We realized that the iron fence which protected us from the outside was

now our prison wall. The driveway was a source of fear. Even the bushes

and the trees of our beloved park secreted spies who watched every move

we made. Even though we were accustomed to isolation from the world

by a cordon of police and military protection, being surrounded by

unfriendly guards was indeed depressing.

During the turbulent days, even the swans cried mournfully every

morning because they knew we were in the palace, and they felt that

something was wrong that we did not speak to them and feed them. Even

these majestic birds must have known....

Our food now was ice-cold, more so than ever before. Our kitchens were

in a separate building and the food was wheeled through the long tunnel

in large carriers which had to be opened for inspection. Therefore the

food cooled off before it reached our apartments.

Sometimes we played on the “Children’s Island.” On several occasions

Alexei went out in a rowboat with his toy sailboats, but was not

allowed to enter his little four-room playhouse where he used to play

with his cousins and young cadets. It was locked up and his rowboat

taken away, making him very unhappy.

We enjoyed our cycling, Father and Alexei on bicycles and we four girls

on velocipedes. In the afternoon even Mother went into the woods and

sat in the shade with her tapestry work, copying the original pattern

of her Hepplewhite chair, while Father, his officer friends and others

were cutting down the dead trees. We sisters helped to carry the

smaller pieces and built tall stacks for the wood to dry during the

summer months.

We heard that our friend Captain Nilov, whom we called “the little

admiral”, once a commandant on the “Standard” and later at G.H.Q. with

Father, had been arrested on order of Kerensky and shot without trial.

This because he said while at G.H.Q. that he would kill General Ruzsky.

Fortunately for Ruzsky, Captain Nilov was denied this pleasure. General

Ruzsky also had a cordial dislike for Captain Nilov because the latter

knew that Ruzsky was a traitor.

We already by this time had begun to enjoy our fresh vegetables. We

lingered and feasted our eyes on the beauty of nature which until now

had been taken for granted. Alexei, not yet thirteen, in the early

summer delighted in shedding his boots and wading into the sparkling

water up to his knees. It did not take much to satisfy him during these

trying times. He wished nothing more from those heartless men than to

be free to enjoy God’s given creation. How fortunate we human beings

are, to see and feel all the loveliness and enjoy it to the utmost! How

cruel too when men deny this privilege to their fellowmen!

Later, when we were in Tobolsk, Alexei recalled the Children’s Island

and wistfully expressed the hope that he might be able to return to it

and wade in the water again. He spoke of his playrooms, his small cars,

and then all of a sudden he seemed to realize that these reminiscences

of former places, dear to his heart, caused only pain, and he never

spoke of them again.

Many days we saw curious strangers and friends being driven from the

fence. The people, knowing the time of our walks, gathered along the

fence; some even climbed on top of carriages to get a better view of

us. Especially on Sundays, there were a great many watching us through

the railing.

Often we saw familiar, friendly faces in the crowd, but we were afraid

to recognize them. Once I thought I saw near the fence some of the

Tolstoys--Marie and Elizabeth, also Pasha and her brother. Mother in

her youth had met from time to time some of the Tolstoy relatives who

lived abroad. Another time we saw friends from Petrograd and some

nurses from the Tsarskoe Selo hospitals.

Near Easter my parents were informed that about eighty servants and

workers employed in the palace were to be discharged. My family was

perturbed, because some servants had families who depended on their

earnings, and many of them had been with my family from the time of

Father’s marriage. Before these people, so close to us, left, both

parents thanked them for their past services and each one of them

was presented with a gold or silver medal. Orders came that Count

Benckendorff and all ladies in waiting, as well as Prince Dolgorukov,

should leave us. However, they were permitted to stay without

compensation.

During Lent we were allowed to have services in our private chapel,

but Father Vassiliev had to eliminate Father’s name from the ritual.

With trembling voice he stopped in confusion when he came to the

part in which he was supposed to say, “Long Life for the Imperial

Family.” I am sure that in his mind he added the omission to his own

satisfaction. When Father Vassiliev became ill, after much negotiating

Count Fredericks, the Court Minister, received permission to have

Father Belyayev, a deacon and four singers come to the palace during

the Easter holidays.

Palm Sunday services had been held in the palace chapel on the ground

floor at the fourth entrance of the building. During the services we

were carefully watched. The guards were secreted behind the draperies

and the altar. Father Belyayev seeing all this could not control his

emotions; his tears fell freely down his vestment.

During the Holy Week two services a day were the only refreshing

moments in our new lives. Mother stood behind a large screen made

in her favorite purplish-blue crystal glass, which Father had given

her previously. Behind the screen was a small, cushioned, kneeling

stand, on top of which rested a Psalter. On the wall to the right,

were several religious paintings, inherited from her Mother Alice and

several gifts from her Granny, Queen Victoria. The Psalter was searched

when it was brought in and again when taken away. In the small room on

Mother’s right adjoining the chapel some Bibles were kept. Mother was

very much annoyed when a guard stood behind her throughout the service.

“Even in this holy place,” she said, “one is deprived of a moment of

meditation.”

On the day of the Lord’s Crucifixion the revolutionists decided to bury

their own dead. With the red flags flying and a band blaring forth

with the _Marseillaise_ and Chopin’s _Funeral March_, the procession

advanced through the avenues of lime trees and stopped opposite the

circular balcony from which we could see them marching. Among the dead

they paraded were bodies taken from the cemetery, including those who

died in the cellar, which they had set on fire during a drinking

spree. But their evil scheme came to an end on this day, when angry,

black clouds darkened the sky, when a terrific hail and wind storm

furiously broke whole branches from the trees and pelted the metal roof

of the palace with large hailstones. Candles were lit. When daylight

returned, the courtyard was flooded, and there were large cakes of ice

in the water. All was quiet now.

The same screeching cry and the detested _Funeral March_ that should be

reserved only for the dead was now heard every day. It became annoying

even to the sentries. Often they whistled sarcastically as soon as the

demonstrators appeared. I even heard this abhorrent _March_ in my sleep.

Saturday night the staff, the servants and others, several hundred in

all, were present at the midnight service in our chapel, which lasted

till an early morning hour. The procession, headed by the priest who

carried an icon, went through the rooms with the lighted candles and

the message: “Khristos Voskrese (Christ is Risen)”, bringing the hope

that our dark lives might be brightened.

We thought it was a sad Easter, but a worse one was to follow. On this

Easter morning the staff, the chief of the guards, the commandant,

officers, ladies in waiting and a few others assembled in Father’s

library to break the blessed bread. In the afternoon those on duty

assembled in Mother’s room for congratulations.

This year our relatives, and high ranking military men, Ministers, and

the representatives of foreign countries no longer were permitted to

come to congratulate us on this Holy Day. Queen Olga of Greece, the

sister of the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich, miraculously

entered the grounds but her entry into the palace was prevented. Her

kind message and the Easter egg were delivered to us by an officer. A

great many others came but were turned back at the gate.

There were several birthdays during our five months of imprisonment at

Tsarskoe Selo. First came my Father’s. On his birthday, services were

held in the chapel. The words “Long Life for the Tsar” were still

missing; a sad day. Then Mother’s, then came Tatiana’s, and on June

5th, Russian calendar, I became sixteen years old--the year I should

have been officially presented to the Russian court. But there was no

debut for me and I did not care. The family did their best to make

an occasion of it. A service was held in the chapel and I received

congratulations from all around me. A year earlier a design made by

Fabergé for my lavalier had been approved by my family, to be made of

diamonds and pearls. I was to receive it on this day. Instead, these

sixteen diamonds and sixteen pearls, one for each birthday and one for

each name day, were sewn into my clothes when we left for Siberia.

Not long after my own birthday came Marie’s, and then just before our

departure from Tsarskoe Selo came Alexei’s.

More about our imprisonment. First, there was some improvement in

Mother’s health. However, during the hot spell in July her heart

condition became worse. She was forced to lead a quiet life. There

were no more separations, no more hospital work and no attacks of

haemophilia for Alexei. We all fell into a routine. Lessons had been

entirely neglected since our illness. Some of our instructors came from

outside. They taught in the gymnasium and in other schools. Now it was

no longer permissible for them to resume their former duties. Monsieur

Gilliard spent most of his time with Alexei, and in general was most

helpful in reorganizing the household with which the others were

inexpert to cope.

We had books galore to choose from, and several pianos for our use. We

resumed piano lessons--now with Anastasia Hendrikova; previously they

were given by Mr. Konrad. Father began to teach us history, geography

and natural science; Mother, religion; Baroness Buxhoeveden, English;

Dr. Botkin, Russian; M. Gilliard, French; Mlle. Schneider, mathematics.

There was only one thing lacking--inspiration.

From the very first Kerensky barged into Father’s rooms without

warning, much to the disgust of the Court Marshal who followed him

angrily. Kerensky asked Father whether he would go to Germany if

the Kaiser would extend an invitation. Father disappointed him by

answering, “I shall never set foot on German soil. I have already

previously rejected the invitation.” A car supposed to carry us over

the border crashed into the fence as it tried to drive through the

gate. Even if an opportunity had presented itself, dozens of strong

chains that bound us to our Mother country would not let us leave

Russia. There was an offer that we leave Russia by way of Murmansk, but

Kerensky betrayed it to the revolutionists, even though we would not

have accepted the offer.

Suddenly Kerensky wanted General Kornilov’s resignation but the General

refused to comply with his order. Kerensky then told Father that

Kornilov was a traitor. What was Kerensky? I wonder now if the General

was not in Kerensky’s way! Kerensky also was against Captain Count

Kotsebue, the Commandant of the Palace who formerly was an Uhlan Guard

officer. Kerensky forced him to give up his post in favor of Kerensky’s

communist friend, Colonel Korovichenko.

Once after a walk when Father was about to enter the palace, one of

the new guards stepped in front of him and barred his entrance. Alexei

from the open door saw what happened and burst out crying. Another

time Father was walking with Prince Dolgorukov in the park when one of

the new officers followed close behind and stepped on his heel. Father

turned suddenly and hit the officer with his walking cane so hard that

the officer bent double. After that none of them tried this incivility

again.

Years later I spoke by chance to a former Russian officer who said the

Emperor should have “prayed less but worked more.” But this officer’s

wife at that time remarked to her husband, “What kind of officer were

you? When you became ill with appendicitis you carried on like an

infant! Is that bravery?” My Father not only prayed and worked but

possessed the bravery of a hero. Every day he spent ten to fourteen

hours at his desk. There was no other man that worked and fought harder

and with more determination than did Father. Such words were spoken

only by German traitors and weaklings who did everything to buy the

privilege to stay far behind the front lines. Some said that Father

was mild. Perhaps he was; he might have been appreciated in another

country. However, many said that Father should have ordered guns, but

the Emperor would not take the lives of men. He was very kind because

he did not believe in the ruthlessness of Ivan the Terrible, or Lenin,

Trotsky, Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld, Himmer, and others.

The very things we loved most, were now turning against us. Each

morning when I awakened I hoped for an improvement. But one glance

around convinced me the times were not right. One day a bullet hit a

window in Father’s study and left an ugly round scar, showing the great

thickness of the glass. Our walks continued, but every time we went out

we discovered many familiar faces had disappeared, and were replaced

by new ones. In the park the sentries followed us closely and engaged

us in conversation. Most often we did not care to hear what they said.

Then came an order limiting our walk to the first bridge of the brook.

Now we were confined to a more restricted area. We tried to ignore the

impertinence of guards who lolled in our chairs on the lawn in front

of the small balcony which led into the entry room. This balcony was a

few steps up and had an entrance on each side, but the arbitrary guards

prevented us from entering except through one side only. Mother watched

us from the window, and when we returned to her, one glance indicated

that she had been weeping. We knew it was the sight of our being so

restricted that made her cry. Whether long or short, these walks

remained the most coveted events of our day. Mother too was wheeled out

in her chair, and sat with her embroidery in the shade. Usually she was

surrounded by the young guards who asked her all kinds of questions,

mostly religious ones. Those big children understood her and she won

them with her kindness.

At first our captivity at Tsarskoe Selo was not so difficult, even

though there was a complete lack of privacy and our freedom to come

and go was restricted. In fact it was not much different from our

usual routine as we had been accustomed to watchful eyes and many

limitations. We would have been fairly comfortable if we had had enough

heat and the right food for the convalescents.

The familiar rooms, furnished with what we always considered to be

our own possessions, were at once comforting and disturbing. But soon

we found out that these things and many personal household treasures

no longer belonged to us. Many of these were confiscated immediately,

including all Mother’s silver sets. Some of these were heirlooms from

her Granny, Queen Victoria, and some were Father’s wedding gifts.

Other confiscations included trays, platters, urns and numerous gold

plates, gold tea glass holders and spoons, over five hundred table

place settings, Mother’s imperial jade figurines and crosses by Bolin,

the most famous jeweller in Petrograd; also many priceless gold icons

decorated with precious stones and other treasures.

They even took Alexei’s jade and rock crystal collection of animals,

gold swords, miniatures of the family, and his icons, many of which

were presented to him during his illness in Spala in 1912 and were

especially esteemed by him, because the people had prayed before

them to spare his life. Some of these were in gold, studded in

precious stones. On his birth in 1904 the Shah of Persia ordered a

religio-historical rug to be made and had presented it to Alexei on

his twelfth birthday. Approximately 12 feet by 16 feet, it took twelve

years to make. As I remember it, it had Christ’s face in the middle,

surrounded by about a hundred world leaders from the time of Moses up

to 1900. There was an excellent likeness of George Washington.

Olga and Tatiana had saved some money with which they were able

to redeem some of our tea sets, place settings and a few gold tea

glass holders. Our home had the finest Persian rugs and Hepplewhite

furniture. The gallery contained fine paintings and rock crystal

chandeliers.

Father read in the paper that capital punishment had been abolished.

He knew this would mean disaster for Russia. He wrote a long letter

to the Provisional Government and expressed his views, pointing out

the detrimental effect it would have on the Army and the country

as a whole. Moreover, it would cause a great deal of danger to the

public--and so indeed it happened. He preferred death before such

conditions should develop. He gave no thought to his own fate and that

of his family. As a consequence of the abolition of the death penalty,

Kerensky was blamed openly for the murder of hundreds of young cadets

and the torture of their superior officers. It was said that he was

hand in glove with the perpetrators of these crimes. Many of these

officers were well known to us. We heard that many of them were bound,

then covered with straw saturated with kerosene, which was then set on

fire before the eyes of their stricken families.

Kerensky was a good speaker and his words flowed smoothly. He seemed

to impress people as being honest in his undertakings. This belief in

him eventually vanished. He spoke of freedom and many exciting ideals

poured from his lips. He promised that when these ideals were put into

effect they would bring a prosperous republic and a good fruit. But

his theory brought nothing but tragedy. Yet the seeds of the fruit

continued to grow, and do so even now.

During this time, Kerensky’s absurd promises were constantly broken.

Many came to regard him as a sheer opportunist. First, he told us that

we had an invitation to go to England. Later he contradicted himself

by saying that the invitation had been cancelled. We were puzzled and

still we had to trust him. In the beginning Father believed that he was

the right man for the office. Soon people began to doubt Kerensky’s

sincerity, but we could do nothing to repudiate him. All kinds of

fantastic stories were germinating during Kerensky’s short-lived

administration which emerged rapidly but was soon carried away into a

river reddened with blood. Even his own friends whom he himself had

liberated betrayed him.

With the air of a conqueror he went to General Headquarters, and the

people sarcastically said, “A Napoleon is now on the march. With a

snap of his fingers, he will sweep on to Berlin and secure the keys to

the city.” The new hero marched with thieves and murderers of Russia,

and with these men he thought that he could win the war, and thus gain

popularity. They carried the red flag and sang, “My poidyom vperyod i

vyigrayem voinu s krasnym flagom--(We are marching forward and will win

the war with the red flag).”

Many officers whom Kerensky had kept arrested, and who were anxious

to fight the enemy, were left by this man to rot and die in unkempt

prisons. He wanted to be the sole power and to keep all in his hands.

As a result Prince Lvov, Rodzianko (once his friend) and Generals

Alexeiev and Kornilov, as well as many others, resigned their positions.

Kerensky moved into a section of the Catherine Palace, which once was

occupied by Father’s A.D.C., and indulged in luxuries to gratify his

palate. It was said that all kinds of vegetables and rare flowers were

especially raised for his pleasure, that he spared nothing to satisfy

his thirst for luxuries, and that he left terror and rivers of blood

for the Russian people to remember him by.

My little brother seemed to have faith in Kerensky and on one occasion

he asked him whether Father could legally abdicate for him too.

Kerensky replied, “Yes and no, but in your case I think, yes.” How

surprised Father was at this. Alexei must have been puzzled by the

abdication and evidently, on thinking it over, he wanted an explanation

by someone else.

XVI DEPARTURE

The illness we sisters had just gone through resulted in a partial loss

of our hair. When Marie became half-bald our doctor suggested that we

have our heads shaved, which was done shortly before our departure for

Tobolsk. We four looked so much alike afterwards that we could not tell

who was who. Outdoors we wore turbans, especially when we were working

in the vegetable garden which was beautiful and ready for our use.

On the evening of Monday, July 31st, 1917, old style, Kerensky

permitted Uncle Michael to come to the palace. Father was grateful for

this kind gesture on the part of Kerensky. At that time Uncle Michael

had already been placed under arrest. The visit had a painful effect.

No one of the family was allowed to see Uncle except Father. Kerensky

and Colonel Kobylinsky had to be present during the visit which took

place in Father’s study. The meeting was distressing to Father and I

am sure it was also to Uncle Michael. It was almost useless, because

privacy was denied to the brothers. Neither thought this was to be the

last time that they would see each other. Under the conditions the two

brothers were deprived of an opportunity to confide in each other.

However, I remember Father saying that he would not have abdicated

under any circumstances had he known that Uncle Michael would also

abdicate. It was said that the latter did so under pressure while being

held as a prisoner by the Provisional Government, for which Kerensky

was responsible. At this meeting Father asked about his mother and

was told by Uncle that it was impossible for him to see her. Father

said: “Why not send Mr. Johnson (Uncle’s secretary) or contact General

Ivanov.” Father asked Uncle to have Kerensky arrange for us to go to

the Crimea. Granny was in the Crimea--for the first time since the

death of her husband, Alexander III. Also our Aunt Xenia with her

family and Aunt Olga with her new-born first child were there.

As Alexei’s thirteenth birthday had approached, we had trembled for

fear that something might happen on that day. We somehow expected our

departure, but not on such short notice. So many momentous incidents

had been connected with the number thirteen that we sisters were

superstitious about that number. The three hundredth anniversary of

the Romanov dynasty was celebrated in 1913. On March 13th, 1917, Marie

became deadly ill with measles and pneumonia. On Sunday, July 30th

(August 12th), 1917 Alexei became thirteen years old. Misfortune struck

us again. After the Te Deum in our chapel and congratulations for

Alexei’s birthday, Count Benckendorff brought the news that we were to

leave the next day. We still hoped it would be the Crimea. Because of

Alexei’s birthday it was postponed to the following day. We all went

about as if nothing had happened, but in our hearts there was grief and

fear. Alexei played on the little island and we went out and looked

over the garden. We knew then that it was our last time in this beloved

place. If we must go, let’s go quickly.

We did not know our destination. Kerensky made a secret of it. He

assured Father it would be a safer place, and that we should take with

us plenty of warm clothing. Both parents were stoical. Evidently we

were not going to the Crimea. For weeks our trunks had been ready,

but now we each had been told to decide what additional, but only

needed, articles we wished to take with us. Mother said to leave

everything undisturbed. I laid aside many things which finally had to

be abandoned. I felt like a traitor. At last, I finished sorting.

I was determined to help pack my own suitcase for the first time. It

was no longer possible to take anything out of our vaults, treasures

given Mother by Father and her family. A number of her precious icons

were wrapped carefully. She took only those given by proven, loyal

friends. We children also selected some from the corners of our

bedrooms to take with us on this trip.

In spite of our intentions to travel lightly, trunk after trunk was

filled and sent downstairs. If we should ever reach England we wanted

so much to have some of our things with us.

It was decided that any member of our household who so wished could go

with us, but anyone who did not intend to follow us should leave the

palace immediately. A number of employees, not wanting to be separated

from their families, had already left. Father preferred to take along

only those without family responsibilities. However, many servants

left their families behind and followed us into exile. No doubt, it

took courage to follow us, especially when our destination was not

known, yet we hated to leave so many behind whose loyalty we never

questioned. At the same time it was decided that the garden vegetables

would be used by those employees who stayed with us to the last. Count

Benckendorff was to remain in the palace and care for Father’s private

business affairs.

Before we left Father reminded Count Benckendorff that he, through

Count Rostovtsev, Mother’s secretary who was in charge of our private

fortunes, and through Mr. Peter Bark, whose responsibilities related to

family private interests abroad including insurance and investments,

should pay, respectively, all our bills at home and abroad. One of

Count Benckendorff’s stepsons, Prince Valia Dolgorukov, was to go with

us. We heard later that Kerensky went back to the palace, after taking

us to the station, and ordered Count Benckendorff to leave our home at

once.

Father was given the choice of taking one of the generals with him. He

selected General Tatishchev. This friend, who was independently rich,

had all the necessary qualities and was liked by everybody. The several

hundred men who carried our baggage downstairs were rewarded. One of

them, a soldier, lifted his three-ruble note to his lips and kissed

it. By the way his shoulders shook, we knew that he was crying. A few

of our trunks were left upstairs and some were brought to Tobolsk much

later. We were allowed to take with us several dogs. I took my “Jemmy”

who had been given to me by Anna. Being small she did not require much

food.

We were now leaving our bedrooms, music room, class room, and

playrooms, where we had placed our dolls with their arms stretched out

as if they were asking us not to leave them behind. Alexei tearfully

placed his Teddy bear against the door to guard his possessions. As we

wandered through the rooms in lingering farewell, each tried not to see

the other. Those who were to stay behind cried and kissed us children

every time they saw us. These good-byes to our childhood home were

dreadful. This ancestral home we were leaving was part of us. We gave

it a reverential farewell. Marie and I went to our knees in the corner

of our bedroom, set up with icons. Our eyes were fixed on the empty

places from which some icons had been removed to go with us on this

trip.

We were nervous, full of anguish, and, in spite of our efforts to

be brave, we cried and we were reduced to sobs. Our good friend Dr.

Botkin, who had been absent because of illness in his family, had just

returned. He gave us sisters drops of valerian to quiet our nerves.

What went on in Father’s and Mother’s hearts only they knew. It was a

queer, heartrending feeling when we left our rooms not knowing of the

future ahead.

We five children went down the private spiral stairway. As we did so,

the memory of my young years came back to me. I remembered when I

happily used to run up and down the steps trying to make two at a time.

Now I could not see them; a handkerchief was pressed to my swollen

eyes. The stairs led us to Mother’s apartment. She had just finished a

thanksgiving prayer when we appeared. We did not dare to look at her.

No doubt that to Father that home was full of Tsar-spirits, looking

down on him from portraits condemning this final surrender of

autocracy. A life-sized portrait of Mother when she was young, happy,

and beautiful hung in Father’s study--his favorite portrait. It was

by Kaulbach, painted in 1903. He stopped and examined it as if he had

never seen it before.

No doubt in Mother’s mind were the words Aunt Ella said to her once:

“Remember what happened to other Empresses!” Mother may also have

thought of the painting of Marie Antoinette and her children by

Mme. Vigée-Lebrun, which was given to Mother by the President of

France. Was she thinking now of a common misfortune? Or, possibly,

she thought of the words of the Emperor Joseph II, brother of Marie,

when he prophesied to his pretty sister the coming disaster: “In very

truth, I tremble for your happiness; the revolution will be a cruel

one and perhaps of your own making.” But it was not the case with my

Mother: revolution was of the traitors’ making. I often ask myself,

why was Mother so drawn to this unfortunate woman, who in character

and education was so different from my Mother? At home in the glass

wardrobe, were Olga’s and Tatiana’s christening gowns. They were copies

of the dresses of Marie Antoinette’s children. In another case were

a few copies of the Queen’s own dresses, made for Mother in Lyons

during one of her early visits to France. We were all puzzled by the

fascination Marie had for Mother, who was a student of history and had

an aversion for its tragic pages.

Our departure was scheduled for midnight, August 13th, new style.

Before the fateful hour arrived we were served tea. Midnight came

but no summons. Nevertheless, shortly after one in the morning, we

assembled in the semicircular hall. Our personal luggage was standing

at one side. Soon Count Benckendorff came with a message that General

Tatishchev had informed him that he was not allowed to come to the

palace but would be at the station to meet us.

Books and magazines were brought to us. We could not read anything. My

thoughts went back to the pages Mlle. Schneider had read to us while

we were recovering from our illness, and to the painting on the wall

of Marie Antoinette in a large hat, sitting with her children and a

white, long-haired dog at her feet. This large, gold-framed painting,

approximately six feet high, dominated the room. Below it there was a

simple, inlaid console table and on the floor, on either side, stood

two tall red French enamel vases. Somehow I had the idea that they had

been a gift to the family from Cousin Wilhelm. From the time of the

outbreak of the war, I had a strong impulse to break them.

Father, who long before had read all the best known books on the

French Revolution, asked for those volumes again when the reign of

terror swept our country. My older sisters read them, too. Marie and

I, because of our weakened eyes, went through only certain parts. No

doubt these traitors and the revolutionists had read them also, and

followed the same pattern. Kerensky likewise was probably not ignorant

of these events. There are so many similarities between the French and

the Russian Revolutions.

Now the French Revolution stood full of meaning before me. During the

coronation festivities in France, when Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette

were being crowned, a number of shocking disasters occurred. These were

similar to the tragedy that occurred at the coronation of my parents.

In the former, when France’s economy declined and conditions were bad,

only 35 per cent of the land was held by the French peasants; the rest

was in the hands of the Church, the nobility and the crown. But Russia

economically was strong in spite of the war and the devastation of the

western areas.

When a daughter was born to the royal couple, Marie Antoinette had

eighty attendants at her service. History records that she was a gay

woman with demands for unlimited luxury and extravagance. It was also

said that during the critical economic conditions in her country,

she had purchased an enormously expensive jewel for herself. They

discovered much too late that this was not true.

The Russian people would not have believed that Father and Mother had

been extravagant. As Father commented, when the revolution broke out 75

to 80 per cent of Russian soil was in peasant hands. When one of the

children in our family was born, we had only a few attendants. Besides,

Mother never cared for gaiety or luxury. During the war we repaired

our own clothes and made our own beds. As Louis XVI was betrayed by

Mirabeau, so Father was betrayed by the Allies, with the help of the

Duma and men like Kerensky, Ruzsky, Lenin, and Trotsky, and other

foreign instigators. Many foreign elements gave aid and encouraged

the revolution in my country. As horrors occurred in France, so did

they in Russia. Marat asked for a quarter of a million lives, but

Trotsky, Lenin, Apfelbaum and others of the clique demanded more than

fifteen millions. Allegedly they all were guilty of something. Most of

the educated classes, millions of peasants, and forty thousand Greek

Orthodox clergymen were killed.

Many of the revolutionists were shipped to Russia for the purpose

of inciting the plundering, robbing and strangling of Russia. They

were supported by the prisoners of war, mostly Austro-Hungarians and

Germans. They were helped by a powerful branch of the Christian church,

who were apparently desirous of detaching our people from the Greek

Orthodox Church. Fortunately the Russian people were and still are

very devoted to and proud of their own religion which they consider

to be the true exponent of the Christian faith as delegated to us by

the Apostles and particularly by the Apostle Paul. (Read M. Pierre

Gilliard’s book, _Thirteen Years at the Russian Court_.)

Distressed and restless we sat in this room, wondering if the same

misfortune that befell the court of Louis XVI was awaiting us. In one

instance to stimulate the revolution, the weapon was the jewel; in the

other, Rasputin. We wondered whether the other courts of Europe and

particularly our own royal relatives were making any efforts to save

Russia and ourselves.

At four in the morning we had tea again. As daybreak was pouring

through the windows and the lights were turned off, breakfast was

ordered for 5:30. By mistake or by force of habit, the table for us

five children and the governess was set upstairs. This caused a furious

consternation and confusion around the watchful men. We were not

allowed to go upstairs and we did not care to return there again.

Finally an excited officer came running and announced to Count

Benckendorff that he had talked with Kerensky who was on his way to us.

The room became full of people who waited interminably to say good-bye

to us and to the staff who were to go with us. The sentries filled the

doorways, forming a long line on both sides to the waiting motors. We

strained our swollen eyes in the dawning light to see all we could as

the cars sped down the courtyard and through the garden’s side entrance.

Near the fence there were some people who had been waiting all night

to have a glimpse of their Emperor for the last time. They ran toward

this gate but were repulsed by the sentry. We saw the church with its

blue dome, the double eagle and the golden cross, the little lake, the

palace, the park, all for the last time. The iron gates, our prison

gates, swung open and closed after us. Our hearts closed with them.

There were no bells ringing as we left our home, no cheering of the

regiments of Cossacks who used to pass in brilliant parade before the

palace. No convoy followed the Emperor on horses, dressed in tall caps

and red and blue coats; and no yellow flag fluttered on the car. No

flag caught the morning breeze on the roof top; it had been removed

long ago, even though Father and we were still there. The cars moved

like a funeral procession.

Escorted by a detachment of cavalry, we arrived at the Alexander

station. The air was fresh. The golden sun flooded the sky. One hoped

that he could hear the words: “I shall light your way wherever you go.”

What a change in the appearance of this charming and beautiful village

had taken place! The immaculate asphalt roads of Tsarskoe Selo I used

to drive over only five months ago were no longer the same. I could see

the wound the new leaders had inflicted upon this peaceful village. It

was indeed a depressing and fearful sight.

In order to board the train, our automobiles stopped a short distance

from our own white station, which was not far from the public one.

Approaching it we saw in the distance a heap of luggage still being

loaded into the train. With the troops guarding the vicinity, we walked

along and crossed the track. As we were to board the train, Mother gave

her hand to Kerensky who kissed it and wished her a pleasant trip.

There was no stool to step on and Mother had trouble negotiating the

high step. When she reached her compartment, she collapsed and fell

before anyone could catch her, spraining her ankle and a finger, and

struggling to catch her breath. Dr. Botkin gave her a sedative. Partly

because of the heat, it was several days before she recovered from the

strain.

It was sad to leave our friends, especially those officers who stood

at the station humbly with their caps in their hand, and their heads

bowed for the last time--their final reverence to Russia. The family

stood near the windows in two different cars and blessed those good

men, when suddenly several of them entered the car, and wanted to fall

on their knees before Father, but he would not let them do so. Instead,

he embraced them, their faces resting on his shoulder. This great man

thanked his loyal officers (especially two men, Kushelev, and another

whose name I do not remember but which was something like Artasalev)

for their services with the words, “Be loyal and help your country;

they need you now more than ever.”

With these words, they withdrew, and Father touched his own insignia

of command, promoting them to a higher rank for the last time. This

touching scene made him withdraw from the window so that they might not

see the tears in his eyes. Suddenly on order of Commissar Kozmin, all

the shades of the car were drawn.

Already within the confines of these quarters, Father’s spiritual

agony was supreme. He knew that he had abdicated not for selfish

reasons, but to avoid the bloodshed which he foresaw, but which the

others did not. Now, this suffering family carried with them into

uncertainty the centuries-old secrets of the dynasty.

With a quick jerk and screech the wagons-lits began to move. The

vibration sent shivers to our souls. It was 6:30 A.M. We hoped the

train would be heading for the west or south. However, it was not long

before we realized much to our disappointment that we were heading

eastward.

Father once promised us that as soon as the war was over, he would

take us to visit the Siberian cities. It was now evident that Father’s

promise to us of a Siberian trip was being fulfilled without advance

knowledge or planning. Later when Kerensky was being accused by the

people for sending us to Siberia, he did not have the courage to admit

it, but instead cowardly tried to lay the blame on my Mother by saying

that it was her wish to have the family go to Siberia. The truth is

however that when it became evident that we were being sent to Siberia,

Mother remarked, “Of all places, how could he think of Siberia?”

Just before our departure from Tsarskoe Selo, Father made each of us

sign our names on slips of papers, put them in separate envelopes and

leave them in our rooms.

XVII JOURNEY

It was broad daylight outside but inside, with shades drawn and lights

glaring, it might as well have been night. We were all terribly tired

and we sat quietly for some time before having our breakfast. No one

knew what the other was thinking. Our hearts were heavy and there were

tears. Mother gathered us with her eyes. “We are together,” she said.

“You are my wealth and I am rewarded by the Lord for giving me such a

good family.”

Our train consisted of four or five cars. One car was occupied by us.

In the next car were Prince Vasily Dolgorukov, General Tatishchev,

Mlle. Schneider, Countess Hendrikova, Dr. Botkin, M. Gilliard,

and Colonel Kobylinsky. In addition there were Commissar Makarov,

Vershchinin, and another person whose name escapes me.

The other cars were occupied by our household staff and the guard.

We were grateful to them all for staying with us, grateful too that

Kerensky had allowed Colonel Kobylinsky and Commissar Makarov to

accompany us.

Coffee was served to us; it helped lift our spirits. We hardly moved

except to go to the dining car for our meals. Mother and Alexei were

served theirs in their own compartments. It was very hot, dry, and

dusty, especially before we reached Asiatic Russia. The train made

a number of stops to take water, usually a short distance from the

stations. All the time we were closely watched and guarded by the

sharpshooters commanded by Colonel Kobylinsky. It was a grim ride, but

Kerensky had made Father believe we were headed for a much safer place.

On the third day we passed the city of Perm and followed a river. The

view was picturesque, a typically Russian scene. We felt the change

of air as we crossed from European to Asiatic Russia, through the

Ural Mountains. The train reduced its speed. Luckily for Mother, the

air became cooler, otherwise she might have had heart failure. We

passed through Ekaterinburg with its two stations one on each side of

the city. No one would have believed then that eleven months later,

this Siberian city would become the scene of one of the world’s most

atrocious crimes about which many volumes would be written.

Several times along the way and between stations the train would stop,

once for one full hour, which gave us an opportunity to take a walk

along the tracks under the watchful eyes of our guard. This gave us

sisters a chance to pick violas along the track.

Father had been in Siberia in 1890-1891. Consequently, he knew Siberia

well, not only the cities, but the locations of different industries

and the mining regions, which he had visited during his travels. He

pointed to us locations of the most important industries, such as the

iron works, paper mills, and gold and copper mines. He was sent to

Siberia by his father, Alexander III, with the engineers at the head of

the committee for the construction of the railroads connecting European

Russia with the shores of the Pacific Ocean.

When he ascended the throne he continued the work entrusted to him by

his father, to complete this construction. The Amur line was finished

in March 1915 exactly two years before the revolution. He told us that

the first stone for the Ussuri line was laid in Vladivostok in 1891,

upon his return from the Far East. Several uncles also had been in the

Far North of Siberia. The University of Tomsk was inaugurated during

the reign of my Grandfather, Alexander III. Father gave to the museum

of Ekaterinburg part of its famous Numismatic Department, with its rare

coin collection. He also gave large contributions to the Ural mining

school in Ekaterinburg. The Ural Society for Natural Sciences was under

the patronage of my Uncle, the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich. The

Imperial stone cutting works and the gold melting department which were

also in Ekaterinburg belonged to the Imperial family.

[Illustration: Marie Feodorovna 1914

THE DOWAGER EMPRESS MARIE FEODOROVNA--1914]

[Illustration: THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS II]

[Illustration: Aleksandra.

THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA]

[Illustration: THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI--MOGILEV--1916]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUKE MICHAEL ALEXANDROVICH]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ELIZABETH FEODOROVNA]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESSES ANASTASIA, MARIE AND

TATIANA--TSARSKOE SELO--1917]

[Illustration: NICHOLAS II AND HIS CHILDREN (l. to r.): THE GRAND

DUCHESSES ANASTASIA, OLGA, TATIANA AND MARIE AND THE TSESAREVICH

ALEXEI, WITH A CONVOY OF CAUCASIAN OFFICERS--_ca._ 1916]

[Illustration: THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI AND HIS SISTERS, THE GRAND

DUCHESSES OLGA, ANASTASIA AND TATIANA--TSARSKOE SELO--1917]

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

TATIANA--TSARSKOE SELO--1917]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The P. B. Corporation_

VIEW OF CITY OF TOBOLSK FROM A HILL]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The P. B. Corporation_

VIEW OF CITY OF TOBOLSK]

[Illustration: IPATIEV HOUSE, EKATERINBURG--1918]

[Illustration: THE DEATH CHAMBER, IPATIEV HOUSE--EKATERINBURG--1918]

[Illustration: THE HANDKERCHIEF TAKEN BY THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA

FROM EKATERINBURG TO BUKOVINA]

[Illustration: THE PIECE OF GLASS FOUND IMBEDDED IN THE FLESH OF THE

GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA SUBSEQUENT TO THE TRAGEDY]

[Illustration: MAP OF EKATERINBURG AND VICINITY--_ca._ 1918]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE AND ANASTASIA--SPALA--1912]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA--WISCONSIN--WINTER 1934-35]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The Chicago Tribune_

NICHOLAS II, THE GRAND DUCHESSES TATIANA, OLGA, MARIE AND ANASTASIA AND

THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI; IN THE FOREGROUND, THE PRINCE VASILI--_ca._

WINTER 1913-14]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA--ILLINOIS--_ca._ 1960]

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

MARIE--TSARSKOE SELO--1917]

[Illustration:

_Photograph by Robert E. B. Speller, Jr._

THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA--RHODE ISLAND--1963]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA--RUMANIA--_ca._ 1929]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA--WISCONSIN--_ca._ 1934]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA WITH MARJORIE HANSON,

GRANDDAUGHTER OF MRS. WILLIAM H. EMERY--WISCONSIN--_ca._ 1944]

[Illustration: _Photograph by Robert E. B. Speller, Jr._

THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA--ILLINOIS--1963]

The Alexander house for the poor and other civic institutions

were built in their entirety from funds of Alexander III. Some of

our friends had some industries in these regions, namely Count

Vorontsov-Dashkov, Countess Stenbock-Fermor, General Tatishchev, Prince

Dolgorukov, Count Ignatiev, Prince Demidov, Baroness Meller-Zakomelsky,

Count Muraviev-Amursky, Count Stroganov, and others. All these names

were familiar to us. General Count Tatishchev, who was with us on the

train, gave us many historical facts about Ekaterinburg. His ancestors

had built this city in honor of the Empress Catherine the Great.

Ekaterinburg is the junction of various railroads, connecting the

Siberian main line via Perm with Tiumen and Cheliabinsk and other

side lines. On Father’s wedding date November 14th, 1894, old style,

a library and free reading room was given by him; and every year

thereafter, whole sets of books were sent to Cheliabinsk on this

day. He described to us the tea packaging business at Kiakhta in the

Transbaikal, from where many of our grey horses came.

On the way to Tiumen we saw feeding stations, medical shelters and

railroad car churches and portable schools. They were built for the

convenience of the settlers. Practically in every city was a school or

a hospital built from the funds of my Grandfather.

We kept climbing higher and in the morning we stopped near the town of

Bazhenovo. Some peasants who saw us wanted to come close to us, but

were sent back by the guards. They told the men that the distilleries,

which had been closed during the war, were reopened and the people were

becoming intoxicated on the spirits and wines produced there. They

also said that the emerald mines already had been closed and that the

workers were spending their time in the wine cellars getting drunk.

On the fourth midnight our train arrived in Tiumen where we were to

take a boat to Tobolsk. While our trunks and other heavy boxes were

being loaded on the boat, we walked for several hours through the

dimly-lighted street near the dock in the cool Siberian air and crossed

the three railroad tracks to the boat. In the distance and around the

bend of the river we could see the flickering lights of the city of

Tiumen.

We boarded the small, two-decker steamer “Rossia.” Father and his

friends stayed on the deck until morning. We sisters got up early to

get a view of the city in the distance, but the boat was already on

its way, escorted by two smaller vessels, “Kormilets” and “Sibiriak.”

We passed many small rivers, and swamps and lakes, parts of which were

covered with reeds and millions of red flowers. Mother called them

saltwort. We saw some red foxes and white partridges, and on a swamp

there was a singing swan. We saw many beautiful birds, some familiar to

us and some not.

Father said Godunov, Volynsky and Prince Bariatinsky contributed a

great deal to the progress of Tiumen. Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich founded

Tiumen in 1664 and visited this frozen land himself. Alexander II

constructed hospitals and later Father sponsored shelters, feeding

places and medical centers for the exiles on their way to the

settlements.

Speaking of exiles in Siberia, the first exiles to Tobolsk Government

began at the time of the murder of Tsarevich Dimitri in 1591. Two

Romanov brothers, Ivan and Vasili Nikitich Yuriev-Zakharin, and

Prince Beloselsky were banished in 1601 by Tsar Boris Godunov. Later

even Sheremetiev and Prince Dolgorukov were exiled to Tiumen and

Tobolsk. The descendants of those old families were close friends.

Another coincidence: the first Romanov was to visit Siberia and the

last Romanov was to die in Siberia. The people believed that Ivan the

Terrible was responsible for the establishment of the prisons here.

However, vicious propaganda tried to make the people believe that it

was Father who had established these prison camps. This was nothing

more than an unadulterated Bolshevik lie.

In the late afternoon we came to the juncture of the Tobol and the

Tura Rivers. We passed the village of Pokrovskoe where on a high

bank overlooking the Tobol stood Rasputin’s house. Soon the Irtysh

River met the Tobol, and we continued on the Irtysh, which by now had

become wider. On the second day, late in the afternoon we arrived

in front of Tobolsk. This city seemed to be built on two levels of

a hill, one above the other. Near the upper level of the town was

a stone wall. We were told that this wall was a fortress and was

built in the 16th century in order to protect the new colonies from

invasion by plundering Kirghiz, Kazak and Kalmuk tribes. There were

lots of people at the wharf; apparently they had heard of our coming.

Dr. Botkin, Colonel Kobylinsky and Commissar Makarov went to see the

Governor’s house, where we were to stay, and they found that the house

was being redecorated and was not yet ready for occupancy, so we

continued to live on the boat for a number of days. They also found

that the furniture was inadequate and the beds were not suitable for

our parents. They took it upon themselves to find beds. Later Makarov

purchased even a piano, using a part of his own money for this purpose.

During the day the steamer made little trips on the river. Several

times we went ashore for a walk and once to the monastery of Abalak,

around the bend where the Irtysh and the Tobol Rivers met.

A carriage from the monastery was provided for Mother’s use, but the

rest of us preferred to walk the narrow road up the hill, under a

strong guard. The monastery stood amidst lovely grounds on a hill

not far from the landing place. There were people on one side at the

monastery church, who began to cry when they saw us. We prayed before

the miraculous Image of the Holy Virgin with her hands raised from her

elbows and the Christ Child resting in the folds of her robe. Her

headgear was studded with pearls.

This Image of the Holy Virgin later was brought to Tobolsk. Peace

and contentment we found in our undisturbed prayers, in this Holy

sanctuary. Our hearts were strengthened, and it gave us a new hope

and courage. The iconostas, with many Byzantine icons, was much more

beautiful than the one in Tsarskoe Selo. We had often heard of this

monastery and now we had the opportunity to see it. We were grateful to

Colonel Kobylinsky and Commissar Makarov for allowing us this kind of

privilege. We never forgot this gracious gesture.

At night the boat anchored in the middle of the river in front of

Tobolsk.

At last the house was ready. Mother, Alexei and Marie were driven to

the house, while Father and the rest of us walked along the Tulyatskaya

street to the house. I think that was the street leading from the

dock. Later, Marie told us that, when Mother passed near the Lutheran

church, her eyes filled with tears. She said: “It reminds me of the

day after your Grandfather’s death. I was baptised in the old chapel

in Oreanda in the Crimea.” It was the day she was converted to the

Russian Orthodox Church and given the name of Alexandra Feodorovna with

the title of Grand Duchess of Russia and the style of Her Imperial

Highness.

PART IV Tobolsk

XVIII ORIENTATION

I had pictured the house in the midst of woods, but when I saw it

surrounded by a high wooden fence still being erected, it gave me a

feeling of loneliness and fear. When we crossed the noisy, wornout

wooden sidewalk and the gate closed behind us, we were prisoners.

Paradoxically the name of the street was Svoboda (Freedom).

With us came the following: Our faithful friend General Ilia

Tatishchev, General Valia Dolgorukov, Dr. Eugene Botkin, M. Pierre

Gilliard, Countess Anastasia Hendrikova and Mlle. Ekaterina Schneider;

also Miss Alexandra Tegleva, a nurse and her assistant, Elizabeth

Ersberg, and the chambermaids, Miss Tutelberg and Anna Demidova;

Father’s servant, Terenty Chemodurov; Mother’s servant, Alexei Volkov;

and Ivan Sidniev, the servant of us four sisters. Also there were

our brother’s personal attendants, Trup, Ivanov and Markov, and his

male nurse, Klementy Nagorny; a writer, a hairdresser; several cooks

including Kharitonov and his helper, Leonid Sidniev; and other help.

About forty people came with us. Later came Mr. Sidney Gibbs, our

English tutor, and Dr. Derevenko, who were permitted to join us and

resume their duties. Still later Baroness Buxhoeveden, a lady in

waiting, followed, joining us on the boat on the day we were leaving

for Ekaterinburg. This does not include the military personnel, which

numbered about 300-400.

The house itself was quite nice. Our quarters on the second floor were

smaller and more crowded than those we were accustomed to. We occupied

three bedrooms: one for my parents, one for Alexei, and the other for

us four girls. On this floor there was a big hall with a piano and

a comfortable divan, tables and other pieces of furniture. Next to

Alexei’s room was a room for his male nurse. Father’s study was in a

corner room at the head of the stairway. We also had a balcony which we

found extremely pleasant when the sun was out. From it Mother watched

us when we went for a walk in the small yard. Often we went out on the

balcony to see the sunset and the view of the cathedral and the low

mountains in the background. It was beautiful; the sun seemed so much

brighter than in Petrograd or Tsarskoe Selo.

The arrangements of the first floor were the same as on the second.

The rooms opened on both sides of a long corridor which ran from the

front to the back of the house. The closest room to the vestibule

was occupied by an orderly officer on duty. M. Gilliard’s room and

the dining room were on this floor, as were the remaining quarters

used by our household. But later the larger rooms had to be divided

by partitions to make two rooms out of one, in order to accommodate

everyone possible. Almost all the rooms had parquet floors, and on the

second floor we had some of our fine Persian scatter rugs and others,

all sent to us from Tsarskoe Selo by Makarov. Most of the remainder

of the staff was housed across the street in the large residence

which belonged to a rich merchant named Kornilov. Extra maids had

accommodations in town.

Our walks were not exciting, because of the limited space, which

consisted of a small garden, where there were some Siberian irises, and

a part of the street and a part of a square joined to the garden by a

high wooden fence. This space was always guarded by a dozen or more

soldiers on the outside and by that many more inside. In the back of

the house there were the temporary barracks built to accommodate the

guards. From here they could observe all our activities. We played ball

or tug of war among ourselves; and occasionally other games with the

guards. Father was always present at these games.

We began to feel almost natural in our prison house. The small quarters

took the form of a home and we settled down into a peaceful routine.

From the absence of shooting and rioting, it was evident the revolution

had not reached this part of the country. In fact, everything was so

quiet it was hard to believe it could be Russia.

One of Father’s complaints was the lack of news. We were completely

isolated. We did receive a locally published newspaper containing

mostly hearsay. No first hand information freshened its pages, nor did

it contain any foreign news.

Now and then Commissar Makarov and the guards inadvertently dropped

some news. Our friends from across the street were at liberty to enter

the governor’s house and resume their duties. They even were permitted

to see the town, but we could not go out. Thanks to Colonel Kobylinsky,

our first two months at Tobolsk were quite pleasant. The house came

near to being the kind of home that Mother had always longed for--one

in which we could be close to each other. No external duties claimed

any of us, not even Father--a situation that made him restless.

There were many guards everywhere, but they, like Colonel Kobylinsky,

had come with us from Tsarskoe Selo and knew us as submissive

prisoners. They became our friends and we chatted with them freely. The

colonel was very kind; Father nicknamed him “our friend.” There was no

friction because we complied with every demand. They trusted us but

still they watched us as they were ordered to do.

Our food was simple but nourishing. Our own chef, Kharitonov, and his

helper cooked to our satisfaction. In living this simple life, Mother

became much stronger. She ceased to fret over the wounded soldiers,

whom she could no longer help, and she found compensation in her

writing, painting and religion and in our close family life. At least,

we were all under the same roof. She had her one wish: the right for us

to belong to each other. Our being together went a long way to soften

our captivity.

At first it was very difficult for Mother to adjust herself to the new

experience of housekeeping, managing personally and coming in direct

contact with the attendants. The sudden change from many servants to a

few was very confusing to her. She had not kept house for some years;

even while living with her Granny she had devoted her time to her

studies. Since these servants had to assume duties which were strange

to them, we sisters helped Anna and Tootles in their daily work.

Operations were not always smooth but the servants were willing and

adaptable and above all loyal. After a while Colonel Kobylinsky gave

permission for several maids from Tsarskoe Selo, who were willing to

come, to join us. But the sudden changes in Tobolsk kept them waiting

there for weeks and in the end they never were able to enter the house.

At this time we had a few letters from different friends but nothing

from our relatives in the Crimea. The latter were constantly in our

minds and we wished so much to be near them in that beautiful country,

among all those flowers and near the blue-green sea. Then, as if by

mental telepathy, Colonel Kobylinsky arrived, his pale face beaming

with excitement, and handed a letter to Father from Aunt Xenia in the

Crimea. It calmed us, but at the same time left in our hearts a painful

and lonely feeling which stayed with us incessantly. Later a number of

letters came from that distant land. One such letter took six months

to arrive. Father wrote short letters as there was always the fear of

bringing trouble to the recipients.

When shortly our English tutor, Sidney Gibbs, arrived in Tobolsk, he

brought us first hand information on the happenings in the Crimea and

the conditions in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd.

The older men who came with us from Tsarskoe Selo, especially of the

First and the Fourth regiments became our friends. They were kind to us

and could not understand why we were held prisoners. These men loved

Alexei, and to them he still was their Tsarevich. Those good fellows

brought him gifts, which they proudly presented to him with loving

smiles and touching words. I will never forget the time when one of

these men spent many evenings carving a puzzle out of white soft wood.

It was chain-like and every turn made gave it a new design. Another man

made for him a set of wooden Kalmuk toys, from the great-grandfather

to the tiniest baby boy. They fitted into each other so skilfully that

when all together they formed only one big great-grandfather. Alexei

was touched by these gifts. We knew all these men and the families of

some of them. Knowing their financial condition, we felt sorry for them.

The soldiers of the Second regiment, who at first were unpleasant, had

by now become actually insolent. They formed a Soldiers Committee under

the direction of a man called Arnold Goldstein who came to Tobolsk

about a month after our arrival and at once started to poison those

men. All other individuals who came to Tobolsk were at once arrested

but this man was allowed to stay and make trouble. The committee

asserted its authority over the officers whom Kerensky had sent when

we first arrived in Tobolsk. The friendly spirit that prevailed in our

prison was reported. Stern orders bounced back. Our kindly guards had

to step aside, and radical ones took their places. Colonel Kobylinsky

tried to resist but, alas, it was a losing fight.

Shortly after we reached Tobolsk, the young townspeople had a dance

on the street, called “Krugom.” The girls were dressed in handsome

embroidered red babushkas and the boys in high boots and pleated

trousers. The dance starts when one of the girls calls her boy friend

by his name, saying please come. He takes off his fur cap and the

couple dance in the middle of the circle while the balalaika and

accordion play and the participants sing a song--the words of which

usually center on water, birds, the moon, etc., all taken from nature.

The boy then kisses this girl, the girl of his heart, and asks her to

dance with him. The girl then calls another man who in turn invites his

own girl. The first couple drops out and the procedure is repeated.

Father liked the Siberian climate and the fabulous splendors of the

sunrise and sunset over the mountains and the soft clouds hiding

the distant hills. We too found it agreeable and peaceful after the

turbulent months we had just gone through. But these tranquil few

weeks came to an end all too soon. We shortly learned that one of our

former ladies in waiting, Mlle. Rita Khitrovo was in Tobolsk. Her

unannounced arrival caused us a great deal of apprehension. We felt

that our Russian teacher, Mlle. Bittner, in whom Colonel Kobylinsky was

interested, might find an opportunity to exaggerate the reasons for

Mlle. Khitrovo’s presence in Tobolsk and thereby create an incident

which would have serious repercussions. Once Mlle. Khitrovo was seen

talking to a member of our staff across the street, and making a cross

with her hand toward the balcony on which we were standing. Immediately

after that she was arrested and sent away. The letters she had brought

with her were seized and were not delivered to their owners until after

they had been censored. Following this incident Kerensky ordered that

all persons coming to Tobolsk must be registered.

As a result of this incident Commissar Makarov who knew of Khitrovo’s

coming was relieved of his post and replaced by Commissar Pankratov and

his deputy, Nikolsky. Pankratov, despite his prison record, was kind

to us. His knowledge of languages and his taste for art and literature

betrayed his cultural background. This middle-aged man often used to

tell us sisters about his experiences in prison. Yet never once did

he complain. Instead he admitted his guilt. He was a man of fifty

with dark hair. He made a notation on every letter received and often

delivered our mail, most of which was addressed to him, saying that he

was glad that our friends had not forgotten us. Once he told Marie that

no harm would come to us while he was there.

Nikolsky was a Pole of disreputable background. He was rude and fanatic

and had an uncontrollable temper and hatred. He immediately ordered

everyone to have his picture taken and to carry a card showing the

name, age and day of birth, because he had had to have his picture

taken and carry a card while serving a prison term for killing two men.

Our schedule for the week was made up by Olga and M. Gilliard. Our

friends were the only gleam of light in our daily life. To change the

atmosphere it was decided to stage some plays in which the staff and

we children could take part. A stage was put up in the big hall on

the second floor, which also served us as a school room and later as

a chapel. All our friends from across the street were asked to these

performances to share in this diversion. Olga was in charge of the

music, if such was needed. Alexei was not very keen about taking part

in the plays and often begged for someone else to take his role. There

was always an officer present at these performances. But soon rapidly

changing conditions no longer permitted us these recreations.

Our day began at eight in the morning with breakfast served to us and

our friends in the dining room downstairs. It consisted of tea or weak

coffee. Olga had hers with Father in his study, and Alexei his with

Mother. At 9:00 A.M. we younger sisters took our lessons in the big

hall, but during the cold spell, before the house warmed up we started

the first lesson in bed with Mother. We wore in the house our woolen

leggings or boots and were bundled in warm cardigans. Our instructors

were M. Gilliard, Mlle. Hendrikova, Mlle. Bittner, once a teacher at

the gymnasium in Tsarskoe Selo. Father continued with the history and

geography lessons. The classes lasted from 9:00-11:00 A.M. Alexei had

his lessons in M. Gilliard’s or his own room. Afterwards we went out

into the yard for a half hour’s exercise before our luncheon at 1:00

P.M.

Father and Olga ate luncheon with us in the dining room. Mother and

Alexei had theirs upstairs. Our luncheon consisted of soup, meat or

fish and sweets. From two to four we went out again and helped saw wood

behind the greenhouse. Mother seldom went out with us in the morning.

Alexei joined us in the afternoon after his rest and, when the weather

permitted, Mother sat in a chair in the sun, sewing, knitting, writing

or painting. When indisposed she stayed upstairs. Sometimes she played

the piano and sang, mostly religious pieces. From 3:45 to 4:00 there

was a short break for tea, for the family only, during which Mother

poured the tea herself. The lessons started again at 4:00 and lasted

until 6:00 or 7:00 P.M. Dinner was served at eight; the menu was the

same as that served at luncheon except that we had no dessert. Mother

always was present at these meals. After dinner, coffee was served

upstairs. While Father poured, all stood up except Mother. We could not

help noticing that usually there were thirteen persons at the dinner

table, seven from the family, and six from the staff. Occasionally Dr.

Derevenko and his son were asked to dinner, also Colonel Kobylinsky and

Mlle. Bittner.

During the first few weeks the food was satisfactory; this did not last

long because many products became scarce and prices went sky high.

It was decided to raise our own food. Within a month we had many

chickens, turkeys, and ducks that enjoyed swimming in their little pond

which we had made by diverting a small portion of a brook which ran

through the garden. The horse stable was used for pigs and even the

greenhouse was converted into a chicken coop.

Soon the people learned of the hour of our walks. They tried to get a

better view of us through the cracks between the boards, and many of

them kneeled down in prayer for us. Even Kalmuks who are Mohammedans

raised their hands and prayed to Allah for us, without being afraid to

do so. To many millions, the Emperor and Empress were still the Father

and Mother of Russia.

In October before navigation on the river stopped for the winter, and

after his enforced return to Tsarskoe Selo, our friend Makarov sent

us from there some warm clothes and rugs, curtains, linens and other

needed items as well as some provisions.

During Kobylinsky’s administration we were permitted to go to church

on Sundays and holidays. The church services were held at 8:00 A.M.

when it was still dark. We assembled in the yard and proceeded to

the church flanked on each side by sentries. The church was a short

distance from the house and in getting there we had to cross the

street, pass through a small park and onto another street. Father went

into the church first, followed by Mother, Alexei and then us sisters.

Some of the guards entered the church and stood behind us while the

others remained outside, waiting near the steps. On our return, after

the service and as a mark of honor, the church bells kept ringing until

we entered the house. This procedure however was changed by Nikolsky

who, in a childish show of authority, ordered that the ringing of the

bells be stopped before we reached the gate. Church services for us

were strictly private and the public was not permitted to participate

in the services while we were there. Instead they waited outside, and

as we left the church they kneeled and kissed the ground after we

passed as a sign of their love for the family.

When Dr. Derevenko came to Tobolsk with his son Kolia, it was a joy for

Alexei. The two boys played together, read and wrote little stories.

Alexei was happy to have a friend to play and eat with. But this did

not last very long. One day Nagorny carried a letter from Alexei to his

friend Kolia. It was nothing more than childish play. Nikolsky searched

Nagorny and found the letter. He immediately went to Pankratov with

it, saying, “You see how easily they can smuggle letters out and who

knows what else?” Kolia was forbidden to come into the house, and only

occasionally were they permitted to play outdoors under the watchful

eyes of the guards, provided they kept at a distance from each other.

For weeks Mother had been suffering from neuralgia. Now her teeth

caused her a great deal of pain. Everyday she waited patiently for her

dentist, who was to come all the way from the Crimea. I never knew of

anyone who suffered so much and still had so much patience and never

complained. On the arrival of Dr. Kostritsky, he repaired Mother’s

false tooth and one of my front teeth which had been damaged. He

brought us news from Granny and both our aunts who were in the Crimea.

From a previous letter we had learned that Grandmother was ill and was

complaining about the shortage of food and the fact that her belongings

had been taken away from her, news which distressed us considerably,

especially my Father. We had also received a charming letter concerning

Aunt Olga telling us about her baby son being driven in a carriage

drawn by a small donkey. I remembered when I was a little girl I rode

in a small wicker chair strapped on the side of a pony. The news

brought by Dr. Kostritsky was cheerful on the whole.

Finally Dr. Botkin’s children, Tatiana and Gleb, arrived in Tobolsk.

We hoped that they would join us in our class work, but even that was

denied us and we could only see them from the second floor window.

The situation was gradually getting worse. Nikolsky was stirring up

more hatred among the soldiers and poisoning their minds with false

doctrines.

Dr. Botkin spent several hours with Father, telling him of the

conditions in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd. We now had a fairly

good idea of the existing situation in our country. We heard that

Pravosudovich, head engineer of the Imperial personal train, had been

shot; also that Kerensky, his relatives and his friends were splurging

at the Catherine Palace, indulging in all kinds of luxuries, of which

we had deprived ourselves at all times, especially during the war.

Kerensky and his friends were driving in our cars and carriages, and

even some servants lay at his feet. Within a short time this man who

not long ago had appeared on our threshold in Tsarskoe Selo, with men

whose past was steeped in crime, was now enjoying all the luxuries of

which he deprived the original owners.

We had several letters from Anna Vyrubova and even some packages. We

gathered from her letters that Anna was having a terrible time, though

her language was cryptic. She was forced to assume her maiden name

in order to avoid persecution. All our mail that came through the

regular channels was censored and the contents were known to Colonel

Kobylinsky. Father tried to discourage the sending or receiving of mail

secretly. He even asked his own relatives to address their letters to

Commissar Pankratov, in order to avoid any misunderstanding. Father

wrote only a few letters, primarily to his mother and to his sister

Xenia.

We had news from the English sisters of mercy in Petrograd, and

from the hospitals in Tsarskoe Selo; also we heard from Countess

Orlova-Davidova; from Shura Petrovsky, whose husband was one of

Father’s aides-de-camp, and from Liuba Khitrovo, sister of Rita

Khitrovo who had been arrested in Tobolsk. The news we received

indicated untold tragedies. Many officers were shot after they

recovered from the wounds. The Provisional Government cared little for

these helpless men.

We heard that the people wanted their Emperor back and that the Army

was hostile to the new Government, refusing to take orders from the

former convicts, spies and invaders, and that it wanted to get rid

of Communist agitators around the country. Again Kerensky refused to

sanction this proposal, because he wanted to retain all power in his

hands, even though it would mean the destruction of Russia. Father knew

then that the country was lost. We heard all kinds of stories. One

concerned a boat caught sailing in the dark on the Volga River without

the permission of the authorities. On the shore, it was discovered that

this boat carried six bullions of gold, each worth a fortune. When

asked where they were taking this loot, the persons aboard replied that

they were taking it to the village of one of the leaders.

Kerensky made many blunders. He prevented the Army from crushing

the revolution at a time when it was ready and willing to do so.

The soldiers of our regiments, who came with us from Tsarskoe Selo,

complained to General Tatishchev that they had not received the

allowances that Kerensky had promised they would receive while they

remained with us. As a result they were discontented. Many of these

men had to meet their family needs. Some of them were able to obtain

extra jobs, but those who were not able to do so became angry, which

strengthened their sympathy for Bolshevism.

A few weeks before Christmas came the shocking news that Kerensky’s

Provisional Government had fallen and that the Bolsheviks had taken

control of the country. He was now receiving a dose of his own

medicine. The persecutors were more lenient and less cruel toward him

than he was toward his Emperor and his family. General Tatishchev

told us that when Kerensky was betrayed by his colleagues--the

Bolsheviks--he jumped from the second floor of the Winter Palace in

order to save his life and in his haste to do so left the belt of his

tunic behind. It was said that Prince Volkonsky was an eye witness

to this heroic performance. A brave man, indeed. An Emperor without

portfolio, a minister, a lawyer, an orator, and Napoleon, all in one.

There was talk that if the Ukraine were to go to Germany, Father would

be placed on the throne by German help. Father said, “Never will I or

my son accept the throne with the help of the enemy.”

We learned that the Winter Palace had been plundered and that many

of its treasures were in the hands of foreign bandits from both

hemispheres who came to our country to rob, take and plunder. They

pulled down our tricolor flags--white, blue, and red. White stands

for snow, blue for the heavenly sky and red for the blood spilled in

defense of our country. They hoisted their own flag over the Winter

Palace. They removed the double eagles from the buildings and were

burning them on the streets before the eyes of respectable citizens.

They emptied the historical treasures preserved for generations by our

forefathers, the pride and wealth of Russia when she was in her glory.

These treasures were sold abroad. The wine cellars of the Palace were

broken open and the mob drank so much wine that some of them literally

died from it; the rest of the old wines were poured from the bridge

into the Neva River.

The secret police still was working at the time of our arrest. Before

our exile the names appearing below were given to my Father which

he remembered and made us remember. When some of these men found it

necessary to escape from Russia for their lives, they were given

sanctuary by other countries, instead of being tried for their crimes

against the Russian people. These men dared to look into the eyes of

Russians knowing what they had done to them, and how easy the Russian

people had forgiven them all the wounds they had inflicted upon them.

Communism was founded and organized by these men whose real and assumed

names follow.

_Original names_ _Changed to_

Bronstein _Trotsky_

Tsederblum changed to Ulianov then to _Lenin_

Apfelbaum _Zinoviev_

Rosenfeld _Kamenev_

Goldenberg _Mikhovsky_

Krachmann _Zagorsky_

Hollender _Mieshkovsky_

Tsederblum II _Martov_

Himmer _Sukhanov_

Goldmann _Goriev_

We were told that Tsederbaum (Tsederblum?), Lenin’s father, was

arrested for murdering a policeman; his sons were very young. One

son was brought up in Simbirsk by a well-to-do half-Kalmuk and

half-Christian family by the name of Ulianov. The other sons were with

Lenin’s uncle, Tsederbaum. While in college both boys met secretly

with other boys and inspired them with revolutionary ideas, such as

the derailing of the train in which the Emperor and his family were

riding; as a result many people were killed. One brother was hanged;

the second, Lenin (Ulianov), ran away; and the third was in hiding in

Russia until the revolution when he reappeared. There were two brothers

who are mentioned above in my list which was given Father while in

Tsarskoe Selo. Later in Tobolsk and more so in Ekaterinburg, additional

names were given to us to remember, the names of men with whom we

actually had contact. Unfortunately I can only remember now the names

of about twenty-five out of a total of approximately one hundred.

One morning Colonel Kobylinsky arrived in Father’s study. With tears

in his eyes he informed Father that a peace treaty was to be signed,

but that prior to the signing the old Russian Army would have to be

demobilized. Father said that this terrible move by the Bolsheviks was

dangerous not only for Russia but also for the world; that this move

on the part of the traitors should now make the Russian people realize

that they were being deceived. I cannot describe the feeling it left on

us. Father was a prisoner, trapped like a lion in a cage, thousands of

miles away.

But going back to Kerensky, it is significant that when he was in

danger, he did everything to save his own life. But he never stopped

to think that he was the one who had sent the Imperial family to the

distant, frozen North. Did he give a thought to the fact that the

unfortunate victims were trapped by the traitors and by the bribed

convicts, and not by their own people? Now we could see why he had

ordered the arrest of everyone who came to our aid and who was willing

to risk his life, as well as ours, to save us. Kerensky had given

his word of honor to Father that he would protect us. He knew what

these men were like and what they were doing. I often ask myself the

question: did he do it intentionally? Will one ever know?

If Kerensky was sincerely interested in protecting us, he could have

ordered the train in which we were traveling, under the Japanese Red

Cross flag, to proceed to Vladivostok from where we could have gone to

Japan whose Emperor was quite friendly with Father and would have given

us the protection of his country. During the war we had a visit by two

young Japanese Princes who brought beautiful gifts for Mother and us

from the Empress of Japan. They also visited Father in Mogilev.

Now the Russian people were helpless, numb as from paralysis. With

stunned eyes they watched the nightmarish happenings in their country,

the wiping out of their possessions, and the tragic end of their

families.

XIX WINTER

The days passed rapidly as winter approached, the cold was relentless.

We were glad of the warning to bring warm clothes. December was very

cold and it continued through the months of January and February. The

house was unbearably cold and our bedroom was like an ice house; even

a glass of water had frozen solid overnight. Our rooms were large and

each had only one tile stove, providing scant heat against the raw

winds that forced themselves right through cracks in the windows. Even

Mother, who always preferred cool rooms, complained of the cold. The

only time the house ever felt warm to us was on coming in from the icy

outdoors.

Mother’s arthritis began to give her serious trouble, her joints and

fingers became swollen. She suffered a great deal of pain and was

not able to write or paint as much as before. Tatiana had a gift for

nursing. She knew how to care and comfort the sick. She massaged

Mother’s frostbitten hands in a bowl of warm water. Mother’s eyesight

troubled her, too; her glasses no longer helped, since she needed new

ones. The cork on the bridge of her frame had broken off and she felt

this increased her sinus condition which bothered her to the very end.

After a long debate a doctor came and she at last had her new glasses.

Now she spent a great deal of time in theological studies and writing

in the old Slavonic language.

Father’s joints were swollen also, but my saintly Father never

complained lest he might worry us.

We all were supposed to keep our diaries. Alexei made only occasional

entries. Whenever he was encouraged to think of something, he wrote

“The same old thing.” I too lost interest, for fear that writing

what took place in our daily lives might cause us trouble. Olga and

Tatiana wrote a great deal, but right after our parents left, General

Tatishchev suggested that they burn all unnecessary papers. Olga’s

poems and Mother’s poems and paintings all went up in smoke.

Our dogs always went with us on our walks. They were our constant

diversion; they saved these outings from complete boredom. We envied

their retrieving sticks we threw and jumping happily, since we

ourselves felt cramped. Every morning my own dog Jemmy announced her

arrival by scratching frantically at the bedroom door. Her happy mood

made us forget our troubles. I carried her up and down the stairway,

because her legs were too short to climb the stairs. Her long silky

ears got into everything. Her long tongue was always out. The poor

animal did not know that a few months later her happiness would end in

Ekaterinburg.

For months before Christmas we worked on gifts for everyone who came

with us from Tsarskoe Selo. We had some yarn on hand and some was sent

to us by our friends. Mother made waistcoats, mufflers, mittens, socks

and wristbands. We tore apart old blouses and fashioned them into

handkerchiefs and then embroidered initials on them. Pieces of silk

were made into fancy bookmarks--some of which we painted and some we

embroidered. We wanted to surprise our friends with these gifts, in

appreciation of their loyalty to us.

Mother, however, seemed to have a premonition of trouble. First, she

was worried about Anna, who, she thought, might be in trouble for

sending letters and packages to us. Mother warned Anna to be careful

about sending people with messages. She feared they might betray us.

And so it happened. The least suspected person was Soloviev, husband

of Matriona, Rasputin’s older daughter. Soloviev came to Tobolsk

several times with letters and packages. Even Olga and Marie called the

situation to Mother’s attention, and suggested that Anna should let

the officers handle matters and not the Yaroshinsky-Soloviev clique;

but Mother said that Anna would die before she would betray us.

In the evening we gathered in Father’s study which was smaller than our

other rooms. Father read to us and we sewed until our fingers became

so stiff we could hardly hold the needles. But there was a richness

in that room that made us reluctant to complain. Sometimes we played

dominoes, bingo, or durachka, a card game (resembling five hundred)

which Father disliked. Tatiana played bridge best of all, while

Mother’s favorite was bezique. Ten o’clock was bed time for us younger

girls, but Alexei used to retire at eight. Later on when life became

monotonous, Mother asked our friends to join us in the evening. Some

played games and others read.

Father also brought with him his diaries and his letters. These had

been confiscated in Tsarskoe Selo but were returned to him when nothing

incriminating was found in them. We sat around Father in the middle of

the room, away from the draft of the windows, listening to his reading

aloud. I am sure his heart felt sad as did our own. We learned many

interesting events that took place before and during Father’s reign.

Father wanted Olga or Tatiana to write a history of present events as

soon as we were free, and for that reason he wanted us to remember

every event that took place before and after our arrest and during our

life in Tobolsk.

Our letters to friends were harmless; some went through Colonel

Kobylinsky’s hands and were read by him, but some were not. Later, when

we were in Ekaterinburg, we were shown photostatic copies of these

letters carried back and forth by Soloviev. Then we realized he was a

spy. Once in Ekaterinburg, Mother in her dark hour said, “I warned Anna

again and again to be careful of what she was doing, and now she has

made another mistake.” After this Mother never again mentioned Anna’s

name. I hope she did not leave this world with this bitterness in her

heart toward her friend, who unfortunately brought one serious trouble

after another not only to Mother but to the whole family. Olga and

Marie always opposed Anna but Mother resented anyone saying anything

against her friend.

It had been promised that when Baroness Buxhoeveden arrived, she

would be staying with us. We fixed her room ourselves and the final

touches were approved by Mother. It was Christmas week when she reached

Tobolsk. The day she was supposed to come to the house, Colonel

Kobylinsky notified Father that he wished to speak to him. He informed

Father that the Soldiers’ Committee decided against her joining us. Not

having money Iza and her English assistant organized English classes in

town and found many people enthusiastic to study this language. She met

us only on the boat when we left for Ekaterinburg.

On two occasions, the icon of the Image of the Holy Virgin was brought

from the Abalak Monastery to the Church of the Annunciation for

services which the family attended.

The first time was November 14th, old style, the anniversary of my

parents’ wedding. We had prayed before this icon in the Monastery and

were deeply moved to be able to do so again. The church bells rang as

we left the church and continued until we reentered the house.

The second time was on Father’s name day--December 6th, old style.

No one was allowed to enter this holy place while we were there. At

the end of the service, as though nothing had changed, prayers were

offered, ending with a Mnogoletie (“Long Life for the Imperial Family”)

as had always been done before the revolution. We were surprised at the

priest’s courage. Father’s face turned white and we all glanced at each

other. Olga’s pale face turned faintly red, and she wiped her eyes.

We wondered if there was going to be trouble ahead. There was. They

promptly demanded the death penalty for Father Vassiliev, but he was

saved, though not for long. He was sent away by Bishop Hermogen and was

replaced by another one. The nuns too were taken away.

We were now forbidden to attend church services, but after hours

of pleading with the Soldiers’ Committee by Colonel Kobylinsky, we

received permission to attend church services but only on the twelve

principal holidays. From now on the restrictions became more severe.

Finally Christmas eve arrived. Mother presented everyone with one of

the gifts we had been working on for months. The villagers too were

thoughtful. They sent us two Christmas trees, one of which we sent to

our friends across the street, with whom we shared some delicacies that

were sent us by the Ivanovsky nunnery and by the head people of the

local museum. In the evening, vespers were held in the big hall and we

were grateful that there was no interference. We looked forward to the

Christmas morning services at the church.

Somehow I felt a sadness as we walked along the path packed with

snow. It was cold and dreary and at eight in the morning still dark.

The sky overhead was heavy. It gave me simultaneously a feeling of

loneliness and apprehension. It was so quiet that only the crackling of

the frozen snow under our feet broke the stillness. We did not speak

to each other; each one was occupied with his own thoughts. It is

quietness like this that awakens one’s heart to fond memories of the

past. We crossed the small garden and with my mind’s eye I could see

the museum, the little park, and in it the proud obelisk dedicated to

Yermak, the conqueror of Siberia. A short walk, but my thoughts covered

thousands of miles behind the frozen plains of Siberia. I could see

our Grandmother, our aunts and their children, and our friends, and

I wondered if they had forgotten us. Above all I thought of our old

homes, where I had spent sixteen happy years of my life. All seemed so

cold and so far away.

My thoughts came back to Tobolsk. Only recently we had discussed with

our friends here the historical background of this town. It frightened

me. I thought of the chapel adjoining the Metropolitan’s residence

where the Bell of Uglich was formerly hung. This bell summoned the

people of Uglich when Prince Dimitri, son of Ivan the Terrible, was

murdered in 1591. By an order presumably given by Boris Godunov, this

bell was transferred to Tobolsk, where it was damaged by fire and

recast. We too were transferred to Tobolsk, by Kerensky.

Father realized what the prison life had done to his family. We

once overheard Father saying to Prince Dolgorukov, in the presence

of Colonel Kobylinsky, that his heart was aching for his little

family whose life which had just begun was about to come to an end.

He continued, “During my whole life I tried to serve my country

faithfully, and if I have done wrong I am willing to suffer for it. I

am not sorry for myself or my wife, but for the children. It is a crime

to punish these innocent youngsters. They are so pure and so good. They

are the children of Russia.”

On New Year’s morning we went to church. It was one of the twelve

holidays on which we were permitted to attend services. The new priest

officiated but he appeared nervous. Then we heard that our former

priest, Father Vassiliev, who had officiated at the previous service,

had been taken away from the Abalak monastery. He was then tied, beaten

and thrown still alive into the Tobol River in front of the monastery.

It was very cold that morning. The temperature often went down to

25°-35° below zero. The church was unheated but dimly lighted, and we

could offer only one candle apiece. Although we were provided with

rugs, even then our feet were numb from the cold, but our hearts found

comfort, warmth and hope ahead. Due to the extreme cold, my sisters and

brother became ill again with the German measles. This time, however,

they were not so seriously ill as the previous year.

Through General Tatishchev Father was informed that we could not go

to church on Epiphany day, commemorating the baptism of our Lord,

which falls some twelve days after Christmas. It was decided to build

a movable altar in a corner of the big hall on the second floor,

where we took our lessons and gave our plays. Mother busied herself

by supervising the placing of the icons in their proper places. The

priest and the four nuns came to the house for the Divine Liturgy and

the Blessing of Water. Father and we children sang with the choir

which consisted of some members of our staff, including Nagorny,

Alexei’s servant, who had a very fine voice. At the end of the service,

according to custom, the priest dipped the cross into the water and

with it sprinkled the water in the air in the shape of a cross. We all

kissed the cross but when Alexei’s turn came to kiss it, the priest

bent over and kissed his forehead. It touched Alexei deeply. This

kindness meant so much to the little, frail boy. To the last he never

forgot this courtesy, nor did we. We “broke bread” with our friends in

the dining room downstairs.

It was on this day that Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev

pleaded with Father to have his epaulettes removed. For the sake of his

family, finally Father gave in. Right then and there something died

within him. He did keep his St. George’s Cross and the French Croix de

Guerre. He was very proud of them. Father told his valet, Chemodurov,

that General Tatishchev should remove the epaulettes before brutal

hands touched them. With a painful expression the general removed them.

I remember when the St. George decorations were given to Father and

Alexei. General Ivanov sent Father’s friend Prince (Toly) Bariatinsky

to present these decorations while Father was home for a few days.

Practically buried by snow, we were permitted to make a mountain.

Hundreds of shovelsful of snow were carried up and covered with water,

which froze immediately. The process was repeated until a good sled

course was built. We helped our friends, Prince Dolgorukov and M.

Gilliard, as well as the soldiers, until we were exhausted.

January 12th/25th was Tatiana’s twenty-first name day. After the

Te Deum, which was held in the house, we all extended to her our

congratulations. Even the soldiers of the Fourth regiment presented her

with various blooming plants and flowers. Except for Mother, we had no

gifts for her.

We heard that Felix Youssoupoff was killed. Mother said, “God forgive

his mistakes.” Later the rumor was denied.

We had a swing in the back yard, but Nikolsky’s men at night wrote

vulgar words on the wooden seat board. We were forbidden to go near

it until Dr. Botkin, Colonel Kobylinsky or Pankratov had examined it.

Our outdoor exercises were limited to the small space allotted to us.

Each day they found something new to accuse us of. One afternoon Alexei

was on the front steps before the house, which were protected by a

wall about 2-3 feet high on either side. He heard some children on the

street and climbed on top of this wall which was about 35-40 feet from

the fence. Nikolsky saw Alexei from the window, and like a bullet ran

out of the house and loudly reprimanded the little boy, who had done no

harm. From then on we feared him.

From the window, hungrily, I watched the children romp and play all

wrapped up like little bear cubs in bright red felt boots. They rode

around in bright colored orange or red sleds, or were drawn by plucky

little horses which reminded me of the Crimea. These ponies looked so

warm in their winter “coats” and so alive as they tramped over the

packed snow with their bells ringing and jauntily pulled their sleighs

behind them. I pressed my face against the window. The jingling bells

outside and the icy cold of the window cutting into my cheek inside

were cruel substitutes for my great desire to go sleigh riding myself.

Nikolsky taught the soldiers all kinds of communistic doctrines which

he called Yurovsky’s teaching. At that time we did not know who this

evil Yurovsky was. The hatred Nikolsky taught to the men, he was to

experience himself. Soon afterwards the soldiers drove Nikolsky out.

Unfortunately, old Pankratov had to go too. His going was a loss to us

because he always defended us. From what we heard in advance about the

new commissar who was coming from Ekaterinburg, we were apprehensive.

There were many repercussions in store for us. All the old soldiers

of the Fourth and First regiments, who had come with us from Tsarskoe

Selo, were ordered to leave. Before they did so, however, they came

quietly one by one to Father’s study to say good-bye. Almost all of

them cried as Father embraced them and thanked them for their loyalty

to us. One of them brought a small body icon for Father to remember him

by, and another one brought with him a small notebook which he asked

us to autograph. Two men from the Fourth regiment refused to leave

the place, saying that they would stay to guard their Emperor. At the

point of a gun they were taken away and later we heard that they were

shot, near the river. When the last several hundred men were leaving,

they assembled on the street behind the fence in front of the house. We

all, even Mother, went part way to the snow mountain to see our friends

depart. We were never to see them again. The whole family and all

around us were crushed by their going and, as they went, our hopes left

with them.

We derived a lot of pleasure out of tobogganing on the snow mound we

had worked so hard to build. But our pleasure lasted only one month.

To the guards the snow mound was a sore spot and we tried to pacify

them by not going to its top, so as not to attract the attention of

passers-by who often gathered on the other side of the street to watch

us. Notwithstanding, the Soldiers’ Committee decided to have the mound

demolished. We soon heard heavy chopping and pounding in the garden,

and we knew then that the snow mound was being destroyed. They cut deep

notches across the mound so it could not be used for tobogganing and

in order to prevent us from looking across the street. We showed no

resentment at what they did, although in our hearts we felt differently.

Now we had even less space for exercise than we had had before and

we tried to amuse ourselves as we elbowed each other in the yard. We

looked at each other understandingly even though no words were uttered.

More bad news reached us, that agents of the underground, friends

and relatives of the men listed previously, continued to pour into

Russia from foreign countries by the thousand, followed later by

Generals Pilsudski and Ludendorff and Count von Mirbach, the German

Ambassador. We were told that all the buildings in Moscow including

all of the Imperial quarters in the Kremlin were taken over by these

intruders. These men ordered that the Russian Army be disbanded and

that all German and Austro-Hungarian prisoners of war be released from

the camps. These camps were scattered on the important railroad lines

and mining regions throughout the territories of Omsk, Tomsk, Tiumen,

Ekaterinburg, Cheliabinsk and other cities.

Up to now Father had refused to allow himself to be depressed. But this

time he no longer was able to hide his feelings. He suffered painfully,

because he believed his Allies, in whom he had had faith, had failed

to help him in these difficult times. They could have prevented these

men from coming to Russia. Instead, passports and other documents were

issued to them. Father said again that fifty years from now there would

be no democracy left, that when Russia falls the whole world will fall

with it. A year later, when I recalled these words, in 1919, I wrote in

my notebook, “Only the future will tell.”

Father was so distressed that he often sat up at night with only a

little flickering lamp in the corner of his study. Mother knew that

Father could not sleep. We heard the cracking of the floors which were

more pronounced at night. She had left her bedroom and gone to him. We

heard her say: “Nicky, are you not tired? Can you not sleep? I came to

keep you company, dear.” Said Father: “No, Alicky, I am not tired. I

thank you for thinking of me.” Such words of devotion and understanding

always rang in our ears.

The only joy we had at this time was whenever we heard from our family

or our friends. We longed so much to see our aunts, especially Aunt

Olga’s baby. Aunt Xenia’s letters described to us the little man so

charmingly that we felt as if we knew him.

XX DANGER

After Nikolsky and Pankratov left, Colonel Kobylinsky brought back

the key to the balcony which Nikolsky had taken away. Now Mother was

again able to sit on the balcony in the sun. For several months we

lived quietly and peacefully. But when the new guards came, our lives

saddened.

One day Olga was found crying. She had been unhappy. She said that

she had been observing the developments and believed that we were

doomed. Father sent for Colonel Kobylinsky who admitted that danger was

creeping upon us. Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev believed

she was right and thought we should escape before the new commissar

from Ekaterinburg arrived. But our parents refused to leave Russia, and

would not think of separation. We humbly bowed our heads and accepted

the inevitable.

All of a sudden a change came into our lives. The Bolsheviks turned

their binoculars on us. One day Colonel Kobylinsky informed Father

that the Imperial family must go on rations, because keeping us was

too heavy a burden on the Communist regime. Each one of us was to

receive 600 rubles per month, the same as the soldiers. Father knew

nothing about the cost of the operation of our establishment. He asked

M. Gilliard, who was the most practical of all, to set up a budget and

Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev to help him. When they came

with figures, it was concluded that ten servants had to be discharged.

My parents became terribly distressed and made all kinds of excuses:

this one had a sick mother, another had an invalid son, a third was

the sole supporter of his motherless children. What would happen to

all these families who came here from Tsarskoe Selo? It went on and

on. At last Gillek (M. Gilliard) and General Tatishchev made their own

decision, and ten servants came to thank us for treating them so kindly

in the past. It was sad losing them, though we could not foresee how

fortunate they were.

The new commissar from Ekaterinburg arrived and we heard that he had

brought with him about one hundred men, all fanatical Marxists. He was

a red-faced brute by the name of Zaslovsky, with a bad reputation.

No sooner had the new young men arrived than trouble developed between

them and the old soldiers who had refused them entry to our residence.

They became angry and threatened to storm the house. Colonel Kobylinsky

and Zaslovsky were bargaining all night downstairs. We dressed and sat

up expecting trouble. Long after midnight we heard familiar voices in

the corridor. Colonel Kobylinsky sent for more guards to insure our

safety. We heard some foreign voices coming from outside the gate, then

a loud voice saying, “I am following the orders of Colonel Kobylinsky.

I cannot let you in. Then speak to him.” As a result of this incident

Colonel Kobylinsky wanted to resign but Father persuaded him to stay

with us. We felt that his presence was helpful to us, even though we

knew that he had no power over the new soldiers.

Father believed that at least ten of the new men were disguised former

officers. However, if they were former officers they were helpless,

because Zaslovsky ordered more men from Tomsk. These men boasted that

they had killed the director of the Cadet School and destroyed the

headquarters of the Fourth Siberian Army Corps stationed in Tomsk. They

said that they had burned the house on Father’s estate in the town of

Bernaul on the river Ob and had killed the superintendent in charge.

Father had inherited several big estates with large milk and cheese

plants in Siberia. Tons of these products were distributed every year

to different charitable institutions. Father had visited his estates

during the construction of the Trans-Siberian railroad. Zaslovsky

bragged that they had already destroyed the gold smelting works and

had taken away all the available gold. They also tried to plunder the

monastery at Tomsk but were driven away by the monks. This is the

monastery that was referred to previously.

Zaslovsky brought us much misery and inexpressible horror right from

the start. He ordered us to keep from five to six feet away from the

fence, and to go out only under guard and only for thirty minutes

twice a day. Our outdoor exercise consisted mainly of cutting wood. We

performed this humble work in the back of the building cheerfully and

without complaining, and by so doing we helped members of our household

whose duty it was to supply the house with wood. Zaslovsky had our

house searched and several items belonging to Father were taken away.

Each day brought some new deprivations or restrictions and some fresh

heckling by the guards who took pleasure in humiliating us. In return

we acquiesced in their demands, disarmingly, at least outwardly.

Following Father’s example we accepted everything. Among the soldiers

only a few good men were left. In the past, each relay of guards had

started out to be severe, then gradually softened. But not these men.

They were a dangerous lot. In order to avoid trouble Father and his

friends--all of them understood carpentry--had earlier built a ladder

which led outside to the top of the roof of an unused greenhouse,

which had already been converted into a chicken coop. They also built

a platform where we could sit in the sun without being seen from the

street.

More restrictions were put on us. The last two days before Lent are by

custom days of merriment during which the people enjoy themselves at

concerts, balls and in many other ways. Zaslovsky, fearing riots by

the people, forbade us to leave the house during those two days. The

schools were closed and there was a constant flow of students from the

gymnasium. They were gay; we heard the bells ringing; the children

were expecting to see the monkey and to hear the organ grinder, who had

stopped before the house for Alexei to witness the spectacle and to

hear the children sing and play. But Zaslovsky had locked the balcony

door and had taken the key back to the office. We heard loud voices

outdoors; the guards were driving the students and the youngsters away

with the butts of their rifles. The youngsters ran and the students

cried: “Go back from where you came, you unwelcome guests.” Zaslovsky

said he would shoot anyone who came near the fence. In spite of the

warning, the passers-by continued to walk past the house, even more

than before. When the people saw us in the window, they always removed

their caps and bowed low.

Sorrow and dread were our constant companions. We woke up with sadness,

and went to bed in sadness. Father tried to read to us, but the silent

interchange of fear muddled the thread of the story he read. He tried

to make his voice firm and hopeful but it did not have the ring of

former days.

Up to now we were able to send and receive some letters from our

relatives in Ai-Todor in the Crimea. Now we heard that the mail service

was being discontinued. However, we continued to receive some letters.

Since Zaslovsky’s arrival we had stopped writing letters as we knew

that they would not be mailed. The last letter we received from the

Crimea told us that the family there had been separated. Aunt Xenia

with her family and Grandmother had been moved to the chateau of

Dyulber, belonging to the Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevich. Though they

were not far from the Youssoupoffs at Koreiz, still they could not see

each other.

A few weeks before our departure for Ekaterinburg we received a letter

from the family through a peasant woman from the Crimea. She had

carried this letter surreptitiously thousands of miles. Through her,

in return, we sent a letter to the family in the Crimea, together with

a photograph of the family--one of the few we had taken in Tobolsk.

It was our last link with Granny and our aunts. The very last letter

we received came from Irene Tatishcheva. A few of our letters were

returned to us undelivered.

We huddled closer together, not so much for warmth, as to feel the

strength of each other’s presence. In the evening we dreaded to think

of what the morning would bring. Morning returned with the same

overhanging fear. Mother’s first words were: “Thank God for the night

just past and for the breaking of the new day. Also for giving me such

a good family. The Almighty is watching over us.” Then Father read from

the Bible some reassuring message.

Our brief walks around the yard brought us no inspiration. They were

cut shorter. Mother assured us that God was with us even in our trials.

No harm could come to those who had faith in Him. He is putting us

to the test. What good is our religion if we are not victorious over

suffering? So we continued to endure, brightening the darkness in our

hearts with the trust that in time God would lead the way to our safety.

Not being able to attend church was our hardest punishment. Mother

especially missed this spiritual support. It had helped us. We had

found there the answer to our prayers, and temporary relief. Tatiana

made her decision to sacrifice her life in search of theological

subjects. She became stronger and firmer in her belief and spent part

of the day in reading the Testaments. Mother was a tower of strength to

us. She was full of resourcefulness and hope, continually replenished

by faith. We felt sure our fate was in the hands of God. This trust

in Him made Father calm and resigned. He was one of those who had the

truth within him. He carried his grief silently and maintained his high

spirits for the sake of his family. We shuddered at the thought of

being separated and clung closer together.

Suffering had made Mother meek and more tender and her soul had grown

stronger. Under Mother’s influence Olga composed a prayer which

follows:

Give patience, Lord, to us Thy children,

In these dark, stormy days to bear

The persecution of our people,

The tortures falling to our share.

Give strength, just God, to us who need it,

The persecutors to forgive,

Our heavy, painful cross to carry

And Thy great meekness to achieve.

When we are plundered and insulted,

In days of mutinous unrest,

We turn for help to Thee, Christ-Saviour,

That we may stand the bitter test.

Lord of the World, God of Creation,

Give us Thy Blessing through our prayer,

Give peace of heart to us, O Master,

This hour of utmost dread to bear.

And on the threshold of the grave,

Breathe power divine into our clay

That we, Thy children, may find strength

In meekness for our foes to pray.

Zaslovsky hated everybody. He even kicked our friendly dog Lisa,

because the dog wanted to make friends with him. He also beat the dog

in the yard and stepped on our cat without any reason. He said that

before he left he would do away with all our pets. We suffered and our

animals clung to us. When they heard his loud voice downstairs, they

all ran and hid under Mother’s chaise longue. Eventually the soldiers

drove Zaslovsky away and he went back to Ekaterinburg.

In the meantime our finances were getting low and Anna Vyrubova made

an arrangement with a banker named Yaroshinsky to send us some money

through Soloviev, the husband of Matriona, Rasputin’s older daughter.

Marie and I knew Yaroshinsky from Tsarskoe Selo. He had financed

Marie’s and my hospital and we had seen him occasionally. He spoke

poor Russian with a Polish accent. He told us once that he had an

uncle who was a cardinal in Italy. Soloviev was entrusted with several

thousands of rubles and some letters to be delivered to us. We did not

know Soloviev but knew that Anna trusted him and that he had delivered

some letters to Tobolsk previously. We received only thirty thousand

rubles out of the three hundred thousand that were sent to us by

Anna. Later in Ekaterinburg we were shown copies of all letters and

records of the money, which Soloviev took as a payment for spying on

us. Because he was the husband of Matriona, Anna had confidence in him

in financial and other matters. Dr. Botkin told Father that Yurovsky

said that Soloviev and Yaroshinsky were friends of General Pilsudski,

Lenin and Trotsky and of Voykov (who later, it seems, signed the death

verdict of the Imperial family).

We still had about 35-40 employees whose wages we were unable to meet.

Food became a problem. We had no sugar, coffee or butter. When the good

people of Tobolsk learned of the conditions in the Governor’s house

they sent us whatever they had. Some of the merchants and the heads of

the city had met Father in 1891 when, on his way home from Japan, he

had made an extensive tour throughout Siberia. At that time the museum

of Tobolsk was established and Father deposited a great deal of money

in the Imperial banks for the upkeep of this museum. Magazines and

articles were sent to us and we read them with interest. Incidentally

it was twenty-seven years later, in July also, when the murder took

place in Ekaterinburg, July 16th-17th, 1918.

One morning we awoke to an acute misery; Alexei was ill. The dreaded

disease had returned. And now our previous deprivations seemed

insignificant. The youngster’s resistance had been lessened. He was

thin and unable to take the food offered him. As always Mother nursed

him. Her care for him was the same but her affection for him had

changed. My heart tells me not to say that, but conscience tells me

otherwise. Alexei sensed it. I remember how much Mother loved her

precious “Agoo” and wanted to have him close to her on the chaise

longue. I can still see this little boy under a blue silk and lace

cover lying on her chaise, or later, his hand in her hand, going into

his bedroom to say a prayer. M. Gilliard and all the others knew of the

change on Mother’s part, and they gave Alexei more love now to make up

for the loss of a part of his Mother’s affection. We sisters became

much closer to him, and our hearts formed as one and this one we gave

to our unfortunate brother and to our Father who suffered so much.

Following the incident when Nagorny was caught carrying a letter from

Alexei to Dr. Derevenko’s son, the Doctor was not permitted to come

to the house. But now his services were needed and he, at last, was

allowed to see his patient.

When the conditions became dangerously bad, following Nikolsky’s

departure, Father wrote an important document about the war, which was

placed in a safe place until a change in the Government should occur.

At that time it was to be released to the proper authorities. It was

left in care of four men and it was endorsed and countersigned by at

least four persons.