A treaty between Bolshevik Russia and Germany was now in the process

of being signed. We were told that one of its provisions was that the

Imperial family was to be brought to Moscow unharmed. Evidently the

Germans suspected that our captors were dangerous and would not spare

our lives. Father feared if the family went to Moscow, he might be

forced to sign the treaty in order to save his family’s life. He said:

“Now the people know who are the real traitors to Russia. All these

years they have been accusing Mother for being a spy and wanting to

sign a separate treaty with Germany.”

Father blamed the downfall of the Russian Army--our national pride--on

Kerensky, Guchkov, Ruzsky and Shulgin. He said that now Germany would

get all kinds of concessions, which would reduce Russia to poverty,

but that Germany would not enjoy these concessions. The treaty was

prepared in advance by Tsederbaum, Bronstein, Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld and

others--better known to the world today as Lenin, Trotsky, Zinoviev,

Kamenev. Not many Russians among them, but traitors. I well remember

that as we sat one evening, Father said to Prince Dolgorukov, “Valia,

you remember the time when I refused even to consider a separate treaty

with Germany. I would not accept any appeasement after the loss of

thousands of lives and all the property damage. I was determined to

bring Germany to her knees. Even if I had signed a separate treaty,

Germany would have paid for all the damage done, and now she is going

to get from the traitors anything she wants.” Father went on, “Germany

will not enjoy the things she has done to us, and our Allies will not

either. They are digging their own graves and soon they will be buried

in them. If Russia falls, the whole world will topple with her, and

within fifty years from now there will be no democracy left, believe

me, Valia.” I remember the last words as though they were spoken only

yesterday.

By betraying his country he would have bought freedom for himself and

his family. Every soldier knew that Russia was betrayed and that the

propaganda about my family was totally untrue. But they were helpless.

Father never lived for himself but for his people; they sinned against

him and still he loved them. Mother said the time would come when

they would stand before Him to answer for murdering our country. The

Bolsheviks had every reason to remove Father and all male Romanovs,

because by so doing they would eliminate all interference with their

plans, and no emperor would ever be in power again.

Lenin had a personal hatred for the Imperial family. He waited for an

opportunity to get his revenge. When Father was a young man, he and

his parents were on their way to the Caucasus when the train in which

they were riding was derailed and eighty people lost their lives and

many more were injured. The roof of the Imperial car was on the verge

of collapse when my Grandfather, Alexander III, held the roof on his

shoulders, preventing further disaster. Six years afterwards he died

as a result of the injuries he suffered on that day. The conspirators

who caused this derailment were Lenin and his brother. Lenin’s brother

was caught and was executed. Lenin himself escaped abroad. The Russian

people did not know that Lenin was one of the Ulianov-Tsederbaum

brothers. Later it was established that Lenin himself was the

mastermind in causing this accident. Little did the people suspect that

he was later also an agent of the German government. Trotsky’s brother

was also a revolutionary; he was hanged in 1905. Lenin and Trotsky came

to Russia shortly after Father’s abdication. Once my Granny told me

if Grandfather had not held up the roof of the railway car they would

all have been crushed. Aunt Olga suffered an injury to her back, and

Granny to an arm. From the life-size painting which hung in Father’s

billiard room, I judge my Grandfather to have been enormous, with broad

shoulders and colorful, healthy cheeks, a handsome specimen. I would

not be surprised if his voice was a deep baritone, like the voice of

a lion roaring throughout the vast rooms of the Gatchina Palace. That

kind of impression my giant Grandfather made on me.

Father was emphatic about two things: He would accept nothing from

Germany and would not permit the family to become separated. After

seeing what these people had done to Father, we sisters, though we

longed for freedom and an opportunity to enjoy our life, young as we

were, were ready to sacrifice everything and even die to save our

country.

A new detachment of guards arrived from Moscow under the supervision of

a man named Yakovlev. He had been in Tobolsk for several days and no

one knew the reason for his being in town. Before the thirteenth day of

each month approached we feared some kind of trouble, and the 13th of

April was no exception. On this day Yakovlev put under arrest General

Tatishchev, Prince Dolgorukov, Countess Hendrikova, Mlle. Schneider and

Mr. Gibbs. They were ordered to move into our house.

After all the rooms had been searched, Yakovlev, wanting to be sure

that Alexei was ill, brought in a doctor from the outside, who soon

verified the boy’s illness.

I remember a conversation one evening with Count Tatishchev. Prior to

the war he represented Father at the German Court and spoke German

fluently. During the war he questioned German prisoners who told him

that their officers were dissatisfied and that even Von Moltke, the

German Commander in the field, was disgusted the way things were going

by 1917, and was in favor of putting the Kaiser under arrest; that

virtually the Kaiser was a prisoner at his own headquarters and no

longer had the power to do anything about the situation. Besides, it

was further said, Germany was at the point of collapse.

Ludendorff was then master of the Army and the Empire. It was the

Russian revolution which was so skillfully promoted by the traitors who

had settled for a while in Switzerland that saved Germany. Had it been

delayed even by as short a period as three months, victory would have

been ours.

Another evening the subject of discussion was the treaty which was

about to be signed. As usual we were gathered in the big hall. With us

were Prince Dolgorukov, General Tatishchev, M. Gilliard and Mr. Gibbs;

also the two ladies in waiting, Mlle. Hendrikova and Mlle. Schneider,

both of whom were later killed outside of Perm. Father turned to

General Tatishchev and said: “General, do you remember the letter that

Wilhelm wrote to me in which he said that he wanted to sign a separate

treaty with Russia, after which the whole affair would be forgotten

and the two countries would be friends again?” Across the face of that

letter Father had written: “Our friendship is dead.” There was a second

letter, this one to Count Benckendorff, in which the Kaiser asked the

Count to speak to Father about a treaty with Germany.

We all knew about these letters as we were at General Headquarters at

the time. Father showed these letters to Sir John Hanbury-Williams and

the other members of the Foreign High Command. His own reaction (which

may have been sent to Berlin by Count Benckendorff) to these letters

was, “If the Kaiser wants peace, let him make his proposals to all my

Allies; a separate treaty with Russia alone is out of the question. No

treaty without indemnities to my country and my Allies.”

Prince Dolgorukov said to Olga, “Knowing how honest His Majesty is, he

would and could not break the promise he made when he put his hand on

the Bible, assumed the purple and was crowned, and received the Orb and

the Sceptre. At the same time he kneeled in prayer to guide him in his

service as Tsar and Judge of the Russian Empire and to keep his heart

in the will of God asking for His guidance to help him in his task to

rule wisely and be a true father to his people, in order that on the

Day of Judgment he may answer without shame.” During the proclamation

of war Father again swore with his hand on the Bible never to make a

peace with the enemy as long as one enemy soldier was on his soil.

Father would never have betrayed his Allies. However, the Allies did

not recognize his loyalty to them and his unwillingness to sign a

separate treaty with the Central Powers. Because of his loyalty and

their failure to recognize it, he underwent great spiritual suffering,

particularly because he knew that it would mean the end of Russia at a

time when he so needed the support of the Allies which they failed to

give. Even the Bolshevik leaders feared that the stubborn Emperor might

be a threat to them, and decided that the only thing left to do was to

kill him. Father might still be alive today, if he had been willing to

betray his Allies. It was known that Wilhelm had more confidence in

Father for keeping his word in honorable dealings than in his other

cousins.

XXI SEPARATION

At this time the new commissar informed Father that he would have to

leave Tobolsk within twenty-four hours; and that, because he could

not take along the entire family on account of Alexei’s inability to

travel, he could take with him any other member of the family who

wished to accompany him. That meant separation, the thing we dreaded

most. Mother was caught between two tortures, at Yakovlev’s mercy. If

she accompanied her husband, she must leave behind her sick boy, who

needed her above everything else. But should Father face whatever was

ahead alone? Suppose he was to be tried and questioned, would he not

need her support? Might they not try to force him to sign the shameful

Brest-Litovsk treaty, by threatening to kill his family? Yet Alexei

might die without Mother. And what about Father? Did this mean death

for him? We knew that all this was surging through Mother’s tormented

mind, just as it was through ours.

General Tatishchev wanted to go with Father and said: “Your Majesty,

you will not sign anything. They will have to kill us both.”

Olga was like a mother to Alexei. With Gillek, our loyal friend at his

side, and Dr. Derevenko across the street, Alexei would be well cared

for. At last Tatiana spoke up. She suggested that Mother and Marie go

with Father. We knew that was the right suggestion. We knew also how

Mother and Alexei would grieve for each other. In the midst of this

discussion Father, as was always his habit, went outside in the yard

to be alone and not show his agony to others. He had always found the

answer to his problems when alone, but this time he had none.

Father was supposed to leave at night, but it was decided to wait till

morning when it would be safer to travel on the river. If only they

could wait a few days, perhaps Alexei would be able to go with them. It

was decided that General Tatishchev should stay in Tobolsk while Dr.

Botkin, Prince Dolgorukov, Chemodurov (father’s old attendant) Sidniev

(our footman) and Anna Demidova, Mother’s maid, would go with them.

Colonel Kobylinsky selected eight soldiers of our guard, under the

supervision of eight officers, who would accompany them on this trip.

All day we moved about in a daze, as if we were under hypnotism. Mother

ordered her most needed articles to be packed. Tatiana with trembling

hands placed them in the suitcase. She swallowed fast to turn back the

tears but in spite of stoical efforts more than one tear dropped on the

articles and sank deep out of sight. Alexei cried incessantly. With him

was Gillek (Gilliard), his faithful tutor. Alexei called for Mother

for hours but she could not go to him. She could not hide her tears.

At last she found strength to see him. When Gillek left the room,

Mother threw herself on her knees in front of his bed and her face next

to his, though she could not control her emotions. Her arms around

Alexei’s thin body, she wept bitterly over the sick boy, “We will be

back in a few days. We will soon be together.” A few drops of valerian

were given him. While she sat in a chair, holding his hand, Alexei fell

asleep. Then Mother bent over him and kissed her sick boy. He woke

up and started to cry again. We could all see that she had prepared

herself for this ordeal.

Mother understood the seriousness of this trip, that it might mean the

death of all three of them. They all accepted it stoically in the hope

that it might save their country even though it could lead to the loss

of their lives.

The presence of new guards produced another problem, but Colonel

Kobylinsky promised that he would see to it that all who remained

behind would be cared for by him personally and that he would have the

few remaining old soldiers on guard in the house and watching over us.

Countess Hendrikova and Mlle. Schneider were to move in with us.

When all the business was finished, late at night we all assembled in

the large hall. All the employees, with tear-stained eyes, came to say

good-bye to those who were leaving. Mother embraced all the women and

Father all the men. After tea our friends from downstairs departed. The

family did not go to bed; our friends also stayed up all night. At 3:30

A.M. tea was again served to the travellers. All changed into clothes

for the trip and took with them a few valuables which could be sold, if

necessary. But upon their arrival in Ekaterinburg, Mother’s and Marie’s

handbags were searched and the contents confiscated.

Mother drew us daughters into our room. We gathered around her. Then

and there I suddenly realized what Tobolsk had done to her. Mother’s

hair was partly grey and her eyes were sunken deep in her head. Her

beautiful skin was lined and transparent, and her neck thin and drawn.

Her clothes hung on her wasted frame--she cared little how much she

had aged. She was speaking slowly as if the choke in her throat would

not let the words come through. “My only desire,” she said, “is that

should we ever be scattered outside of Russia, I hope none of you

will ever choose Germany, and that you will never do anything to

disgrace yourselves. There will be some people who will try to put you

in a compromising position--to take advantage of your youth. Always

keep respectable. Never marry for wealth or power, only for love and

devotion. The greatest happiness I can ask for you, if ever you will

marry, is that you will love your husbands as I do mine, your dear

Father, and we are thankful, for He has rewarded us by giving us such

an understanding family.”

We fell on our knees while she prayed for our safekeeping. Then she

drew each one of us to her and kissed us feverishly. She embraced us

together, then tore herself from our clinging arms and started toward

the door. Suddenly she was back again to hug us once more. Again and

again she tried to leave. Each time she came back.

Until the last moment we could not believe that God would let this

separation take place. Not only that we feared what would happen to

them when they reached their destination, but there was the dangerous

river to cross for which one closed carriage and several _tarantasy_

(Siberian primitive open carriages) were provided, now that the ice

was thawing. The night was dark and cold. It was safer to start early

in the morning, because the river freezes overnight, and they had to

travel in the middle of the river where the ice was thicker and safer.

Without a word, Marie clutched my hand; my arms flew around her. With

burning cheeks our lips met. Then and there I felt that a great part of

my life was gone. Marie was my other half.

Father was the most possessed of us all. He was so brave, parting from

him was the hardest, for we might never see him again. Mother was gone.

We stood there motionless, not yet believing, staring at the door she

had just passed through. She was heading for Alexei’s room. We knew

that she wanted to be with him alone. We could see into the room. She

found him crying with his head buried under the covers. He always

thought it was bad taste to cry before others.

Through the mist in our eyes we saw Father standing. He was white, but

with a faint smile on his face, he said: “Come now, children. We will

only be away for a short time. Hurry Alexei’s recovery so that he will

be well enough to travel.”

Somehow we passed the intervening hours with the servants, those

faithful few who had given us their all in their desire to lessen our

suffering, friends whose loyalty had lightened our burdens. Now these

friends were pouring out their love and devotion we so needed, all the

time assuring us of their watchfulness over Alexei and ourselves.

Nothing would happen to him or to us sisters. We never could have

gotten through that night without our friends.

Each moment we thought to be the last, yet each moment was filled with

the hope that the trip would be called off. The minutes passed into

hours. Midnight, morning, each second was filled with listening dread.

Then came the guards, and Colonel Kobylinsky and Yakovlev. Mother went

again into Alexei’s room as he was still crying. Almost gayly she

assured him she would be back soon. Father made a cross over us, gave

his blessing and kissed our wet cheeks. “All ready,” a voice came.

“Certainly,” Father answered. We followed our parents out of the house

and stood on the steps to see them seated in the waiting _tarantasy_.

In one a mattress had been rolled to make a seat; it was covered with

a blanket. This vehicle, drawn by three horses, Mother and Marie

occupied. The other one had a bundle of straw to serve as a seat, which

also was covered with a blanket. Father and Yakovlev got into this

one. There were also _tarantasy_ to carry the others, all the luggage

and three folding beds. The guards stepped aside; the gate opened and

closed. They were gone. Prince Dolgorukov, Dr. Botkin, Chemodurov and

Anna Demidova were with them. The officers and soldiers were following

on horseback.

The gate closed at 4:00 A.M., April 26th, 1918, new style, leaving us

standing there in tragic silence, confused, frightened, bewildered as

to our future. We ran to our room, threw ourselves on the beds and

sobbed until we could cry no more. Our dear friend Gillek was with

Alexei. We could not get to him. He understood. Thank God, for our

loyal friends who defended us. How much they suffered on account of us!

And how many good people lost their lives to save us. God give them

everlasting peace.

Alexei was calling. The room was full of his calls, pitiful calls

for Mother and Father. Tatiana bent over him tenderly with both arms

wrapped around his frail body. From utter exhaustion his cries grew

fainter. She pressed him close. At last he quieted down and fell asleep

in his new mother’s arms.

After the parents left, we sisters assumed additional duties. I,

being of a restless nature, was given the task of entering all bills

and receipts in a big book at the end of each day. The first time I

opened the book I found inside many bills and copies of receipts and

promissory notes that were given to merchants by Prince Dolgorukov

and General Tatishchev. On inquiry we found out that when the expense

money which had been promised to Father by Kerensky and which was to

be drawn from our own funds, had failed to come, our household bills

had been cared for, unbeknown to Father, by Prince Dolgorukov and

General Tatishchev. When their own personal funds were exhausted,

these good friends of ours gave the merchants their own personal notes

guaranteeing payment of these debts. This fact was kept secret from

Father.

The same railroad for which Father and his forefathers laid the first

stone in construction was now to carry him to his death. All was left

for the new masters who claimed credit for everything and who even

changed the names of our once proud cities, universities, hospitals,

palaces, museums, industrial and other enterprises, regarding which

they had nothing in common except the desire to blow them up at the

first opportunity. They renamed them after the worst thieves and

murderers in all history. Petrograd, built by Peter the Great, they

changed to Leningrad after that murderer, Lenin, whose body upon his

death became black and so badly decomposed that the poor chemist was

shot because he was not able to complete the process of embalming.

The leaders went into the prisons where among thousands of innocent

officers, clergymen and others, they found a man resembling Lenin.

At four o’clock in the morning they shot the innocent victim and his

body was embalmed. Later that same morning Lenin’s body was disposed

of. Today millions of tourists see this mausoleum on Red Square close

to the wall of the Kremlin. Within a short distance of the red brick

wall lie the Holy Sanctuaries. Here are the remains of the murdered man

under glass. If you should see this man, do not condemn him, for he is

an innocent victim, but pray for him that his suffering was not long.

I have heard this from a friend who met a sister of the nurse who was

present at this event.

The curtain had fallen on the travellers--Father, Mother and Marie.

They had left. The new day could not draw the curtain aside to permit

one look into their uncertain future. Only our anxiety could keep them

from continuing the trip and force them to return. Perhaps the river

would prove impassable and they would have to wait for the thaw, when

we could all go together. If Alexei’s illness had not delayed our

trip, perhaps we would all have been taken to Moscow. Probably Mother

would have given her consent that the children go abroad, and she and

Father would have stayed in Russia. This matter was laid before her,

but she would not listen. She emphasized that the trial was only the

preparation of the spirit; she was willing to die for her country. She

prepared us to believe her belief. Olga, Marie, Alexei and I were not

willing, Tatiana accepted the inevitable.

We received no news to break our apprehension; no sunshine dispelled

our dread. Dread loomed everywhere, but we knew we must not give in but

hope this trip would bring betterment to our lives. There was Alexei to

cheer and there were new guards to win over.

At night we heard heavy footsteps and the clicking of arms. Every

sound suggested fear. We heard that Count Benckendorff was negotiating

with Mirbach for our rescue. Olga kept warning us to be particularly

careful. “Now that we are alone, we must be cautious with those cruel

men,” she said. When Dr. Botkin left us, we lost one of our staunchest

protectors. Now our good friend and tutor, M. Gilliard, played the role

of a brother to us. Other friends who had moved into our house were

now fellow prisoners. They were helpless but at least we had them as

consultants. Colonel Kobylinsky, that blessed little man, was still

with us. It gave us comfort. Others too were protecting us, including

General Tatishchev, Mlle. Bittner, Shura Tegleva, and Alexei’s faithful

Ukrainian servant, Nagorny.

The guards continued to flow into Alexei’s room to check on his health.

They still did not believe he was ill. We sisters were anxious for

Alexei to be well, so that when the river thawed we should be able to

follow our parents. Meantime one of the men who drove the family half

way to Tiumen brought a letter from Marie describing the incredible

condition of the river. It was a miracle that Mother had survived

that trip. We were sick at heart that they were suffering there,

while here we suffered just as much. The new guards were rough and

frightening. We submitted to their tyranny, making no challenge to

their disagreeableness. But we were eager for any news which might come

to us through Colonel Kobylinsky. Now the poor man had grown nervous

and troubled, his hands shook and a strain was noticeable on his face.

The following day Colonel Kobylinsky brought word that the family was

safely on the train. The destination was not mentioned. Then came a

short note from Mother addressed to us all. It said the journey had

been very difficult but they were on the train. We tried hard to read

between the lines but found nothing more there.

Day after day followed monotonously; anxiety made us too tired to

think; and we lost interest in our studies. In spite of M. Gilliard’s

and Mlle. Bittner’s gentle approach, we could not concentrate on our

lessons.

We grieved for those we loved most. Every turn we made, the emptiness

reminded us of the former times and we were unable to escape from that

feeling. Our hearts beat painfully without refreshing news.

The Holy Week was unbearably sad. Almost four days passed without news.

At last on Good Friday, Colonel Kobylinsky received a telegram. It

read, “We are safe.”

The only comfort we had was when we noticed an improvement in Alexei’s

health. We tried to amuse him, but he too had no thought beyond what

was happening to Mother and Father. Now I realized why Mother had taken

Marie with her. In case of separation from her husband, she would not

be left alone. Marie had the patience of a saint, her presence would be

comforting to both.

Olga was frail in nature. Mother had wished to spare her this trip if

possible. Tatiana would take the responsibility for Alexei’s care.

To alleviate the boredom, I had been given the responsibility of

keeping the family accounts and soon assumed the role of family banker

and bookkeeper. A special permit was required each day for our food

purchases. Every evening, I entered in the ledger all our expenditures;

General Tatishchev made me believe I was indispensable in that capacity.

Nagorny was a godsend to Alexei. He slept in Alexei’s room and kept the

boy busy, amusing him with tales of his province in the Ukraine; of the

great poet Taras Shevchenko, and he recited some pastoral and other

poems, including “Naimichka” (The Maid), a beautiful poem. This great

poet asked to be buried in the expanse of the golden wheat fields on

the broad Dneiper River. Here Alexei used to wade and play in the sand

at General Headquarters in Mogilev.

Our days were long, but the nights were even longer. On Easter Eve we

were permitted to attend the midnight service in the big drawing room.

It was a sad performance. We heard that the guards had completely

disrobed the priest and searched him thoroughly. They searched the

nuns, too, who came to sing in the service. They insulted them. During

the service the guards were disturbing and hurled improper remarks. Had

we known what would happen, we would not have requested the service at

all.

Outside there was the constant sound of footsteps on the wooden

sidewalk. Now that the snow had begun to melt, the garden was full of

slush. Soon we were not allowed to go out at all. We waited anxiously

for Alexei to get well and for the ice to melt on the river. Then we

received a letter, ominously brief. It said the family had halted at

Ekaterinburg. They were safe, but there was no detailed explanation.

All three of them were accommodated in one room. Marie slept on the

floor. We were grateful that Father, in particular, had not been taken

to Moscow where he would have met a disastrous end, because he would

never have agreed to sign a treaty harmful to his country.

We knew of Ekaterinburg from Father and General Tatishchev. We had

passed around the city on the train en route to Tiumen the summer

before.

Coincidentally the founder of Ekaterinburg was an ancestor of General

Tatishchev who had dedicated the name Ekaterinburg to the Empress

Catherine the Great. General Tatishchev was destined to be shot in his

ancestor’s city of Ekaterinburg years afterwards. My Father had many

friends and relatives interested in different business enterprises. The

Imperial family owned the stone cutting works and had other commercial

operations. Close friends of ours had extensive businesses in this

region. Knowing this vicinity General Tatishchev spent several evenings

telling us about the city, where two months later my family, and he as

well, were destined to be murdered.

Alexei was nearly well but the river was still not open for navigation.

Any day, however, the conditions would be right for our departure. The

Commandant ordered Dr. Derevenko to let him know the minute the boy

would be able to travel. Once more our house was searched. They took

many of Father’s belongings.

The men who guarded us at this time were the most vicious we had had.

They hurled obscene words at us, then laughed at our flushed faces.

Rodionov, the new commissar, was a wild bloodthirsty Latvian, always

insulting. He took several pieces of our valuable possessions as

souvenirs. Now almost all our guards were completely new and strange

to us. The only friendly ones who remained were those who, thanks to

Colonel Kobylinsky, were posted at each door. They were old guards and

saw to it that only his own men could enter our rooms.

We received orders not to lock our doors at night: our last bulwark

of privacy was removed. On the pretense of finding out whether we

were asleep, at any time of night, a guard without knocking or asking

for permission was free to enter our bedrooms and other rooms. Now

that Marie was gone, we three sisters remained in the same corner

bedroom. Being frightened, we took turns guarding our room at night.

While the other two slept, one of us sat up in bed on watch, wrapped

in a blanket. When the floors creaked, we knew that the guard was

approaching, and the one on watch would lie down pretending to be

asleep.

We became insensitive to the new guards and were no longer annoyed by

their overbearing conduct. Our worst anxiety was to get some news from

Colonel Kobylinsky, but he did not appear; not in the morning, not in

the afternoon, not the next day. What did all this mean? He had never

stayed away so long. Finally the news came; our beloved Colonel had

become ill and had been sent away just a few days before our nearing

departure and was not permitted to say good-bye. We hoped our parents

were not informed about this. It would add greatly to their troubled

minds.

The guards were now everywhere, even at the door of our bathroom. We

never went alone to bathe, always Shura or Mlle. Schneider was with

us. One morning Tatiana crossed the hall on her way to the dressing

room. A guard followed her closely, though she was not at first aware

of it. When she heard footsteps behind her, she turned back suddenly

and bumped into Rodionov, thus crashing into the wall. He had something

hard on his person which hit her breast, so that she was pained and

frightened. She screamed. When we arrived she was trembling and ghastly

pale. She did not get over the shock for some time. After this incident

none of us dared go into the bathroom alone. Always Volkov, Mother’s

old groom of the chamber, or Nagorny paced back and forth in the hall.

From then on we assumed a mock respectfulness, hoping to shame these

men and to arouse their conscience. We believed the only way we could

hold them at bay was by appealing to their sense of honor. But the way

they leered and chuckled gave us a feeling of hopelessness. Without my

Father, Dr. Botkin, or Colonel Kobylinsky they might dare anything.

May 6th, old style, was my Father’s birthday, his second during our

captivity. It was distressing to think this was the first time in our

lives we could not congratulate him. Marie told us later that Mother

and Father wished to have a service in Ekaterinburg on that day, but no

priest was permitted to come to the house.

More than ever we were anxious to be on our way. The desire to be with

our parents was above all else. Yet we wanted to do nothing which might

harm our brother. The lack of letters and news from our family spelled

tragic overtones. One or two letters did arrive from Dr. Botkin to

his son Gleb and daughter Tatiana, and they managed to relay news to

us. But these messages told little beyond the word “well.” That word

told us they were alive but were so restricted they were unable to

communicate with us.

At last the river opened and the boats could navigate. Alexei, though

far from well was able to sit up in a wheel chair. We hoped the trip

might help him to get his strength more quickly, especially the thought

that he was on the way to his Mother might prove a tonic. With this

idea in mind we persuaded Dr. Derevenko to tell the Commandant that

Alexei was able to travel. At once he was glad to comply with our

wishes, since our condition was so wretched.

For some time in anticipation of this signal our suitcases had been

packed. We had very few clothes with us. But Anna Demidova on behalf

of Mother wrote to us from Ekaterinburg, that the medicine (meaning

the jewels) should be packed carefully. General Tatishchev took the

inventory; there were not many pieces, but they were invaluable. The

General estimated the value of the stones and other items at between

three and four million rubles. He and Gillek (M. Gilliard) and Shura

Tegleva took great care in placing them in our clothes, suitcases,

and pillows. We were to carry these things with us. Some of the

large stones had been removed from their settings in Tsarskoe Selo.

Mother also had taken from her big trunk in Tsarskoe Selo a few small

valuable laces, which she always supervised when the inventory of these

priceless pieces was taken, usually twice a year.

It had now been three weeks since our parents had left and we had lived

through all kinds of hardships. The night before we were notified that

our departure was scheduled in the morning at 11:00 A.M. The guards

were standing at each street corner, as they hurriedly whisked us

through the streets to the dock.

On May 20th, 1918, we boarded the “Rossia,” the same boat that brought

us to Tobolsk almost ten months before. No other boats followed

us. We reached the steamer before noon, but not until late in the

afternoon did we start to move. No one was allowed on the dock but in

the afternoon people crowded on the river bank to see us depart. Some

pressed handkerchiefs to their faces, some wiped their eyes with their

long sleeves, some made crosses in the air or on their breasts. When

the crowds grew larger we were told to get back into our cabins, which

were damp and cold.

About an hour or so later, before our departure, we were allowed to

come out on the upper deck. We recognized some familiar faces on the

shore, but were puzzled not to see the Botkin children among the

people. We could not later explain the reason to their father. Upon our

arrival in Ekaterinburg, fearing for their safety, Dr. Botkin addressed

a letter to Voykov in regard to their coming, but the sinner’s eyes

were closed. Later Nagorny told us that one man had called out:

“Lunatics, what are you doing to this innocent family? God will punish

you for your brutality.” Rodionov, having heard this remark, said to

us, “Your friends called us lunatics.” They were lucky that the boat

was sailing, otherwise not one of them would be alive now.

PART V Ekaterinburg

XXII REUNION

With us on the “Rossia” were General Tatishchev, Mlle. Hendrikova, Iza

Buxhoeveden, M. Gilliard, Sidney Gibbs and Mlle. Schneider, who had

once taught Russian to Mother and Aunt Ella; also Alexei Dmitriev, the

hairdresser; Alexandra Tegleva, governess; Elizabeth Ersberg and Miss

Tutelberg (“Tootles”) and Alexei (Diatka) Volkov, Mother’s groom of the

chamber; valet Trup; Leonid Sidniev, Klementy Nagorny, Ivan Kharitonov,

and others.

We were concerned about Alexei, so we went to his cabin and to our

dismay we found that he and Nagorny had been locked up in the cabin for

the night. Dr. Derevenko, too, was not permitted to see my brother. The

Doctor and Nagorny protested such cruelty toward the sick boy. Rodionov

shouted back, saying, “You will see who is running this boat.” Then

after a series of curses in Russian and expressions in some foreign

language, he continued: “I have orders to shoot anyone who resists.”

No more could be said or done, and we were thankful that Nagorny was

with him. We were not allowed to close our cabin doors. The trip to

Ekaterinburg would not be long! We did so hope nothing would happen to

Alexei now at the last minute. The spring air on the river Tobol--the

little that sifted through our windows--was refreshingly sweet, though

the cabins were raw and chilly. The next day they permitted us to sit

on deck. We could see the shores were a fused iridescence of the early

tree leaves; the stream was swollen and formed numerous little lakes.

From our midstream view the world seemed tenderly beautiful. Could our

world be tender? Was this a new beginning, or an end?

The guards armed with bayonets were everywhere, dampening any desire on

our part to indulge in any kind of conversation. Whoever spoke to us

had to raise his voice well above normal, speak in Russian only, and

sit at some distance from us. We were happy when Alexei was allowed to

be carried out on the deck in his wheel chair. He remained quietly in

the sunshine; his eyes followed M. Gilliard whenever he left him for a

moment. Alexei was very attached to this faithful friend and protector.

He was afraid to talk for fear he might be locked up in his cabin

again. He sat worried and forlorn, occupied with troubled thoughts. The

little fellow realized the seriousness of his trip, he was obviously in

deep agony. Our hearts beat painfully for him. We tried to play some

games but none could concentrate. We spoke little for fear they might

misinterpret our most innocent conversation.

On the second morning, May 22nd, we arrived in Tiumen. Here were more

guards armed to the teeth, even with a machine gun. They were afraid of

possible riots when we would disembark. There were crowds of people to

see the arrival of the first boat of the season, or perhaps they were

aware of our being on board. We waited on the boat several hours before

we disembarked, then we walked from the landing, crossing the same

tracks to the waiting train as we had done, in reverse, the previous

year. A group of ladies threw flowers at our feet, but we did not dare

to look in their direction. We saw they were wiping their tears with

handkerchiefs. Many crossed themselves and others made a cross in our

direction. Still others stood motionless except for their quivering

lips. An elderly gentleman knelt down. Immediately a guard pushed him

over, swearing at him in a mixed tongue. I felt ashamed to see such

brutal disrespect for venerable years. This Russian gentleman was one

of the old generation. I could tell by his posture and by the cut of

his clothes. He had a familiar look; it seemed I had seen him before

somewhere. Tatiana asked Commissar Rodionov if it would be possible

to have Baroness Buxhoeveden and others with us. He grinned, saying

“Panie, nyet” (lady, no).

We were exhausted and hungry. We had had nothing to eat since noon

the day before, and still there was a long trip ahead of us to

Ekaterinburg. Finally our brave Nagorny managed to get us a bottle of

milk. I presume someone gave it to him and he rushed to give it to us.

We sisters each had half a glass and the rest we saved for our brother.

Then we were transferred to the train. One car was assigned to us girls

and our brother. One side of the aisle was occupied by us sisters and

Hendrikova, Buxhoeveden, Schneider, and Ersberg. On the other side

were General Tatishchev, Alexei and Nagorny. We were not allowed to

speak with those on the other side. Now Alexei was separated from his

devoted teacher and protector, M. Gilliard. The rest of the suite, we

understood, was in the car behind.

We did not dare to undress that night since the guards were pacing back

and forth in the aisle and at each end of the car. They stood or sat

continually guarding us as if we were criminals. The shades were pulled

down all night, but several dim lights were kept on. We knew we were

approaching Ekaterinburg when the guards spoke of Bazhenovo, a town

near Ekaterinburg. At midnight the train stopped and we spent the rest

of the night there on the train. We remembered Bazhenovo where, on our

way to Tobolsk, we had stopped along the track. Father had told us that

near here were the famous emerald mines.

About nine o’clock in the morning several men entered our car and said,

“Please carry your own personal luggage.” The guards made no move to

help us. Nagorny, heavily guarded, was told to pick up Alexei. Without

a word he carried him off the train. It was raining and dark clouds

were hanging over the area making a most depressing day. Some people

stood near the road under the trees which had begun to show their green

leaves.

Evidently the news of our arrival had leaked out. The guards loudly

ordered the people to turn their backs toward us. We carried our heavy

suitcases and other belongings. Olga had been ill during the night and

was still so dizzy she could hardly walk. She was unable to carry much.

We feared she had had a heart attack that night but Dr. Derevenko, who

was probably in the next car, had not been allowed to see her. Four

or five carriages met us near the railroad tracks, I presumed in the

outskirts of the city. I remembered passing Ekaterinburg the previous

summer on the way to Tiumen. The railroad ran partly around the town;

there were two stations. I think our train was stopped near the station

where a demonstration on the part of the populace would be less likely.

Nagorny placed Alexei in the first carriage, then he ran toward us to

give us a hand. He tried to reach for the heavy suitcase which Tatiana

had carried with great effort in one hand, the dog and the blanket in

the other, but he was brutally pushed aside. We struggled with our

burdens in the muddy ground mixed with cinders; no one was permitted to

come to our assistance. Our carriages with suitcases and a commissar in

each followed the carriage bearing Alexei and Nagorny. While the rain

continued, they raised the hood of the carriage in which I rode. In the

carriage with me was a man whom I later recognized as Zaslovsky.

Sitting on the edge of the seat I could see that we had entered a broad

avenue; shortly on the left I saw a church. Proceeding into another

broad avenue, there was a chimney visible behind a wooden fence at the

end of which the carriage stopped. I saw a short distance away another

church. It was the view of this church that remained in my memory that

day as I entered the Ipatiev House.

Trembling with fear we were eager to reach the premises. At the arch

of some sort of a porte-cochere we stepped out from the carriage. It

was 9:40 A.M. or perhaps a little later when we entered the Ipatiev

gate. At the entrance stood Goloshchekin, the Commissar. Olga entered

first and we followed her. As we entered the house, we were met by

a rough-looking man who stood in the vestibule. From here we were

escorted through a wide stairway and entered an anteroom and then

passed into another room which was the Commissar’s office. We each had

to present, separately, our identity cards, each with its serial number

and photograph of the bearer, taken in Tobolsk some time earlier. They

showed the place and date of birth, surname, patronymic and family

name, as well as our address at Tobolsk.

We found Father standing near the hallway at the foot of the stairway.

He threw his arms around us. Then Alexei was placed in Father’s arms.

Mother and Marie met us at the threshold. We sobbed in each other’s

arms, but when Alexei was brought to Mother, she put her head on his

chest and wept bitterly. “My baby, my precious one!” It was nice to

hear again these words which had been missing in Tobolsk. Joy and

sorrow mingled in that tragic reunion.

Mother looked pale, haggard, and prematurely aged. Even Marie had lost

her glow. Father’s once clear blue eyes were circled with dark shadows

and his hair was sprinkled with gray. His hands were thin and I noticed

dark spots on them. “It is his liver,” Dr. Botkin said. Marie gave her

bed to Alexei. In Father’s and Mother’s room were the three folding

beds which had been brought from Tobolsk. We four sisters moved into

one room.

Late in the afternoon, our cook Kharitonov, his helper Leonid Sidniev

and the valet Trup were brought to us. They told us they had been

questioned for hours. Their interrogators stripped them of their extra

clothing and took some of their belongings. The interrogators had not

forgotten the unpleasant incident which took place on the boat, where

Nagorny exchanged angry words over Alexei’s being locked up overnight

in his cabin. They told us that General Tatishchev, Countess Hendrikova

and Mlle. Schneider had been arrested and taken away to prison. But

they were unable to find out what had become of Dr. Derevenko, M.

Gilliard, Buxhoeveden, Tegleva, Ersberg, Father’s valet Kirpichnikov

and the others. Our money, including our household money, carried by

General Tatishchev, had been taken away from him. Now we had nothing

left. Father wrote to Voykov asking of what these people were guilty to

be sent to prison.

In spite of these unpleasant incidents we were glad and pleasantly

surprised to have these few friends with us again. Mother was thankful

to have these men, since Father’s old valet Chemodurov had been taken

ill as a result of the trip from Tobolsk and sent to a hospital. On the

day after our arrival it was our turn to be searched. Our suitcases

were opened and ransacked. Fortunately we had brought with us little

clothing. My shoes were almost worn out. While on the boat, Iza

Buxhoeveden promised to let me have a pair of her own shoes. She wore

size 4½, the same as I. But she was forbidden to give me hers.

The trunks which were shipped from Tobolsk reached the house but they

were taken directly to the attic. We heard banging above the dining

room and the sitting room. Evidently they had taken the keys to our

trunks from General Tatishchev when they arrested him and were removing

our belongings.

Several times they asked Olga to play the piano, which was in Commissar

Yurovsky’s room. There we recognized our table linens, on one occasion

a large one with the double eagle and the crown woven in it, and also

one embroidered in the center with the double eagle and the crown.

Commissar Yurovsky also helped himself to Father’s clothes which were

much too tight and too short for him.

With all our troubles Olga became ill again with a nervous stomach

disorder and suffered excruciating pain. Mother and Father and Marie

had a small wardrobe when they first came to Ekaterinburg, but most of

their clothes were in their trunks. One misfortune followed another

in rapid succession. To add to our distress, Alexei knocked his knee

against the bed while trying to get up. At first he fainted and after

some minutes the pain became unbearable. An internal hemorrhage caused

him untold suffering, with no immediate relief or medical help.

Finally, after several letters to Yurovsky and pleading by Dr. Botkin,

Dr. Derevenko was allowed to administer medical treatment. Mother

spoke to the doctor while he attended Alexei, but he gave no reply.

The guards were at the door watching him. He looked pale and his hands

shook. When he did not respond to Mother’s question, she realized that

he was under strict orders not to speak to us. Mother was so upset by

these events that she burst into tears. The doctor’s face turned red

and he looked at her pleadingly. He gave her some lotion, salve, clean

gauze and epinephrine as Tatiana took charge of Alexei. Dr. Derevenko

saluted and left like a shadow or a dream that comes and goes. Tatiana

was to apply the compresses of epinephrine to my brother’s knee. When

the cotton was used up, she washed the gauze and saved it, and when

that too was gone, she used Father’s old shirts or our old blouses. For

weeks Alexei suffered. He lost a great deal of weight and became weak.

Not only was his knee stiff, but this time both feet were partially

paralyzed and one leg somehow became shorter again. Nevertheless, Dr.

Derevenko was forbidden to take care of his young patient. We were

not able to use the foam apparatus. The instruments were in a trunk

in the hallway but were useless because most of the time there was no

electricity and very little hot water. This was the only trunk that

was turned over to us--because nothing was in it that those cruel men

wanted.

It became apparent that the new life we dreamed of and the new hope

that ran through us were being mocked at every turn. Restrictions and

distrust teamed together to destroy our morale. We four sisters shared

one bedroom. The first days we slept on the bare floor covered with

blankets and a conglomeration of coats and cushions, as the house had

been stripped of rugs and carpets. The floor was cold and damp. Olga

and Tatiana became so thin their bones ached from sleeping on the hard

floor. I was well padded then and felt less discomfort than the others.

After a while we received heavy mattresses made of sacking stuffed with

straw. These had to be turned over every day creating much dust and

making my Mother’s sinus worse.

We sisters were frightened and agreed among ourselves that one of us

should keep watch at night as we had done during the last days at

Tobolsk, lying down during the day on our parents’ beds to make up for

lost sleep.

Marie described to us their treacherous trip from Tobolsk to Tiumen. As

they were crossing the Irtysh River in _tarantasy_, the ice, which was

many feet thick, began to break up with a thunderous noise, so much so

that even the sharpshooters and officers who were escorting the family

under Rodionov’s surveillance were frightened.

The horses struggled in the thick slush which came up to their

stomachs. Unable to raise their feet they merely pushed the slush ahead

of them. Large pieces of ice wedged between the wheels, causing the

spokes to break. In front of Rasputin’s house, a crack like thunder

was heard underneath and a huge block of ice heaved close to them. One

of the horses fell and could not get up and it took the efforts of all

the guards to lift him to his feet with the aid of a wooden plank.

What Rasputin had predicted ran through Marie’s mind: that our family

would visit his village and that our death would follow his death. When

Mother saw that Marie was frightened, she tried to brace her up.

Horses had to be changed a number of times before Tiumen was reached.

Father, Dr. Botkin, and Prince Dolgorukov got out and walked in the

marsh to lighten the burden of the horses which were wet, steaming

and foaming at the mouth. In the evening the party was put up at a

peasant’s cottage where some tea and food was served. Mother’s clothes

were wet; she was so cold that her teeth were chattering and her lips

were blue.

After resuming their trip, Father recognized one of his generals going

in the opposite direction, dressed in peasant garb. Their eyes met.

Neither one spoke. During this trip Dr. Botkin became ill, but in spite

of that they had to continue their trip during the night, because the

river did not thaw as rapidly at night. Finally they arrived at a point

near Tiumen early in the morning.

Here part of the ice had already melted near the banks of the river,

and it became necessary for them to put up a temporary bridge in order

to cross the opening between the ice and the shore. Although it was

early in the morning--just after daybreak--all kinds of guards were

there to meet them, only a few of whom spoke Russian. The rest seemed

to be foreigners. Under a heavy escort of soldiers armed with guns

and hand grenades suspended from their belts, they were taken to the

railroad station. Here they boarded a train. The entire party was

seated in one car with Father, Mother and Marie on one side and the

others on the other side. These included Prince Dolgorukov, Dr. Botkin,

Chemodurov, Father’s old valet, Anna Demidova and Sidniev--once a

footman to us girls. The family was not allowed to speak to any one of

them.

For four whole days the train was shuttled back and forth by Yakovlev,

who had charge of the family and was sympathetic to Father. He feared

that when they reached Moscow, if Father should refuse to comply with

their demands, the entire family would be killed. Father was puzzled

at Yakovlev’s changes as to going or not going to Moscow. But soon the

family recognized that Yakovlev was against those traitors in Moscow,

but he was helpless, knowing that Father would not leave Russia,

especially not leave his family to the mercy of these cruel men. The

Germans were in control in Moscow and Father was convinced that all

orders concerning our family came from Count Mirbach. Yakovlev’s

purpose, therefore, was to forestall this. The train itself was even

set on fire in order to give the prisoners a chance to escape. Father

would not take advantage of this, as the rest of the family would have

been held in Tobolsk as hostages. Soon thereafter Yakovlev received

orders to proceed to Ekaterinburg. They spent Palm Sunday on the train.

As they were approaching Ekaterinburg a Commissar came asking for

their papers. Father had only an identification card he always carried

in his billfold of light leather embossed with a crown in gold. It

bore his name, the date and the place of his birth, his religion and

marital status. It also indicated the issuing office: the Imperial

desk. In addition he had the identification card that had been issued

to him at Tobolsk, which contained his picture and the words: Nicholas

Alexandrovich Romanov, ex-Emperor, Citizen, Tsarskoe Selo.

In Ekaterinburg a photograph of the whole party of five was taken by

Commissars Sverdlov and Goloshchekin, both Jews. Near the station at

Ekaterinburg the people on the street went down on their knees and

kissed the ground on which my family passed. They were guarded by the

same men who came with them on the train, plus some additional guards

who now surrounded them. Upon entering the house each gave his name and

was admitted, but when Prince Dolgorukov gave his name the Commissar

said: “You are under arrest.” This beloved friend of many years with

whom Father had played during his childhood, was now separated from

them. Prince Dolgorukov pulled out of his pocket one of his general’s

epaulettes which had been removed from his uniform in Tobolsk. He

handed it to Father and said: “It came from my Emperor and I give it

back to my Emperor.” There was no chance to shake hands. He saluted

Father and said, “God be with You, Your Majesties.” He was taken

away.... Father was so shaken by this incident, he wrote a note to

Goloshchekin, who was in charge of all prisoners, but it was fruitless.

At two o’clock in the morning a great mob of people gathered outside

the house. Several shots were fired. From the screams they knew some

were killed. The guards then entered and made a thorough search of the

house. They took Father’s money and Mother’s jewelry and stripped all

the others, including the maid, of their valuables. Anna Demidova had

all her savings with her and also jewelry given to her by the family

over the years. A foreigner who spoke to Mother in German and to Father

in French, although he understood Russian, was insulting. It was said

that he was Yurovsky’s, Trotsky’s and Mirbach’s friend, and that he was

sent to the Ipatiev House from Moscow as a connoisseur of antiquities

for a Swiss firm. His name started with “K”. Father resented this

treatment and said that up to now he had been accustomed to deal with

honest men, and that he did not need to be reminded by a foreigner that

he was a prisoner not of his own people, but of traitors, convicts and

foreign agents. It is unbelievable that such men could come into our

country and wrest all power from the people.

The guards were Russians whose orders came from foreigners in Moscow.

Even though most of the guards were ex-convicts, they could see the

injustice that was being done. And sooner or later they began to be

more lenient. But immediately the change in their attitude was noticed,

they were replaced by new recruits.

Such was Marie’s account of their trip and stay in Ekaterinburg.

The arrival of Kharitonov, our chief cook; Trup, the valet; and Leonid

Sidniev, the 14-year-old kitchen helper, cheered somewhat the gloomy

atmosphere. When Dr. Botkin met us, he threw his arms around us and

kissed each one of us, as if we were his own children. Tears filled

his eyes. In less than a month he had greatly changed, as had all the

others.

Father’s knuckles were swollen with arthritis. His kidney condition

caused excruciating back pains. Mother’s hands too were swollen more

than before and the lump on the index finger of her right hand was

quite noticeable. She no longer could hold a needle in her fingers. All

this was due to the very difficult trip from Tobolsk and the mental

agony which persisted.

Dr. Botkin’s sad eyes forced a smile, beneath the swollen bags under

them. His pastime was limited to reading. The dear man was anxious

for news of his children, but we had none to offer, except a few

indefinite rumors we had heard on the boat. In spite of the surrounding

terrors, Dr. Botkin continued to reflect his intelligence, kindness

and tenderness. Why should dear “Papula” be punished? I remember his

children called him that. Commissar Yurovsky was especially abusive

to him, Dr. Botkin wished his children to be brought to Ekaterinburg.

He begged Commissars Avdiev and Yurovsky to have this done but the

request was denied. Fortunately, by not coming to Ekaterinburg, they

escaped the tragedy that befell their father. This seemed so unnatural

since Yurovsky was the father of three children, and the son of a

Jewish rabbi. One would think that he would be kind to other children.

Up to now our parents had had their food prepared outside. But when

Kharitonov arrived, he resumed his duties as our cook. In the beginning

we were allowed fifteen minutes each day to walk in the small, muddy

garden; soon the grass began to show signs of life and the fragrant

lilacs began to bloom. We were permitted to take some violets and

lilacs to Mother, but they had to be examined at the office before they

were taken into our apartments. A few trees showed considerable abuse,

as the horses had chewed off much of the bark on the white birch and

poplar trees. We picked the blossoms of the linden tree, dried them

and used them to make tea. There was always something fragrant in the

garden; when the acacia was in bloom the fragrance seeped through the

windows. Sometimes Mother went out with us in the yard, when Alexei

was feeling better. After Nagorny was taken away and when Father was

ill, Dr. Botkin or Marie carried Alexei down into the garden. One day

when Dr. Botkin carried him, Alexei threw his arms around his neck and

kissed this good friend on both cheeks in gratitude. During our walking

exercises we were subjected to the watchful eyes of the guards. They

all carried hand grenades in their belts. Some of these were good men,

but none stayed more than a few days. Once we heard them say, “Where

there are devils, there is Hell, and that is what we have now.”

Our window panes had been painted white outside, except for a tiny

space at the top through which we could glimpse the blue sky. After a

while Father wrote Yurovsky asking him to remove enough paint so that

we could see the thermometer which was on the left side of the window

frame outside. We saw nothing but walls, prison walls.

Alexei asked Father to request that M. Gilliard be returned to us.

This too was denied. Alexei also asked Father how long we would have to

stay in this place. Father could not help but tell the truth, “It might

be long.” Alexei never brought up that question again.

Sometimes at night shots would be heard; an agonized cry, then quiet.

They searched our house again. We sisters were still without beds. They

told us to set our clocks ahead by two hours. We had our breakfast at

12:30 noon. Kharitonov had to work not only for us and our staff but

also for these terrible men. The odors of fish and other good-smelling

things would drift to our rooms, but they were not for us. These

foods were for the Commandant and the guards. We were given a thin

fish soup or half-cooked veal cutlet at noon and a cold one at night.

Father could not eat these things, so he went frequently without food.

Mother’s meals consisted usually of spaghetti and tea, which little

Leonid prepared for her over a small kerosene burner, because she

refused to sit at the same table with those vulgar men. The guards ate

at the same table with the family. For us, it was a question of eating

the revolting stuff or starving while the guards lived off the fat of

the land at our expense.

XXIII DEPRIVATION AND COURAGE

Every week Father was questioned in the Commissar’s room, while the

guards stood by at the doorway of our rooms. One day Father returned

very upset after being questioned for two hours. They showed him a war

document, the “Orange Book” as it was called, from which a number of

documents were missing and accused Father of destroying these documents

and substituting a letter from the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria,

in which he wrote to Father that he did not wish to acquire any

territory, but to die in peace in his old age. They ignored the fact

that these documents had been held at the Ministry of War after they

had been read by Father and the General Staff. Their suspicions were

based on the assumption that it was impossible for the Emperor Francis

Joseph to have written such a letter.

We had no privacy, not even the privacy of a prison. All the doors of

our rooms had been removed before we arrived at the Ipatiev House. At

any time of the day or night the guards or the Commandant would stalk

into our rooms, without knocking. This occurred about every three

hours for their check-up. The stench of liquor that flooded the rooms

warned us of their approach. They sat on Alexei’s bed. They drank from

our tumblers. They stuffed into their pockets anything that caught

their eye. They came in twos or threes. By this time we had kept only

our most treasured keepsakes, so whatever they helped themselves to

was a real loss to us. But even precious things were worth losing if

they would but leave us alone without this constant intrusion. They

kept coming in more often, flaunting their authority in our faces,

joking at our expense, and toying with the veneer of our composure.

By comparison, the first guards at Tobolsk were gentlemen. We could

not believe these creatures were soldiers. They seemed too uncouth to

have been in any service of the Army. At night their hideous brawlings

reached us from their quarters below to fill us with disgust and

terror. Dr. Botkin tried to intercede. He went to the Commandant and

urged him to see that his men were less rowdy, but they continued to

act as before. Father seldom spoke to the Commissars. Anything he

needed he wrote down and handed it to his valet Trup to deliver to

Yurovsky.

In cases of illness, Dr. Botkin took care of us on his own accord. We

sisters at home were trained not to be familiar with anyone around us,

and always to be reserved. Mother also spoke seldom to her help, except

when giving orders; and yet she was very kind to those who were in

trouble or in need. Mother was the first one to help them financially.

And now when Anna Demidova lost all her belongings Mother promised to

replace their losses to all who were in our service.

Once when Kharitonov was ill, we sisters undertook the task of

preparing the food. One day a burlap sack of potatoes was brought to

the kitchen. “Peel them,” said one of the guards. Potatoes! Something

so real, so much a part of the earth, to hold in our hands. We fondled

each one, breathing in its earthy smell; no perfume like it. We made a

game out of paring and when we finished, there was only a small pile of

peelings. It was a refreshing task. We assumed some of these would be

for our meals, but no potatoes were served to us. We helped on another

occasion in the kitchen, baking bread. Kharitonov was appreciative of

our help, since he had lately been in poor health, and the task of

cooking for so many, commissars and others as well as for us, was too

much for him.

Twice a week two maids came in to care for our rooms. They cleaned,

washed the floors and changed our bedding. We helped them all we could

and were glad to see the new faces about. We could not converse with

them, because the guards stood at the doorway wherever they worked. We

saw their frightened faces. We understood and they applied themselves

to the execution of their strict orders. Upon entering our rooms and

again on leaving they were searched. But somehow these women managed to

tell us that some of our friends had been imprisoned and some shot.

Now we utilized a code using verses of the Bible. While the women

worked, Mother or one of us sisters was told to read certain verses

from St. John. We hoped the maids understood that she was to

communicate with someone on the outside. The next time she came to

clean she merely raised one or two of her fingers. We thought that

someone had been interviewed and had suggested that we read Chapter 1

or Chapter 2. Another time we understood we were expected to read other

chapters of the Bible. In that way we thought we were in touch with

someone on the outside. We did this when conditions became dangerous.

It was the only hope we believed might save us at the crucial moment.

But if any of these messages reached anyone outside we did not know it.

We knew that food was being delivered to the house from the neighboring

monastery every other day, for our family use. However, very seldom

did any of this food reach us. The Commissars took most of it for

themselves. During our meals Avdiev sat at our table and so did the

guards. At such times the food was much better. Our few remaining

servants felt uncomfortable sitting at the same table with us, and they

asked Dr. Botkin to speak to Father about it Father made it easier for

them by saying: “We are all in the same boat, and if we are to sink

we might as well sink together.” They were exceedingly sympathetic

and showed us more kindness. We could read the grief in their faces,

but they were as brave as the rest of us. Trup and Kharitonov were

approached by Voykov to cook for them at the club outside, a home of

the Commissars. In spite of Kharitonov’s wife and a daughter being

in Ekaterinburg, both refused, and preferred to work for their old

employers without compensation. In response to Mother’s anguished

prayers, Alexei began to feel better now. One day, Yurovsky came in

and said abruptly, “Alexei is better now. He does not need Nagorny any

longer.” Poor Nagorny was taken away. This faithful Ukrainian had done

no more than serve his young master faithfully. Also our young footman

Sidniev was taken away.

What was left of our silver disappeared gradually, except for a few

forks and spoons which we kept in our rooms. Most of our silver had

been seized from us in Tsarskoe Selo during the Kerensky regime. Part

of it was repurchased by my two older sisters from their savings and

part was purchased by Count Benckendorff who gave it back to us.

At meal time these wretched guards monopolized the conversation with

all kinds of jokes. Their table manners were atrocious and their

appetites voracious. One of the guards leaned against Dr. Botkin to

light his cigarette from the candle which stood in the center of the

table. His sleeve got into the food, and I without a thought gave him

my napkin. The man actually looked ashamed. But as time wore on, we

thought we could notice an improvement in the attitude of the guards.

Some became tolerant and a few were even friendly. During one of our

walks in the garden one of these men spoke so that Father could hear

him say, “How cruel and senseless to hold and abuse an innocent man.”

This guard suddenly disappeared, as did others. Every day there were

new arrivals to replace those who were being sent away, for showing

sympathy for us, which no doubt worried Yurovsky.

At night we tried to create a homelike atmosphere by lighting candles

on the table. These nourished our souls, even if the food did not

nourish our bodies. But we were told to burn one candle at a time, or

one kerosene lamp. So for a long time we did burn only one candle.

Often we were compelled to sit in the dark or go to bed early.

Electricity was off most of the time. There were promises that it would

be fixed tomorrow, but tomorrow never came and we never saw electric

lights again.

Among our household dishes, Kharitonov had a box of gold candles. When

the men searched the kitchen they became suspicious and melted some of

the candles but found nothing.

Yurovsky had an office in the house. This consisted of an impressive

desk and community bed covered with a military blanket, on which he and

others took turns resting their troubled heads. The room, dirty and

filled with cigarette butts, became a human pigsty. A samovar graced

a table, many glasses of tea were consumed. A German newspaper rested

majestically by the samovar. There was also a pointed knife with a

black horn handle, a special culinary tool with which Yurovsky had

proudly speared his cutlet at the supper table and expertly carried it

straight into his mouth, profusely decorated with a curly, bushy black

beard and mustache. In the corners of his protruding mouth there was an

accumulation of saliva which never experienced a lonely hour. A dish

with a mound of fresh butter was replaced as soon as it was finished.

We long ago had forgotten the taste of butter. Since his last cold, the

doctor had prescribed this diet for Yurovsky’s weak chest. This brute

even looked for sympathy.

The table was covered with an elegant damask table cloth with a woven

double eagle and a crown in the center. We also recognized Prince

Dolgorukov’s handkerchiefs, presumably taken away from him during his

arrest. His coat of arms displayed a hand holding an arrow. Dolgorukov

means “long arm.”

Frequently the guards asked Olga to play the balalaika or the piano,

for their amusement. Sometimes she played her own compositions. Father

could but consent so long as the pieces were not construed to have a

double meaning. Whatever the guards ordered we complied with, thankful

for an occasional moment when they occupied themselves with something

constructive. But when they insisted that Olga sing “We Abandon the

Old Regime,” she stood up and in a firm tone said, “I will not do it,

even if you kill me.” Surprised they were at her courage. Once when she

played _Andante Contabule_ by Tchaikovsky, they screamed “No” at the

top of their voices. “It is sad, play something else, please.” Then

she played a war song, “He Died in the War Hospital.” “No, no, please

stop it; it is sad too, play something else.” Cheerfulness they were

seeking at the hands of those who long ago had forgotten the meaning

of a happy mood. Father always stood at the doorway when anyone of us

played or sang for them. But Mother was never left alone. This habit we

had formed at Tsarskoe Selo. No matter what we did one of us remained

with her.

It had become a regular thing to search our quarters, not so much for

valuables, since by now they had already taken an inventory of them, as

for possible means of escape. Each day there was a fresh excuse. They

constantly suspected us of having something incriminating. They heard

that we had guns hidden, they would say. No matter what the answer was,

a whole troop of them would stalk in. Each day’s experience sharpened

our detective powers. We could see without looking. Every time they

stole we sensed it. We saw them take our silver spoons, pencils, soap

and other articles. They removed everything they saw and slipped them

up their sleeves. They took apart a picture with a heavy enamel frame

with the excuse that the frame might have something hidden in it.

Underneath they found a photograph of Mother’s beloved brother Ernest.

With all the persecution she had feared to display her brother’s

photograph. So she covered it with one of our pictures. They said

nothing. Even we had not known that her brother’s picture was hidden

underneath. They also took a gold chain with an icon which hung over

Alexei’s bed. We never made any effort to stop them, nor did we give

any sign that we saw. We ignored their thievery and curiosity since

Father said: “We must not let them know how much they annoy us; soon

they will grow tired and leave us alone.”

After much argument and after waiting for over two weeks, Dr. Botkin

was able to persuade Yurovsky to have a window opened in one of the

rooms for ventilation. They unlatched two other windows, then accused

us of unlatching them. We sisters moved our mattresses for the night

closer to that window for a breath of air. Father’s and Mother’s beds

were also moved closer to our room, where there was only one window

open, and where near by was the guard booth. We felt sorry for Dr.

Botkin, Sidniev, Trup and Nagorny. They had no privacy. They shared the

same room with doors removed and at one end was the staircase which

was used by the guards to go downstairs. The room had two opposite

doors, one leading through a hall into one side and the other into

the apartment on the other side; Nagorny and Sidniev had been taken

away in the beginning of June before the heat became unbearable. Poor

Kharitonov and little Leonid had slept in the hot kitchen.

Our days were irregular although we arose regularly at eight in the

morning. Before breakfast we held a service and sang a prayer in our

room. Father, Mother, Dr. Botkin and all the rest joined us for a half

hour of prayer and meditation. These were the most pleasant moments of

the day, because our friends were with us at this hour.

Mother worried more about Alexei, since he had grown steadily worse

with the small amount of nourishment he had. Now all the supply of

tissue-building ingredients was gone from his diet. The Commandant

would not heed Dr. Botkin’s plea for the food necessary to his

well-being--gelatine, vegetables and fruit. The saintly “Papula” (Dr.

Botkin) begged Yurovsky to be generous to the sick boy, but to no

avail. Father also wrote to Yurovsky, but this too was ignored by him.

All this tension reacted on Mother’s heart. She had grown much weaker

and her lips, when blue, warned us of a heart attack.

Father looked desperate, because he could do nothing to spare his

children. We knew he himself could stand anything for Russia,

anything but the persecution of his family. Only occasionally did his

hopelessness come to the surface, though he tried to disguise it from

us. With us sisters low spirits rotated from one to another. Each lived

for the other. Father knew everything that went on in our hearts and

often told us what we were thinking.

XXIV THE NIGHTS ARE LONG

It was a sad moment when we heard that Nagorny and Sidniev had been

taken away. Without any notice they were ordered to get ready in a

few moments time. Dr. Botkin told us that both men wanted to see us

before they left. Nagorny said, “I am employed by my Emperor and I am

going to see him.” But he was rudely pushed toward the stairway. Poor

Leonid lost his only relative, his uncle Sidniev, who had devoted his

life to this little orphaned boy. Now Leonid, the scullery boy, took

the responsibility of taking care of our dogs. It was a great treat

not only to Alexei but to the family to see someone who had been with

us in Tobolsk. Leonid’s smiling face brought some diversion to Alexei,

but Leonid too was a prisoner in the house, like the rest of us. The

two boys played navy games with toy boats and so were able momentarily

to forget the existing conditions surrounding us. Since Leonid was an

orphan, Alexei’s ambition was to give him the best possible education

and care for him as long as he would be in need.

Now that Nagorny was gone, Father himself carried Alexei down into the

courtyard for his daily airing of thirty minutes. Father’s tenderness

choked us afresh each time. All the time it was evident to us that

Father was buckling under the weight of his own injured back. We

had little heart to go out at all into a cheerful courtyard full of

heartless men. The thirty minutes airing was hardly worth the strain

on Father, but the fresh air was medicine to Alexei, until God would

answer our prayers.

We did not take the wheel chair down into the garden. Mother wanted

Alexei to walk a little each day. We took turns holding him under the

arms; his legs were so weak they would have collapsed under him without

support. Dr. Botkin thought that braces on both legs would help. The

rubber had gone to pieces on the braces he had been using. Olga and

Tatiana took stays, hooks, and other parts of our corsets and made two

braces that hooked in front. Not having any rubber, they padded these

with cotton placed between two pieces of cloth. These proved to be

effective and Alexei was able to go outdoors wearing these braces under

his trousers.

Once when we walked around the courtyard some birds made a commotion.

In my mind I wondered if they came from the Crimea. One little fellow

warbled on so eternally that we were lifted as by a religious service.

From then on we listened hungrily, each songster seeming a harbinger of

that world so shut away from us.

Now our walks were cut down to fifteen minutes. The time was so short

that it seemed we were back in the house at the moment of leaving! Olga

used to say, “Back into the vault.”

Mother seldom went out with us but, on our return, she eagerly drank

in the sweet air that still clung to our clothes. There were a few

ways left for us to amuse ourselves but these had grown monotonous.

Our books, which had been taken away from us on our arrival, were now

restored and we read them but our thoughts were far away.

Father read the Bible aloud, often starting on the page at which he

opened the book. We girls had our tapestries, but the lack of yarn and

the bad light caused us to give up working on them. Mother no longer

sewed, her eyes being bad from the inadequate light of our lone candle.

It was too much of a strain.

Alexei no longer had his toy soldiers, the guards having seized

them some time earlier. Now he passed many hours cutting out paper

soldiers with his little friend Leonid--lining them up in formation on

the squares of a chessboard. We sisters helped to design different

uniforms and color them. Anything to help the boys forget the dreary

hours. The guards leaned over the boys’ shoulders commenting on the

play.

Father wrote Yurovsky requesting a priest to come and hold a service.

After a long debate with Dr. Botkin, one of the Commissars came at

last to inform us that, on the next day, a priest would come to hold

a service in the house, the first one in Ekaterinburg. Mother was

ecstatic. We selected our choice icons and, with the help of our

friends, we put up in the sitting room a small altar, a table covered

with a hand-embroidered cloth. With the coming of the priest and the

service a little light crept into the Ipatiev House.

Just before the service began, Alexei’s bed was brought into the room.

He had been suffering from the cold as well as from swollen hands and

legs partially paralyzed from his knees down. Yurovsky leered at us

from one corner of the room but we ignored him. The priest’s voice

trembled. He was upset for fear of making a mistake, probably knowing

the fate of Father Vassiliev in Tobolsk.

It was an inspirational day; the simple ritual, the chanting, the

Communion and its consummation, our lips kissed the cross, and our

souls feasted on the Blessed Bread. Exaltation swept through us and

we soared to an enveloping oneness with God. Father read the Holy

Scripture and we all sang. What a day it was!

After the service Mother said: “The priest and the deacon seemed so

sad. Priests are in great danger these days. I pray they get into no

trouble for coming to the house.”

Did the guards feel as we felt that day? They did not interfere with

our taking Holy Communion. God’s hand was upon us and we felt safer.

The world of prison and persecution was not real. We had glimpsed the

real world, that world where our souls were filled and a new life

flowed into our withering flesh. Mother kept repeating: “The Communion

has been such a healer.”

Perhaps it was the influence of this Communion service which gave us

an inspiration. We girls put our heads together and wrote a prayer of

seven verses, one for each member of the family. We memorized each

verse completely so that we could destroy the written copy in order to

keep the prayer to ourselves. We agreed that if we were ever separated,

we could communicate with each other by using one or more of the verses

as a sort of unwritten code. We were delighted with the idea and worked

on its composition, each member contributing. Olga put the prayer

together in its final form. Then we memorized it verse by verse. When

everyone had mastered the prayer we tore into the tiniest bits the

paper on which the prayer was written and disposed of them, a little at

a time, every day. Six verses of the prayer follow:

Our Father of all men, Giver of our lives,

In our saddest, stormy hour of this day,

We stand at the Gate of our Lord,

Give Thy courage and nourishment to our innocent bodies.

Watch over us in the hour of our fate, bathed by our tears.

Almighty Father, though men may stain their hands in martyr blood,

Fill our hearts with forgiveness,

Grant Thy salvation to us--defenseless--

As we pray for the sickness of the souls who have gone astray.

O, Father in Heaven, light up the land of Russia.

Enlighten her way from darkness to understanding,

Stretch Thy Blessed hand over those in need of Thy help.

Lighten their sorrows and heal their wounds.

Almighty Father, breathe into us Thy power, Thy strength;

And when the storm breaks, grant us patience.

With prayers on our lips, numb the pain in our bodies;

With compassion, close our eyes with Thy blessed hand forever.

When we are no more, open Thy doors to the hungry spirits of our souls.

Guide them in a prayer to be worthy of Thy Kingdom,

And grant that we may receive Thy mercy on the day of judgment.

Blessed Father, Thou hast bestowed life upon us with the great power of

Thy hand.

Grant that, when Thou takest our lives’ spirits to be born free again,

We may rest in peace in Thy heaven, O blessèd Father of all men.

XXV ACCUSATION

Yurovsky was now getting worse than ever, especially when his men were

nearby. He chose to ignore the insolence of his men when they caught

us washing our glasses after they finished drinking out of them. Dr.

Botkin again tried to intercede but, while Yurovsky pretended to be

shocked, his attitude did not change.

The maid came and whispered that Nagorny had been shot a few days after

he was taken away. She thought Sidniev too had been shot.

The Commandants continually fabricated that Father was in touch with

the outside world, and that Father had written a letter to some person

telling him how to get into the house. Father had no knowledge whatever

of the layout of the house. From the day we entered the premises all

of us, including Father, were confined to our quarters. We used the

same stairway every time we went out or returned. We could not even see

the street because the window panes were painted to make them opaque.

We heard only the voice of the guard on duty in front of our window,

who often sang obnoxious songs. There were two tall wooden fences

surrounding the house, but we did not know their distance from each

other.

Another day, Yurovsky and Goloshchekin told Dr. Botkin that both Father

and Mother knew of an escape plot. Dr. Botkin answered firmly it was

not true. It had been suggested to us in Tobolsk, but Father refused

even to think of such a thing. Then Yurovsky said that we had been

communicating with our friends. For some time our parents were puzzled

but, after learning that every move they made and every letter they

wrote were known to the authorities in Moscow, they realized that they

were being betrayed. There was nothing incriminating in their letters

that were sent from Tobolsk through Markov and Soloviev. They were

not censored by Colonel Kobylinsky. However, Mother complained in

those letters about the leaders selling out Russia to the enemy. She

also expressed her harsh feelings toward the traitors and the crooked

foreign policy that centered in Moscow and said that Father would stand

firm no matter what the consequences might be.

One morning Yurovsky and Voykov appeared with some papers. After making

themselves comfortable in our sitting room, they called Father’s

attention to photostatic copies of the letters that Mother had written

to Anna Vyrubova and other friends in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd.

There were some letters written to us from Mlle. Fredericks and Mme.

Sukhomlinova, the wife of a former Minister of War. These were carried

to and from Tobolsk by Soloviev, husband of Matriona, Rasputin’s oldest

daughter, who was selected for this mission by Anna Vyrubova.

There were also letters purportedly in Mother’s handwriting but which

she did not write. Voykov said: “You thought Anna, Yaroshinsky, Markov

and Soloviev were your friends. We have photostatic records of all the

letters and activities in Tobolsk.” Father glanced at the photostatic

copies, recognized Mother’s and Anna’s handwriting. His face turned

white and the “Otsu mark” on his forehead became red.

To explain this “Otsu mark”: Before his marriage, Father had made a

tour around the world and, on the last lap of his journey, while in

Japan, the Emperor invited him to visit a temple where no Christian

had ever set foot before. Father rode in a ricksha, followed by Prince

George of Greece and many other rickshas. The road was lined on both

sides by the police. At the end of the line the last policeman struck

Father with his sabre on the head close to the hair line. Father

was saved by his hat, and the second blow cut his arm with which he

covered his face. At this moment Father jumped down and ran into a

store blinded with blood, still followed by the madman. Then Father ran

out of the store pursued by the would-be killer. At this moment Prince

George overtook the latter and knocked him down with his cane. The

police became confused and clashed sabres among themselves. Fortunately

the examination by his private physician showed that the wound was not

serious, but it left Father suffering from frequent headaches and with

a permanent scar. The family called it the “Otsu scar” or “Otsu mark”.

We two younger sisters also knew Yaroshinsky. He was a rich banker and

during the war, he financed Marie’s and my hospital in Tsarskoe Selo.

Once he told Marie and me, while at the hospital office, that he had

come to Russia with his poverty stricken Polish parents to work in the

mines. Marie remarked later, “But where did he get all the money?”

However, the conversation had come to an end.

Mother warned Anna to be careful about whom she was sending to Tobolsk.

Moreover, she warned her to destroy all our letters and not to involve

people not known to us. Anna failed to heed those warnings and in the

end Mother died with a feeling of bitterness toward her well-meaning

but careless friend. We knew Anna did not do it intentionally but from

stupidity.

Yurovsky was right. We had been betrayed. Poor Father had had no part

in it. It was clear to us then that the leaders in Moscow knew of

Father’s firmness, but Yakovlev, who was in charge of Father on the

train, felt that if Father came to Moscow, he might be persuaded to

compromise with the leaders--Mirbach, Ludendorff, Lenin, Kamenev and

Trotsky. My Father never would have done anything to harm his people.

Father made Yakovlev understand that he could expect no appeasement

from him; that he would rather have his right hand cut off than sign

anything that would harm Russia. He also told Yakovlev that he was

prepared to sacrifice his life for his country. Yakovlev, Father said,

had telephoned Moscow of Father’s stubbornness. They knew that Father

was dangerous to them and that his people wanted to have their Emperor

back on the throne. They decided that Father’s presence would ruin

their negotiations and that the best thing to do would be to keep him

in Ekaterinburg. Yakovlev however had disobeyed the orders from Moscow

and kept the train that carried Father shuttling back and forth for

four days till they were finally detained in Ekaterinburg. Yakovlev

had given Father to understand that he himself was against the foreign

invaders and the traitors.

The Emperor and his family were clearly not their own masters--they

belonged to Russia. He was the father of all Russia and the children

were the children of Russia. He tried to impress his family to be

simple and not to show importance and conceit, but to be humble and

kind toward the people and serve them in good faith.

It was decay and disunity that poisoned and divided the people from

the Emperor and split the Imperial family into factions. It was not a

cyclone that ripped apart and ravaged the Empire, but a disaster and

robbery planned from abroad years before by insidious men, and when the

first opportunity presented itself, they struck a deadly blow to this

great Slavic Empire. How many other great ancient empires suffered the

same fate--Egypt, Babylon, Persia, Rome, and others. It was an epoch

of short-sightedness on the part of the people who were not able to

see with their own eyes what the Emperor and Empress saw, and failed

to recognize the accomplishments they had achieved for Russia. But

they looked blindly in trust to the very ones who were murdering their

country before their very eyes.

It was hard for the Emperor and his family to die, but it was even

harder for him to die with the knowledge that his death was also

the death of Russia. He could have saved himself and his family by

signing the disastrous treaty of Brest-Litovsk, but not he; he could

not do this to his country, the land he loved beyond all measure. He

would not do it, even in the moment of the greatest personal danger.

He never broke his fidelity to the oath that he took on the day of

his coronation, and he carried this heavy load on his shoulders,

courageously and uncomplainingly, for more than twenty-two years.

Many people do not see or do not want to see the full extent of

those demoniacal days; neither do they see the grandeur of the deeds

performed by this great man, the Emperor Nicholas II.

Many thought that the Emperor was not powerful enough to bear the

Russian crown. The world did not realize the strength it took to carry

this burden of representing innumerable races. That alone would have

broken the stamina of any ordinary man. The Emperor was made a constant

victim, but the strength, loyalty, and superhuman power which made up

this man, in contrast, were lacking in his contemporaries.

Those who really knew Father would readily admit that his predominant

characteristics were fearlessness, kindness, honesty, loyalty and

firmness. When he knew he was right, he stood by his convictions. He

was often called the “Stubborn Tsar.” He disliked gossip and idleness

and refused to listen to those who warned him against his enemies and

spies.

An officer who later helped me escape from Russia told me the names of

several officers who were involved in actions against Father. There

were some good names; one was the son of a high Finnish statesman

appointed to his position by Father. The son was an officer and was a

coward; he feared being wounded. He received money from the Germans to

help in the attack against my Father.

I knew Father for seventeen years of my life, especially closely

during our imprisonment, when we were together almost every minute of

the day. His refusal to save himself and his family at the expense

of Russia should be proof enough of his strength and character. When

Moscow pressured him, Father with deep emotion said, “My family and

I will never agree to what they ask me to do, no matter what happens.

Anything they have to say, they should say to me and leave my family

out of it. They have taken everything away from them, their youth and

freedom, but none of them will yield to German spies and convicts who

do not represent Russia, and will never forsake the Russian people.”

Father suspected the final outcome. He knew Moscow’s intentions

of discrediting him before his people, but he stood firm in his

refusal. Even in the hour of danger, he respected his high morals and

obligations. Most of the conversation was conducted through Dr. Botkin.

Father seldom came in contact with these men. It may have been during

these conversations that Dr. Botkin said to Father, “When I needed your

help you were very kind to me, and I have made my mind up never to

leave you as long as I am needed.”

Now all the hope of freedom vanished, and I often in despair pressed my

body against the damp wall that held us prisoners, wondering if ever we

would see the sunshine break through this wall again.

XXVI FEAR AND DREAD

After the incident with Yurovsky over the intercepted letters, almost

overnight Mother’s hair turned white. She became weak and could hardly

walk without leaning on someone’s arm. Even when prayer bolstered her

spirit, her hands shook and her voice faded into a whisper. For one

month she suffered untold agony, refusing to believe that we had been

betrayed. Yet she said, “It is God’s Will.” In these words we could

sense her craving for the Holy Communion which brought her the calmness

of God’s spirit. Father would look at her and turn his face aside so

that his falling tears would not be seen. It was his quiet way of

bearing himself that carried along the rest of us. He dropped his head,

but not for long. Once more he would hold himself erect, determined to

look beyond these cruel conditions to the time when Russia would once

more believe in him and repent. For each other’s sake we tried again

and went through each day with renewed faith in God and hope for the

morrow.

Here we never went out to Church. The priest came to us only twice.

Whatever services we had, we held them ourselves. Mother read aloud

from the Bible; the rest of us chanted the prayers. We had our own

service every day. The comfort of the homemade service lifted us all

and gave us satisfaction. Morning, noon and evening we refreshed our

faith in God. Religion was our nourishment, especially to Mother.

There is no book as precious as the Bible and nothing will ever be

able to take its place. It is the Word of God and will never die. Even

the hovering guards listened in quiet, their heads bowed. We were

astonished.

At last the hard shell of the guards began to crack and out of the

cracks oozed a crude shame. In their rough way they tried to atone for

their treatment of us. They extended pity when all we wanted was to be

left alone. They even gave us some of that by lessening their intrusion

into our privacy. Mother called it victory--an answer to our prayers.

But when it was discovered that they were becoming lenient, they were,

much to our sorrow, promptly removed. The last part of June or the

beginning of July they were replaced by the toughest, lowest crew

imaginable. These men were beasts. We tried submissiveness, courtesy,

but to no avail. When they saw the comfort we derived from our daily

services they took away our Bible. But they could not take away our

faith. Mother said, “This is another test. Is there not enough of

Christ in us to do without the Bible?” But Mother was more shaken than

I had ever seen her as she said this. Father looked at the guards and

accepted the humiliation.

The men were so unshakeable and cruel. Now we no longer saw or heard

them. Their inhuman treatment had built a wall around us, a wall of

fear, hard and dark on the outside, soft and mystical inside. We

became a world apart, detached from mundane things. Our bodies touched

the ground, but our souls were far above in God’s world. Each day of

persecution lifted us higher. We were helping Christ to carry His

burden. We were marked to suffer, for Russia.

In our last days our privacy was so uncertain we never wholly

undressed. The men were there with a repulsive curiosity. Instinctively

we drew our skirts aside as one draws away from vermin. The new guards

were not Russian at all. We heard every kind of language: Polish,

Latvian, Hungarian, German and Yiddish. In the dining room, carelessly

thrown on the table, we saw German newspapers which we did not touch.

The guards were ready for any trouble, their expressions were filled

with accusations.

Yurovsky took a fiendish delight in drawing the family into

conversation. The evil in his soul came through, to scar his face. We

wanted to hold ourselves aloof but we did not wish to anger him. His

mouth was always full of saliva and every time he spoke we feared it

would fly out at us. Yurovsky, Sverdlov, Goloshchekin and Medvediev

with four Letts and Hungarians searched the entire house. They pulled

out all our suitcases, books and pictures and examined every nook and

corner, and by the time they were through searching, the house was in

complete disorder.

Father read a great deal in order to get his mind off the humiliating

surroundings. He wondered if we could memorize such and such a passage,

hoping thereby to relieve our nervous tension. He still believed that

the fate of our family and Russia was in God’s hands. His belief was a

great comfort to us, and helped to carry us through the dark nights. At

length our Bible was returned to us.

Yurovsky came into our quarters one day with a cigarette in his mouth.

As he stood in front of us, he pulled out a match from his pocket,

struck it on the sole of his shoe and lighted the cigarette. It was

not hard to recognize it as one of Father’s gold-tipped, Russian

double-eagle cigarettes. These cigarettes were made especially for

Father by Benson and Hedges with his name on them, but Father had not

used many of these during the war. Yurovsky wanted Father to see him

smoke this long, slender aristocrat of cigarettes, hoping to hurt

his feelings. When he finished smoking he left the gold-tipped butt

on the ashtray for us to see. We girls also noticed he wore some of

Father’s clothes, probably taken from the trunks in the attic. His

appearance was always untidy, no matter what he wore, and his shirt was

always open at the neck. From his bushy, black eyebrows he looked out

sideways, never straight into one’s eyes.

To our horror we were not allowed to lock our bathroom door, so we went

in pairs to wash, one of us always stood near the door for fear that

someone might walk in. Near the bathroom there was a stairway leading

downstairs, at the head of which there stood a guard, all eyes. One day

while Marie and I were crossing the hall, I noticed something shining

on the floor and picked it up. It was a key with the inscription, “Made

in U.S.A.” We wondered if there were an American in the house, perhaps

for the purpose of saving us. Mother thought she had heard some one

talking in English, but she was not sure.

Yurovsky was an assumed name. He and many others had changed their

names so as to attribute their crimes to the Russian people. There

is no doubt that many Russians were involved in crime but when the

character of the revolution was revealed and much Russian blood

had been spilled, then it was too late for those who supported the

revolutionists to repent. The revolution was a foreign importation of

Lenin and Trotsky--it destroyed the soul of Russia. They attacked the

churches and smeared the altars with human blood, those altars that

had stood there since Byzantine times. This beautiful religion, “The

Eastern Church”, our forefathers had adopted while persecution of the

Christians was still practiced.

Many of those of varying backgrounds who took a leading part in the

revolutionary movement in Russia were poisoned by German propaganda.

Germany, I have heard, spent many tens of millions of dollars of

Russian money to promote the Revolution; this money was made available

to them for the care of the Russian prisoners of war. Instead they

used the money to overthrow Imperial Russia, while our warriors were

starving in dirty barracks.

Father was accused of being instrumental in the Jewish pogrom in

the Ukraine. The fact is Father did not know about it at all until

one of the Grand Dukes, while on his way to the Crimea, heard of it

and telephoned Father. Immediately the Preobrazhensky regiment was

dispatched by special train, and other military forces and police

were sent from Bendery to quell these riots. Jews were not the

only casualties of these disturbances. Other nationalities such as

Bulgarians were taken for Jews, and some were killed. The pogrom

was touched off by the following incident. A small boy was seized

allegedly by Jews. A Jewish sect at that time, in its ritual, believed

in sacrificing a Christian and taking his blood. For this purpose they

took the boy who was without stain. The veins on the boy’s body were

cut in many places from which blood was taken. From this torture he

died. When the boy was not found someone reported hearing a scream. A

storekeeper placed the boy into a nail barrel and carted it away to a

field. There he was found dead with bloody nails imbedded in his body.

The barrel was traced to the storekeeper. The discovery of the crime

marked the start of the pogrom. This incident was told to us children

by our friend Dr. Vatrik, the famous surgeon who came occasionally to

the palace to care for Alexei during his illness. According to another

account the boy was not seized by Jews, but by one of his relatives.

[Illustration: _ca._ 1911]

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The Imperial family never hated the Jews. Jews were received in all

military hospitals with the same care as any other men during the war.

Many Jews fought heroically for Russia and died on the battlefield. But

many did everything possible to escape being taken into the army, by

crossing the border to the Austrian and German side, where they were

placed over Russian prisoners of war and caused them untold suffering.

Father did more for the Jews than any Emperor before him. My parents

always advocated the principle of freedom of religion.

Count Benckendorff and several others connected closely with my family

from the time of Grandfather’s reign were Roman Catholics.

A new commissar arrived from Moscow, and Father was questioned several

times in the next few days. The Commissar hinted at the possibility of

freedom to leave the country, if Father would consider signing certain

documents. Father vehemently rejected having anything to do with

Moscow. He made it clear that he had nothing more to say.

Father once asked us, after he returned from one of these talks, if

we children would accept freedom in Germany or stay and suffer. We

all agreed to stay in our country. He seemed pleased at this mutual

feeling. Soon afterwards new guards arrived and our situation became

worse, almost unbearable. These heartless men made us understand that

their duty was to cause us every kind of humiliation and deprivation.

One afternoon Voykov came and demanded to see our jewels. They searched

the house many times. Finally he picked Mother’s engagement ring--a

large ruby of a beautiful color, actually a red diamond, probably the

only one of its kind in the world. When Father was about eighteen

years old, various jewelers in St. Petersburg began to search for rare

stones. Bolin, the well-known jeweler, found this diamond and Father

purchased it from him to be made into an engagement ring for his future

bride. Voykov took this ring as a souvenir, he said, and wore it on

his little finger. Father could do nothing but forget the loss. Voykov

was still wearing the ring when we saw him again a few days before the

tragedy.

On another day, this man again came into our living room without

warning and began a long discourse about Ulianov (Lenin) and Pilsudski.

He claimed that these two would soon be regarded as the world’s

greatest men. Father made no reply but picked up a book and began to

read. When Voykov continued his assertions, Father agreed with him

saying that no doubt what he said was true.

XXVII OUR FINAL DECISION

On Saturday, July 13th, 1918 (new style), we made our final decision,

after Father was questioned for the last time. Now Yurovsky and Voykov

pretended to have a special interest in Alexei. We feared they might

take him to Moscow, so that Father would be forced to yield to their

demands. Father said they would have to kill him first before they

could touch any of his children. They knew that Father meant every

word of it. Those heartless men got into Alexei’s room, sat on his

bed and watched him cut out his soldiers. They kept up a rapid-fire

conversation, even though Alexei was annoyed. We wondered if they were

trying to gain my brother’s confidence in order to poison him. So we

warned Alexei not to eat anything they might give him.

Yurovsky, unlike other Commissars, constantly followed us. We were

conscious of his presence and could not ignore him. He was surrounded

with guards mostly of foreign origin whose breath reeked with alcohol,

though he himself did not appear to take any. He told Dr. Botkin he had

had pneumonia a year before and since then his doctor forbade the use

of alcohol. We felt that the new guards were dangerous men.

One of them, a German or Austrian, whose name was Mebus or Nebus, said

he was sent by Trotsky to search the house. He must see everything of

value. He rifled through every drawer, suitcase, bed and mattress and

cushion. Among the medicine bottles they found one bottle with Persian

grey powder. They took the bottle, saying that it was dynamite. Dr.

Botkin was present when they sent this dangerous explosive to be

analyzed outside, in spite of his explanation that it was a powder

prescribed for Mother to be used in a vaporizer for her sinus trouble.

Shortly thereafter it was returned, having been found by the chemists

to be a harmless powder.

After his initial haul, Mebus returned, saying he had been searching

in the bathroom, and announced that he had found some bullets wrapped

in a woman’s garment, also some guns hidden under something, God knows

where. We saw that the garment in question was a blouse belonging to

one of us sisters, probably taken from the trunks in the attic, but

we had not seen these trunks nor the garment since we left Tobolsk.

The keys of these trunks and our money had been entrusted to General

Tatishchev, but upon our arrival in Ekaterinburg we were separated from

him. The Commissars probably confiscated the General’s belongings and

thus found the keys, which they must have recognized as ours by special

markings upon them.

We did not know where the entrance to this attic was. As to the blouse,

it was originally sent to us in Tobolsk by Anna Vyrubova. Nebus or

Mebus came in with the blouse, accompanied by a Commissar named

Horwath, a Hungarian, and by four or five others who spoke German. When

we heard them saying “Kishason” (lady), we knew they were Hungarians.

One of these men wore an open shirt, and from his neck hung a black

cord, a cross and a small square bag of soiled white cloth with

something in it.

Thousands of these prisoners of war had willingly joined the Cheka,

some for political reasons, others for religious reasons--or lack of

them--and still others for loot. Horwath’s companions also included two

Jews named Beloborodov and Goloshchekin (they had adopted these names).

They fixed their eyes on our icons with a remark to which we did not

reply.

That same afternoon Yurovsky, Beloborodov, Goloshchekin and Horwath

walked through our rooms, demanding that we place all our jewels on

the table. At this time we wore only our gold baptismal crosses

and silver rings with an inscription “Save and Protect us”. We were

afraid not to expose everything, especially with eyes fastened on us

girls so suspiciously. They made no effort to examine our travelling

clothes and for that we were thankful. They took everything they saw.

Yurovsky with the help of others made a list of every item, then gave

Father a copy--a scrap of paper--as a receipt, signed by all four

thieves. He asked Father to value each item. Father said, “They have

great sentimental value to us, since many of them are gifts from my

wife’s family and her grandmother--Queen Victoria--and from myself.”

Yurovsky asked: “But how much would such a piece cost if purchased

today?” Father answered, “I am not a jeweler by trade, I cannot put

a value on them.” Their grasping hands trembled when they took our

treasures and placed them between layers in a cushioned bag. Later by

searching the dining room and among the household things they found

some gold-coated candles. They became suspicious and melted some but,

to their disappointment, found nothing in them. The clinking of glasses

in the office that evening kept us awake until long past midnight. No

doubt the jewels were disposed of before our eyes were closed. These

stolen and now blood-stained treasures were sold in foreign lands and

are no doubt now adorning various ladies in many countries.

Early in the evening of this Saturday, Yurovsky stood excitedly at the

door of our parents’ bedroom and said, “Nicholai Alexandrovich, your

request is granted. The priest will be here tomorrow to conduct Sunday

services.” The same evening we gathered some icons and, with the help

of Father’s valet, a table was prepared in the middle of the rear wall

and covered with a long white towel. We got everything ready for the

next morning and prayed that there would be no unpleasantness between

these godless men and the priest.

Sunday morning, July 14th, arrived and as we assembled in our room,

Yurovsky came in and asked if we were ready. “Right, we are,” said

Father. One of us sisters wheeled Alexei’s chair into the room. He

gazed happily around with a greeting to the little group of a few

friends who waited for us to enter the big room. However, a mistake

had been made in this service. In his note to Yurovsky, Father

had requested a service called “Obiednya” at which Communion is

administered. We were all surprised to find that “Obiednitsa” was being

conducted at which no Communion is administered. It is a service that

is held for the dead.

Father asked Dr. Botkin to check with Yurovsky, because he had

requested a Communion. Yurovsky motioned to the priest, saying, “A

Communion is requested.” Evidently Yurovsky knew that the service

for the dead was meant for our own funeral service. No doubt Father

must have known that the tragedy was near because he requested the

Communion. While the priest made his preparations and covered the wine

chalice with a fine embroidered cloth, Yurovsky made an attempt to take

the chalice from him to see what was in it. Father Storozhev jerked

the chalice away and in a trembling voice shouted, “I will not let

you touch this Holy Sacrament with your hands.” The priest stood some

distance from us, since we were not permitted to have confession in the

usual way. He raised the cross and said, “God shall forgive your sins.”

We went to our knees in tears as Yurovsky stood aside watching us. We

sisters were weeping throughout the entire service, and, as our hearts

were only human, we could not chant during this service. We arose;

the priest held the cloth over the chalice and administered the Holy

Communion to us, while the deacon sang the creed.

Father Storozhev had brought the usual _prosphora_--the small biscuit

which is given to each communicant--but Yurovsky insisted on breaking

each of these into pieces to make sure there was nothing hidden

in them. Dr. Botkin and others who until now had maintained their

composure broke down. A napkin was brought and the _prosphora_ was

broken into pieces by the priest, and the service was concluded. In

this dimly-lighted room a rite so divine and profound in our moment of

solitude gave us a secret hope in our hearts. After the service Father

kissed on both cheeks, according to Russian custom, the few remaining

friends--Dr. Botkin, Trup, Kharitonov and the little Leonid. Mother and

we sisters kissed Anna Demidova, our faithful maid.

Mother gave her hand to Dr. Botkin; he bowed and kissed her fingertips.

All noticed that on his face was a strange expression. He was nervous

after hearing the prophetic words being sung “Peace to the Soul.” He

kissed us children on both cheeks, while tears fell from his eyes and

remained between his glasses and the bags beneath his eyes.

Dear Papula, how he suffered beyond measure for his loyalty to us. His

face always brightened whenever he saw me. I always engaged him in a

conversation. Somehow he felt closer to Alexei and to me than to our

sisters. At the end this good man became bold, in spite of his frailty.

He was somewhat older than my Father. At that time Father was fifty

years old and Mother forty-six. There was a unity and peace among us.

Father said, without bitterness, “A great crime is being committed,

but I feel we have been true to ourselves and to Russia. The Russian

people have been betrayed.” Olga, who could say things so beautifully,

added from her tender heart, “The Russian people have been hypnotized

and one must not judge them by the present. They are good people.”

Dr. Botkin added, “Be true, do not fear, in a minute all will pass.”

We were startled at his words, and we wondered afterwards whether he

realized the full meaning of what he was saying. He must have known of

our destiny.

In spite of the hostile actions of Yurovsky and his accomplices

throughout Father Storozhev’s service, we felt we had been enfolded by

God and filled with power to ignore the brutality of the guards. When

they came into the sitting room while Father was reading aloud, one of

us stood up, so that they might see as little as possible.