heart attack while Father

was speaking. Father urged the troops to continue the war, at any

price, until victory was complete. The hour was at hand, he said, when

Russia would finally crush the last resistance of the enemy. But this

resistance did not materialize, nor, in fact, did the Emperor’s own

planned powerful attack. Some people of the upper classes in Petrograd

failed to support him in regard to this final blow against the enemy,

designed to win the war within three months, as Father had promised in

his last speech before the Duma in Petrograd a short while before. It

was not Father’s war, but the war of the nation. When Uncle Michael

came to urge Father to return immediately to G.H.Q., he found Father on

the verge of departure, despite the serious condition of Alexei.

The current malicious gossip was more important to the political

leaders than was the destiny of their country. These same leaders

afterwards criticized Father, saying that because he loved his family

so much, fear of having his family killed caused him to abdicate.

The killing of his family would not have solved the problem, which

would have been solved easily by the leaders themselves had they not

supported the traitors and not spread unfounded lies, especially about

my Father, whose men were shedding their blood at the front. If I may

ask, in what had we children sinned before our people that we should

have to give up our lives--we children who, from the oldest to the

youngest, denied ourselves all amusement and devoted our energy to the

war effort? Should we children have had to pay the penalty of death?

Why did not those busy conspirators take their weapons and go to fight

the common enemy?

They could not say anything against my older sisters, upon whom they

had never had an opportunity to lay their eyes. What they said about

me, because of my innocent jokes and pranks, I have never given a rap

about.

When Dr. Botkin read Father’s last addresses, his eyes moistened and

he added, “Only His Imperial Majesty could speak such deep words.”

Father repeated the words of Tsar Nicholas I: “Gde raz podniat Russkii

flag, on uzhe spuskatsia ne dolzhen.” (Where once the Russian flag is

raised, it shall never be lowered.)

Little by little we received more details. At first Father abdicated

in favor of Alexei, with Uncle Michael as Regent. But after consulting

Dr. Fedorov about his son’s delicate health, Father abdicated also for

Alexei in favor of his brother Michael, who was called in from Gatchina

to Petrograd, to accept first the Regency, and then the Throne. To

Father’s intense disappointment Uncle Misha, after accepting, soon

abdicated because of pressure by the Provisional Government, in whose

hands the nation’s fate then rested. This new government placed under

arrest many ministers and high officials, because they refused to sign

the loyalty pledge to the Provisional Government. What was happening in

Petrograd at this time Father did not know until he reached home.

General Ruzsky and others, in order to hide their crime, spread the

most heartless rumor that Father had been drinking wine before his

abdication. However, Father was not alone during this painful ordeal.

With him on the train was his friend, the Minister of the Household

of the Court, Prince Vasily Dolgorukov; Flag Captain Nilov, A.D.C.;

General Voyeykov, Chief of Administration of the Palaces in Tsarskoe

Selo; Count Vladimir Fredericks, Father’s Chamberlain; and the latter’s

assistant, General Mossolov. Others present on the train were A.D.C.

Count Grabbe, Commandant of an Escort; A.D.C. Captain Drenteln; A.D.C.

Cyril Narishkin, head of the Chancery; Colonel Mordvinov and General

Dubensky. The Provisional Government was represented by Kerensky’s

friend, Vershchinin, and others.

Prince Dolgorukov spoke to us of this merciless rumor, saying that

Father at the time drank only tea and paced back and forth in his

study. Father’s valet and his butler, after reading this lie, saw

Count Benckendorff and in tears said that those who spread such a lie

had committed a great sin toward their Emperor. It was also said that

during the last night on the train Father sat up all night in his

study. At midnight one of the engineer officers, who previously had

conducted many trips during Father’s travels, asked to see Father and

was received. He sank to his knees, kissed Father’s hand and tearfully

said, “Your Majesty, I will never serve these bandits. It is the end

of my life.” After the train reached the pavilion in Tsarskoe Selo and

just as Father was getting into his automobile and as the standing

officers were saluting Father for the last time, a shot was heard and

the engineer officer fell dead.

PART III Arrest And Exile

XIV ARREST

It was decided to separate Mother from the rest of the family. But

Father objected, saying that it would be cruel to take Mother from

her sick children. At last it was conceded that Father should stay

downstairs in his apartment and Mother on the second floor with us.

Now that we all were under arrest, Mother was allowed to remain with

the sick children upstairs and Father was permitted to join his family

at mealtime. But all the conversation at the table had to be carried on

only in the Russian language. I was told that our private wing of the

palace was strongly guarded by a new kind of guard. They were noisy and

overbearing. Mother warned everybody to be courteous to the sentry.

Had we children not been ill, Father would have insisted that we go to

England; at least the children if Mother had refused to leave. From

what he said later, we were convinced that he himself would not have

left Russia.

At once Kerensky appointed his communist friend Korovichenko, whom he

called his governor, as a commissar over us. This man proved to be

rude, dishonest, insulting, ignorant, and he quarrelled with everyone

in our household, disturbing and annoying us every hour of the day. The

guards were selected for the same qualities as those of their masters.

We were grateful when General Kornilov sent Colonel Kobylinsky and

Commissar Makarov to replace the cruel Korovichenko.

From my sick bed all this was hard to imagine. I could not believe

it, until I was able to sit up by the window. I noticed that the

appearance and the action of the soldiers and officers were not the

same. Gradually our health improved. Tatiana had temporarily lost her

hearing and we had to write communications for her. Alexei’s condition

was still not up to par.

To kill our dull moments we played light games, worked on word games

and other puzzles and listened to French history read to us by Mlle.

Schneider.

We were told that Kerensky was coming to see us. The name Kerensky

brought terror to our hearts. Was he not the instigator behind the

treatment that Father was receiving? We waited, dreading his visit.

When the time of his arrival drew near, we were filled with antagonism

and fear. We were told that it was this enraged man, Kerensky, and his

communist friend, Korovichenko, who had assembled our employees in the

large hall. Kerensky told them that they were no longer working for

us, and that they were from now on to take orders only from those who

paid their wages. He meant of course the Provisional Government, who

appropriated the money belonging to the people of Russia and us. But

they themselves were paid to live in an abundance such as one could

only read about in fiction.

Some of the servants were bribed to spy on us and Anna. A few servants

hated Anna to such an extent that they notified Kerensky of Anna’s

improved condition. Kerensky angrily ordered Anna to dress at once,

and she was then taken to prison. Alexei never before heard such rough

voices and he burst out crying. “Will he kill us?” he asked his tutor.

Those two men not only disturbed the family but upset everybody. I saw

these men passing by on their way to the classroom where they were to

see my parents. Father brought Kerensky into a room and introduced my

two older sisters, by merely saying, “My daughters, Olga and Tatiana.”

Marie and I were still in bed, recovering from our illness.

When I first saw Kerensky, a man of medium height, he appeared to be

nervously twisting his finger. His face was pale and ugly, with small

greenish eyes imbedded in a peculiarly shaped head, which was flat on

top. His brown hair stood up similar to General Ruzsky’s. Whenever

I see a man like this, it always has an unpleasant connotation for

me. Outside in the hall and behind him, there was a committee of

workers, allegedly soldiers and sailors but really nothing but released

convicts, untidy, rough-looking individuals, who were armed with

daggers and hand grenades. We were frightened. At first, I thought I

was seeing this nightmare with my feverish eyes.

With the help of foreign spies, and convicts released by Kerensky and

the new leaders, these traitors were anxious to break the morale of the

armies. They told the soldiers that the land was to be divided among

them, but first they should return home in order to receive their share

of land. They said that it was a case of first come, first served, and

inasmuch as capital punishment had been abolished, wholesale desertions

from the armed forces resulted.

In the meantime the munitions and other factories fell into the hands

of the new government and many were set on fire. So the soldiers,

lacking supplies, had no choice but to desert their posts. All this

helped the enemy who was ready to collapse. Thanks to Kerensky for the

ruination of the army.

When the arrest of my family, especially of Father, became known to the

public, it caused a harmful effect on the morale of the Army, and in

general the situation became dangerous. Many soldiers left their posts

in panic; even in Tsarskoe Selo, Father’s own military escort, not from

choice but from fear, displayed red ribbons. The rebels were freeing

criminals who were breaking into wine cellars and becoming intoxicated.

The snow was very heavy that winter, and the new leaders cared little

about having it cleared away. There was only a narrow space available

where Father and the others could walk about. This proved actually to

be a godsend to Father, because exercise was vital to his health and

was the only activity permitted him at this time. Each day from the

window I watched Father shovel snow. No doubt that for Father it was

much more than exercise. His physical exertions enabled him to maintain

his mental faculties in every respect.

In the beginning he had an unpleasant experience, during his outdoor

exercise, when he was allowed to walk in only a small area close to the

palace. One day on his return from his walk, he extended his hand to

one of the soldiers, but the man refused to take it. This was hard on

Father and made him realize the extent and intensity of the propaganda

against him. Father’s philosophical attitude toward these incidents

made him a greater hero in our eyes.

To us children, Kerensky was at first a beast, a dragon waiting to

devour us. His repeated visits kept us filled with terror. He thought

at first that he could come to the palace at any time and wander about

in our own home, without permission from the proper authority and

without Father’s consent. Kerensky, always accompanied by the Marshal

of the Court, followed by a messenger, was received in Father’s study.

Father was always courteous, wishing to make everything easy for the

new government. But this man Kerensky at first did not seem to know the

meaning of courtesy. After a while he saw Father’s ready cooperation

and became quite human. We children began to feel more relaxed in his

presence. After several conversations with Kerensky, our parents felt

more confidence in him. However, Mother could not forget the recent

injustice she had suffered, and she hoped her innocence was now proven.

But Kerensky had made no attempt to inform the public of the true

situation at the palace. He was responsible for Anna’s arrest, and

Mother could not forgive him, especially since she believed that Anna

was still ill when she was sent to prison. Madame Lili Dehn also had

to leave the palace at the same time. Moreover Madame Zizi Narishkina

became ill with pneumonia and left the palace because Mother felt she

would receive better care at a hospital.

This wise little lady was a favorite of my Father whom she had known

since his childhood. She was like a mother to our Mother. Her kindness

and simplicity was written all over her face. She insisted that she be

addressed as Madame instead of Princess, yet she was a true-blooded

Princess. Among us she called my Father Nicky. In spite of her old

age, she too had been a victim of unfair criticism. It caused so much

resentment that the newspapers had been forced to retract their false

stories.

Even my Aunt Olga, who loved peasants, had been condemned because she

enjoyed visiting and accepting their hospitality.

Our prison hours were well regulated. We were permitted two walks

during the day, between 11-12 and 2-5. With nervous excitement we

waited the designated hour, eager not to miss one second of the

out-of-doors. As the clock struck eleven, we and the staff gathered

in the semicircular room where we were to meet the guards who were to

accompany us on our walks. We had to wait sometimes as much as one

half hour. This meant our walk was sometimes curtailed that much. We

felt cheated, and the thought that Father could do nothing about it

made us feel worse. We discovered that the more we fretted, the longer

the delay; so we learned to wait submissively. The key to the circular

room was held by the commissar on duty, and the other doors, including

the balcony facing the Znamensky Cathedral and the gate, were sealed.

We had to wait until the commandant appeared with the key to open the

door. Since Korovichenko was as a rule basking himself in the sun, he

made it a habit of being late. Even the sentries hated the sight of

this man. When we did go out finally, we walked briskly to cover lost

ground. Sometimes we crossed the bridge over the ravine, since the area

was less exposed to the public view. But because of demonstrations our

afternoon walks soon were scheduled later and we were outdoors until

8:00 P.M. Our friends helped us with our garden work. M. Gilliard

proved well-nigh indispensable.

At first we had no news from our relatives. But we were pleasantly

surprised when several letters came to Father and to Tatiana from Aunt

Xenia at Ai-Todor in the Crimea. The letters giving us news of the

family were the only joy we had had since our arrest. Our mail was

censored and parts of the letters we received were inked out.

Probably Aunt Xenia found our letters dry and uninteresting. But we

wrote them reluctantly, as in a daze--we so strongly felt the blow of

the happenings in our country and to its people. The shock was so great

that no outsider ever will know the feeling unless he lives through

a similar experience, that is, if he loved his country. We were glad

Granny was there too. It was her first stay in the Crimea since the

death of her husband, Alexander III. We had been wanting to write to

them but we feared repercussions.

For months we waited for a reply to our letters which we were obliged

to leave unsealed for censorship. We hoped that our coming departure

would take us to the Crimea to be together with the rest of the

family. Father hungrily read the newspapers, even though the ones he

received had been thoroughly censored, parts of them inked out. All

too often the papers were withheld altogether. Father read every word

carefully to find some clue to the real truth. One of our best sources

of information came from the various members of our household. Before

long they too no longer were free to leave the palace. All around our

home there was a strong guard posted, especially in the small garden in

front of Mother’s windows and the garden gate across from the Znamensky

Cathedral, which was the closest to Mother’s balcony. She was very much

disturbed, having these men watch her windows; she never could look

out. During this time we saw some one drive in and out of the courtyard

in Father’s favorite automobile, a Packard sledge (sleigh). Kerensky of

course often used our private cars, chauffeurs, and even our valuable

horses.

After midnight another unpleasant incident occurred. Several uncouth

revolutionists, headed by a Pole named Mstislavsky, came from

Petrograd. They proceeded to show their thievish authority by ordering

the telephone and telegraph lines from the outside disconnected. After

a great deal of bickering and fighting with the guards, who would not

let them enter the grounds, Mstislavsky broke down the gate with his

heavy artillery trucks. It caused such a noise that a large number of

persons collected on the avenue and loud voices were heard from the

angry crowd. This noise awakened the household. The bandits forced

themselves towards and into the palace, in spite of everything. They

were armed and threatened the officers on duty, “Shoot us, or we will

shoot you.” Count Benckendorff and Prince Dolgorukov came down and told

Mstislavsky and his companions that it was impossible for them to talk

to the Emperor. The intruders were asked to produce the required permit

from General Kornilov, commanding the troops in the area at this time.

The officers on duty then said, “You arrest us, or we will arrest you.”

Notwithstanding, the bandits went upstairs to the gallery room. There

they encountered Father who was walking toward them. Without a word the

bandits ran away in terror.

Kerensky was held responsible for this incident, having revealed to

Mstislavsky the anticipated departure of the Imperial family for

England via Murmansk.

Subsequently we heard that Mstislavsky ordered many innocent families

shot, people who were in his way; also he and his friends seized from

them anything to their liking.

We shortly learned that all escape routes were already blocked.

Korovichenko’s transfer lifted our hopes. His place was filled by

Colonel Eugene Kobylinsky, an officer of the Imperial Guard. We were

thankful to General Kornilov for sending this wonderful man, who served

my family faithfully in spite of many dangers to his own life. He was

sincerely anxious to alleviate our condition and was determined to save

us. But with many hundreds of men in our guard he was helpless, as any

action of his would have drawn suspicion upon him. He went with us to

Tobolsk and stayed there until four days before our departure, when

he became dangerously ill. Consequently, we did not see this kind man

again before we left for Ekaterinburg. Another well-disposed man was

Commissar Makarov, a very intelligent and cultured person with a great

deal of tact and knowledge of several languages.

He had a prison record for having killed a policeman. For this, this

fine looking man paid fifteen years of his young life before he was

released. He accepted his punishment as having been deserved. His

imprisonment had not embittered him, and his gentle, kind manners had

not changed.

Many of the guards we had known from our childhood. Whenever possible

Colonel Kobylinsky tried to have these men accompany us during our

walks, as these guards could not tolerate an abusive attitude of

others toward us. Nevertheless, he did not dare to defend us. By this

time the Provisional Government had become convinced that Father had

no intention of making trouble for them. Father eagerly followed the

course of the war and grieved at the way it was going. If only he could

have now had a part in it, even as a private!

There were secret messages suggesting our escape to Germany. Father

answered, “No, we shall not escape like convicts.” One day Father was

walking, Alexei was sitting on the bench, with his dog Joy at his feet,

and we sisters were a short distance from Father, when a large enclosed

car rapidly drove in and two young men in it wanted Father and Alexei

to get into the car and escape with them. Father was very upset by it.

He said, “Go at once.” Soon after more new guards appeared.

During this time we became tired of eating cabbages and carrots. We

longed for something different. Those days no green vegetables came out

of the greenhouses. Father saw the rich fields for labor lying open to

us, and he was willing to work. So, in the spring, Father suggested a

vegetable garden be planted in an open space where some trees had been

cut down. We were all eager for outdoor exercise. Count Fredericks

talked it over with Colonel Kobylinsky who gave permission to go ahead.

We were now full of enthusiasm, with plenty of ideas of fresh food as

our objective.

Father began to work, and even Mother, for the first time, cheerfully

was willing to leave the house in the afternoon. She was wheeled in

her chair into the garden. She sat under a tree near the brook, while

the guards paced back and forth on the bridge. Mother seldom walked

those days. We planted the seeds and watered the vegetable beds from a

barrel. As I worked, I thought of the words in the beautiful Russian

song which said:

“The Christ had a garden, where many roses bloomed,

He watered them thrice a day to make a wreath for himself.”

Because of the demonstrations, we worked late in the day, often till

8:00 P.M. In the evening Father read to us while we were sewing or

knitting. When the first green shoots appeared, we were thrilled with

the thought of salads within a month. The seedlings grew into bushy

plants. The blossoms became tiny beans. In another week or so we would

have our first harvest from sixty luxuriant beds in all. Spring, which

always seems to hold a special appeal for all Russians, was beautiful

but sad for us.

XV SUBJUGATION

When the first days of July with their white nights were approaching,

a time when night is much like day in those northern regions, when

twilight spreads a kind of magic transparency in the distant sky and

woods, we saw creeping figures with shining bayonets emerge from the

bushes. They were watching the windows of the prisoners. I wish I did

not love that great country with so much promise, whose soul lies in

debris now and of which I cannot speak without the feeling of a heavy

weight on my chest.

Before the leaves came out, we withdrew to an area where we thought we

could not be seen so easily. That led us to the greenhouses. We found

them dreadfully neglected. No one had taken care of the plants. The

gardeners had been discharged or put to work in some other capacity.

Now many rare and valuable bushes surrounding the colonnades were cut

down against everybody’s objection. The orders, we were told, came from

Kerensky. Tears were in Father’s eyes to see such destruction.