On Monday, July 15th two maids came to clean the rooms as usual.

Obviously they were frightened and seemed anxious to deliver some

message to us, but the guards’ presence everywhere prevented any

communication. On the same day, Yurovsky brought his associates to the

house. These included Voykov, Goloshchekin and Jacob Sverdlov who were

comrades of Lenin, Trotsky, and other international conspirators. We

saw these four and others in the house all day long; they followed us

even into the garden, when we went out for a fifteen minute walk in the

afternoon. Once Sverdlov said to Father that when the festivities of

the Three Hundred Year rule of the Romanov Dynasty were celebrated in

1913, he was ready to blow up the whole Imperial family with a bomb.

Father replied, “What kept you from doing it? I probably would not be

here today nor would my family be.”

On Tuesday July the 16th, the young kitchen boy, Leonid, who used to

come to play with Alexei for an hour every day, had no sooner arrived

than a guard announced that Leonid’s uncle, Ivan Sidniev (our former

footman) had come to see the boy. The little fellow jumped to his feet

and happily said, “Oh, please forgive me, I shall be back.” We knew

right then, it was some sort of trick. When he did not return and

Father inquired why, he was told, “Tomorrow he will come.”

On the 16th also, Alexei got up, though his cold was worse, due to the

hot water treatments for his swollen hands and feet which were still

partially paralyzed. In the afternoon, we took him into the small

garden where he was able to walk a little, but had to be carried down

the steps. We all went out except Marie, who remained with Mother who

had not been out for several days.

While we were in the garden a pigeon flew toward the porch, frantically

flapping its wings. Then it flew to the other side of the house, where

we were not allowed to walk. Upon our return Mother to our surprise

told us that a bird flapped its wings on her bedroom window and she

could see only a fluttering shadow of a bird’s wings in the window

glass which was painted white. Then she said, “At the coronation we

were presented with two birds; and, as you remember, during the Three

Hundredth Anniversary a pigeon flew inside the Cathedral when the

service was held; and today a bird came into the picture again.”

Some time before the tragedy Dr. Botkin was sent by Yurovsky to ask

Mother if she wished her sister Ella to come to see her and that, if

so, Yurovsky would arrange her transportation. Mother at once wrote to

her sister to say that we were looking forward to her arrival.

Very late that afternoon, Father and the rest of us were asked by

_Goloshchekin and Yurovsky to write letters to our friends and

relatives here and abroad to the effect that we were in the far North,

in Sweden, and that we were quite happy in our new surroundings_. Olga

angrily replied, “If we get there, we will write to our friends from

there and not from here.” Dr. Botkin had written such a letter or

letters under pressure since he feared for the lives of his children.

He said he had written one to Madame Elizabeth Narishkina and one or

more to his children hoping they were still in Tobolsk.

Evidently those men wanted the world to believe that we escaped at

night and were hiding somewhere in the wilderness and that our friends

after receiving such letters would be satisfied that we were safe.

In this way they wanted to hide their crime from the people. While

Father was reading, suddenly he turned to us and said, “It is exactly

twenty-seven years this month (July 1918) since I returned from Japan

and that is the icon which was presented to me in the Government of Ufa

upon my arrival there.” It was from the Government of Ufa that Father’s

train was returned a few weeks earlier to Ekaterinburg. Someone

commented that it seemed weird that Father suddenly at this time should

remember that unpleasant event which took place in Japan, where he

almost lost his life.

In the evening Yurovsky walked into our sitting room startling us.

Jemmy, my little dog, charged at him, snarling. She had never acted

like that before. I called her back, but it was too late. Yurovsky

grabbed her by the neck and carried her away, saying, “Who brought this

dog up here?”

Yurovsky reappeared as if nothing had happened and began talking,

though no one heard what he said. Our only thought was, “What became of

Jemmy?” No apologetic attitude crept into his affability. He continued

to talk and to toy with my frightened stupefaction. Then he walked to

Alexei and sat on his bed as if they were on the most intimate terms.

He pulled out a revolver and handed it to brother saying, “Do you want

to see an American automatic?” “No,” replied Alexei. No doubt all the

warning given against the man leaped into the boy’s mind. He did not

want to take it but Yurovsky thrust the weapon into his hand. “Is

it loaded?” asked Alexei. Father stood up next to Alexei and said,

“Please leave my son alone, he is not well.” Ignoring Father’s request

Yurovsky answered, “It is not loaded now, but it will be.” Alexei

became frightened as he held the pistol and Yurovsky regarded him with

amusement.

At last Yurovsky went out. Mother with trembling hands picked up a book

as we gathered around while Father read aloud. He let the book open

itself and read: “Let us take courage and be strong, look straight with

our spiritual eyes up to Christ.” Then again he read: “Do not fear

those who kill the body, but those who wish to kill the soul.” It may

not be exact but as I remember it went like that. His voice was hardly

stronger than a whisper. We could hardly hear him over the drunken

shouts that shrieked through the house from the guards’ quarters.

Mother bent her head close to the window and listened in bewildered

absorption. Her cheeks turned somewhat red, she looked around and

smiled. Finally she said, “I hear the beautiful _Ave Maria_ so clearly,

just as if it were being played in this very room.” We strained our

ears again but could not hear what Mother claimed she was hearing.

I tried desperately to lose myself in the quotation which Father had

just read, but Jemmy kept coming to my mind. I was afraid they had

killed her. Father said, “Most of the Russian people usually are kind

to animals.” Those were comforting words, but was Yurovsky a Russian?

I was depressed with the thoughts about Jemmy, added to the off-key

singing of the guards downstairs. Mother also noticed that they seemed

unusually noisy this night, and they were drinking entirely too much.

Father laid the book down and said: “The best thing we can do is to go

to bed and forget about it.”

That evening as Father crossed the hall he saw several extra guards

examining some rifles in the middle of the hall near the doors between

the office and the stairway. When they saw Father, they lowered the

butts of their rifles to the floor. Father knew every make of gun. He

said, “These are the high-powered, German army rifles holding usually

five cartridges; they can be fired singly or in rapid succession.”

Olga replied, “I remember at the hospital, soldiers used to come with

their bones shattered and their flesh mutilated. We always knew the

type of gun which inflicted such wounds. Russian guns caused clean

wounds.” Then Father added, “If Wilhelm had enough poison, he would

have poisoned all the bullets.” This was the last time he mentioned the

Kaiser’s name. It was four or five hours before the tragedy.

Father knew the Kaiser was obsessed with the thought of victory at

any cost, victory even if it meant the sacrifice of the Kaiser’s own

godson, my brother, whom he had vowed to protect according to our

religion; also the sacrifice of his own cousins, my parents, and their

daughters, too, for whom on his last visit in 1912 he had professed so

much love. All this must have been on his conscience. Yet Holland gave

refuge to this man who enslaved Russia and his own country as well.

These German guns which Father saw were frightening but we could not

believe and it did not even come to our minds that Wilhelm, bad as he

was, would permit the assassination of our family. We knew that Germany

had demanded that our family should be delivered to Moscow unharmed;

apparently the German High Command had learned of the character of our

jailers.

Later I heard that the assassination was not known to Wilhelm until

afterwards and that the German High Command was responsible, as well

as some of our Allies, for all the catastrophe in my land. They had

sent, or permitted, these men to come to Russia in order to bring about

a revolution. They knew that if the old government should recover

power it would not be pleasant for those responsible for the terrible

killings and robberies they had caused in my country.

After my escape I was told that, when the Kaiser heard of the killing

of our family and of the Grand Duchess Elizabeth and some of the other

Romanovs, the Kaiser was beyond himself. He cried bitterly for hours,

saying: “I have lost my best friend. Nicky was my best friend. I loved

them all. My hands are clean. Why have the other cousins permitted such

crimes to take place? My conscience is clean. I did not know what they

were doing. I had nothing to do with it. It was Mirbach and Ludendorff,

supported by those Nicky believed were his friends.”

In the last hours at Ekaterinburg Father spoke and his words are still

fresh in my mind. He said: “It is the end of Russia, but of the Allies,

too. They have dug their own graves and soon they too will lie in them,

and Germany will pay retribution for her deeds of treachery. No one can

escape consequences, no matter what they do to avoid them; sooner or

later they will have to pay. The taste of blood is an epidemic and it

will soon flow all over the world.”

Wilhelm could not bring disgrace on Father before the people of Russia,

but he did bring disgrace on himself before the world.

The orders to kill the entire Romanov family came direct to Voykov,

Beloborodov, Goloshchekin from the top Bolshevik leaders: Trotsky,

Lenin, Sverdlov, Apfelbaum and the other men I have mentioned

previously. They exchanged telegrams daily. On the 16th of July

Yurovsky had a long talk with the men in Moscow. In the afternoon when

Yurovsky came into our sitting room, Mother got up and went into her

bedroom. He boasted that he, Sverdlov, Beloborodov and other comrades

in Ekaterinburg were connected by telephone the entire morning talking

with the comrades in Moscow. Dr. Botkin told us later that Yurovsky

had talked with Trotsky, Lenin and others and that Goloshchekin or

Sverdlov, or both, had just returned from Moscow, and that there had

been a great deal of activity and excitement at the office.

In fact the Kremlin leaders were responsible for sending the

Austro-Hungarians and Letts to guard the house inside for the last two

weeks. Father remarked, “They use the same tactics as the Chinese did

in the Boxer rebellion. But the danger here has come to the native

people in their own land but not to foreigners.”

These two weeks our lives had hung by a thread and on the 16th of July

between 9:00 A.M. and 12:30 P.M. our destiny was sealed.

During my escape my rescuer told me that all the guards outside the

house--they were Russians--were given vodka to drink--as much as

they could consume. None of them knew what was to take place inside

that night. He also told me that one of his friends was told by one

of the outside guards that the crime never would have taken place if

the guards inside had been Russians and if the guards outside had not

all been given free drinks late that evening. These outside guards,

Russians, would have turned their guns on the foreigners because their

humiliation was at its summit.

XXVIII DAWN TURNS TO DUSK

On Tuesday, July 16th, in the early evening, we heard directly below

our rooms what we thought was the moving of large and heavy objects.

The noise disturbed the whole household. We went to bed at 10:30 but

could not sleep. Drunken voices from outside penetrated into all our

rooms. Yurovsky’s room was on our floor somewhat removed from our

quarters. From his room came the sounds of lewd talking. Soon we heard

heavy footsteps approaching in our direction. The light went on and

then a _deep_ voice was heard. It was Yurovsky’s.

He entered the room and then went on into Father’s room. Soon Father

appeared in the doorway and in a faltering voice told us to hurry and

get ready as we had to leave within the next forty minutes. While we

were washing and dressing, we prayed and quietly cried. We were almost

ready when another guard came in, telling us not to pack any of our

belongings as there was no time. We took only a few essential things.

Tatiana ran into our parents’ bedroom and helped Alexei to put on his

braces over his limbs while Olga packed Alexei’s medicine. He was still

ill and quite helpless and began to weep as did we sisters.

We girls dressed in white blouses and lightweight gray skirts and

jackets and carried top coats, which bore some of our treasures sewn

inside. Father and Alexei were dressed in military coats; Mother in a

black suit. When we were ready, Dr. Botkin came in with a small bag and

a coat on his arm.

The last few minutes before we left, we went to our knees and

fervently prayed before an ancient icon of Christ and shared the holy

_prosphora_ given us by the priest on the previous Sunday. This icon

for centuries had been handed down from one Russian sovereign’s family

to another. All our treasures had been catalogued for many years; there

was a description of each piece with its origin and history. We carried

this icon to Tobolsk and Ekaterinburg. We knew that it was the oldest

and the most venerated of all the icons and more valuable than those

that were embellished with gold and silver and studded with precious

stones.

This framed cloth icon was said to have been made from the towel that

was used by Jesus to wipe the perspiration and blood from His face

before His crucifixion and it pictured clearly, though faintly, the

imprint of His face. Subsequent tests disclosed that the cloth of the

icon was made of the same material that was used in Jerusalem at the

time of Christ, and that the spots and outline of the face were of

human blood and perspiration. It was further shown that no human hand

could have made this icon and for that reason it was called in Russian

“Nerukotvorenny Spas” which means: No-hand-created Saviour. We left our

rooms with a prayer on our lips.

My heart was pounding and a cold chill ran over my body as I was again

struck with the violent force of the premonition which had haunted

me all day long, ever since I awoke with a horrible dream early that

morning. I had dreamed that I stood in the doorway of a very small

wooden house somewhat like a fishing shack. It stood on a wooden

platform. Presently I sensed that the little shack was floating on

waters which were gradually rising from below the surface. As I looked

through the mist I could see nothing around but water: no forest or

mountain which could produce any safety. Not a murmur or a sound or a

ripple could be heard. The depressing, lonely quietness engulfed me. I

knew I was sinking slowly.

I was haunted by this nightmare when a man came into the dining

room where the family had assembled, together with Dr. Botkin, Ivan

Kharitonov and Anna Demidova. The man asked, “Are you ready?” Father

answered, “Right, we are.” “Follow me, please,” the man said. Before

we left the dining room Anna, who had with her two pillows, a blanket

and a tiny bag, handed one of the pillows to Tatiana. Concealed in the

pillows were some of our jewels.

With his lantern shedding a feeble light the man now led us along the

hall and down the stairway into the courtyard. Father’s strong and

protective arms were carrying Alexei who was crying from fear.

Suddenly I remembered our dogs. “Jemmy,” I said tearfully. “My dog,

please let me have her.”

“You will get your dogs downstairs,” shouted one of the men.

With our help, Mother followed behind Father. The man moved his lantern

from side to side to give a better light to the stairway. Mother almost

fell as we reached the ground floor and passed into the yard. We saw

shadows moving around in the court. The air was cool and the night was

bright.

We re-entered the same building, passed through a hallway, and entered

the second room on the right. It was approximately the same arrangement

as upstairs. This was probably where we had heard the noises earlier

in the evening from my sisters’ and my room. It had sounded as if

furniture and other heavy objects were being moved. This room was about

the size of our sleeping room and had not one single piece of furniture

in it.

Dr. Botkin and Anna were told to put their small bags on the far side

of the room, and we, too, had to put our jackets and top coats in the

same place. The house was on an elevation so that these rooms were

actually on the ground floor, I think one step up or down. Yurovsky

went ahead of Father. In the hall he said something to Father, pointing

to the first door we had just passed. Father held Alexei until three

chairs were brought. Then he placed Alexei on one of the chairs and

left the room. Mother sat on the left side of Alexei. About eight men

were there when we came in. Probably some who followed us had been the

shadows in the courtyard. They were dressed partly in civilian and

partly in foreign military uniforms. All had revolvers stuck in their

holsters and hand grenades attached to their belts.

Trup had been compelled to follow us. He had been ill for some days and

had not been on hand to care for Father’s personal things. The guards

had either failed to arouse him earlier or his fate had been decided

at the last minute, for he appeared in his night garment and carried

his clothes on his arm. We had not been allowed to see him frequently

during his illness. He was not more than thirty-four or thirty-five. He

looked much thinner and was almost blue in the face.

Tatiana rearranged the pillow which she had taken from Anna to make

Alexei more comfortable, while we waited for Father to come back. In

four or five minutes the group of men separated into two groups. Father

walked between them. His face was ashen and the “Otsu mark” on his

forehead was red like fire. His left shoulder and the left side of his

face just below his eye were twitching. He pulled a handkerchief from

his pocket, wiped his face and took the chair next to Alexei on the

latter’s right side. What this man Yurovsky had said to Father in that

room no one will ever know. Father preceded Yurovsky who was followed

by others and who remained standing in the middle of the group.

I was on my Mother’s left side and Dr. Botkin was behind her on her

right. My sisters were a few steps behind us. The men stood about eight

feet away facing us. I am sure the others thought as I did that we were

trapped, and there was nothing to do or say.

When Father entered the room, Mother started to raise herself. Suddenly

she trembled and fell back into the chair as her head slumped to her

right shoulder toward Alexei. Then I screamed and grabbed Dr. Botkin’s

arm. While I was screaming, Yurovsky said something, exactly what, I

did not hear. Simultaneously, I heard screams....

After this I was somewhat conscious. Still I felt no pain and did not

see anyone fall but my lips were frozen cold and I felt very clammy

and there was a violent ringing in my ears. I wanted to get up but I

felt as if I were paralyzed, and lost consciousness entirely.

How long I lay in blackness, which held me floating between life and

death, I cannot tell. Was it hours or days? I do not know. All too soon

I awoke from oblivion to realization and horror. I had no sensation of

coming back to life. All at once I knew I was alive and in pain. My

mind was clear, I was cold and conscious of some terrible catastrophe.

At first I shrieked frightfully; then I was afraid to breathe and to

open my eyes. I knew I had just come to from unconsciousness. I began

to feel the increasing pain and shiver from the wet cold, and became

convinced that I was not dreaming. But a fear came over me. First I

thought that I fell on the floor and got hurt, and that they, thinking

I was dead, had buried me alive without a coffin, and that my grave was

not yet sealed. I tried to control my shrieks realizing too well what

had happened, though all was perfectly quiet now. Still I did not wish

to open my eyes for fear of what I would see. I was cold and in great

pain. My neck seemed swollen. I felt a tightness around my nose and

swelling below my left eye.

The others: Were they beside me? Were they alive but afraid to move? I

began to wonder. In the darkness I could feel no body warmth; I could

hear no sound of breathing. Suddenly, it came to me. I remembered the

anguished screams. I lay in a hush, a silence that was all the more

pronounced by contrast with the noise and frantic screams before. It

was the silence of death and the tomb. I opened my right eye, just

a little. Quickly I closed it. My left eye was so swollen, it could

not open. The air was heavy and there was a smell of damp earth. I

listened. Surely someone must be near me. I moved my hands cautiously.

I could feel on my right a crumbly earthen wall. Was I in a tomb?

Buried alive? My eye flew open. I could see a tiny opening a little

distance above.

I made a move, only to feel excruciating pain. I felt nauseated.

My head pounded with pain. When the convulsion passed away, I lay

exhausted, wet, clammy, awaiting the death I could not escape. Now I

did not want to escape. I wanted to die. How long could I last in this

tomb? Dear God, let it be quick! Why did they not bury us together?

We always wanted to be together, in life and in death. My convulsive

noises had brought nothing but silence. I was frightened and so ill.

I began to weep chokingly. My cries resounded through the hollowness,

increasing my feeling of loneliness. If only someone would hear and

end my agony. My ears rang, my head reeled with dizziness. My nausea

returned. Once more I was in the grip of a convulsion.

PART VI After The Tragedy

XXIX DUGOUT

Suddenly I felt a hand on my forehead. I stiffened with terror, unable

to cry or even feel nausea. Was it the hand of death? Now I was cold

all over, except my head--the hand warmed my forehead. The hand lifted.

I waited for the weapon to plunge. I could not look. I kept my eye

closed. I waited. The suspense would hold no longer.

I opened my eye a little. I could see a candle light. My eye opened

wider. I saw a woman coming toward me. I screamed and shut my eye.

Again I felt the warm hand on my forehead. I was hardly breathing. I

waited another eternity. The hand went away. As I lay there in fear, I

wondered if it was a real woman or a vision. She was no one I had seen

before. She came closer again and lifted a container of water to my

lips, but I could not lift my head to drink it.

“Where does it hurt you?” she said in Russian, but with a foreign

accent. I wanted to answer, but no words came. I pointed to my stomach

and gagged a little. It was too much effort. I began to feel ill,

writhing in nausea. I felt a thin slice of preserved lemon thrust

through my lips. My lips smarted. I clutched them with my hand. There

was something wrong with my lips, my left arm, my head, my ankle and

nose. She had bandaged my abdomen. I was too miserable to care. The

lemon preserve soothed the nausea. I sucked it eagerly but hardly

tasted it, it was so washed with tears. I lay there stupefied as my eye

fastened on the lighted candle. It was so frightening, so bewildering:

the tomb, the candle, the woman. The flame flickered and almost went

out as she moved.

Again startled, my eye moved around to find that once more the woman

was creeping down the wall; a few steps and she was at my side. She

lifted the candle nearer, placed it on the little table beside my bed,

set down a basin of water, threw back my covers, and began to undo the

bandage about my stomach. Without a glance at my face she washed my

wound and deftly rebandaged it. Still without looking at my face, she

unbandaged my leg, bathed and bandaged it again. She dressed my head

wounds, washed my face and hands, picked up her basin and disappeared

up the wall and through the ceiling.

Fascinated and yet horrified, I stared at the spot where she

disappeared. Suddenly two feet appeared again, a skirt, a woman coming

down. She was at my side and placed another thin slice of this rare

lemon preserve to my lips. She looked at me for a minute. Then she

climbed up the wall and was gone.

I did not know where I was, but now I could see a trap door and a

ladder of not too many rungs leading up to it. I have a clear picture

of the woman’s face as she nursed me. She had nice features, black

eyes; the hair, perhaps dark brown once was now partly gray and pulled

back tight into a knot at the back of her head. She seemed no older

than my Mother. Her hands were long and slender; she was tall and thin.

She did not look like a peasant, but her general appearance told me she

was no stranger to hardship. She was confident and efficient but did

not seem to be a professional nurse.

For a moment I forgot my aches and pains. I wanted to know who this

person was. How did an utter stranger happen to be with me? How did

I get here? How long ago had things happened? Perhaps several days,

since I felt crusted dry blood on the left side of my eyebrow, nose

and cheek. My hair was matted and stiff with blood, crumbs of dried

blood covered my pillow. My left leg was so sore I could hardly move

it. My finger nails were packed with stained matter. But where was my

family? I was afraid to think. My head hammered, my jaws ached, my ears

rang. Every little emotion--every motion--was an agonizing experience.

I must have cried myself to sleep, for I awoke sobbing. Perhaps it was

a nightmare. It could not be that I, the little one, always protected

and spared could be alone. Now the woman was moving about near me.

Were _they_, too, being cared for by strangers? I sobbed until sleep

overtook me. There was no way of measuring time. I wept until I slept

to wake up sobbing until I wept myself to sleep again.

After the sobbing a violent nausea seized me and the woman rushed up

the ladder to bring me a drink of water. She sponged my lips and fed

me with a spoon. All too soon I discovered why my lip was sore. My two

upper front teeth were broken and driven almost through the upper lip.

One of these front teeth had been filled in Tobolsk by Dr. Kostritsky

who took care of Mother’s false tooth and Father’s teeth. Several of

my teeth, in the lower left jaw, were also loose; they merely were in

place. There was a small hole in my right cheek and a piece of flesh

was missing.

Sleep was the only respite. Wakefulness brought nothing but horror and

haunting thoughts. I welcomed sharp pain as it distracted my thinking.

How long this orgy of weeping and sleeping kept up I have no idea.

Occasional moments of composure wedged themselves in as I realized I

felt better. Immediately desperation drove me into fresh weeping. I

wanted to die. I was afraid to think.

All the time the woman worked tirelessly to make me comfortable. I

could not help but feel sorry to see her climb up and down the ladder

to bring me something when her efforts seemed to do me so little good.

She was thorough but gentle. She changed my dressings often. While

she busied herself with me, I kept my eyes closed--the sight of her

accentuated my loneliness. She seemed cruelly impersonal as she worked

over me. She wanted to do a good and thorough job. If she would only

speak to me, give me some sign of sympathy, that I might know she felt

friendly! She always avoided meeting my eyes, eyes that now squinted

through smarting slits, so sore were they from constant crying.

Her care was faithful but she seemed oblivious to the hungry soul

inside me. She washed my scalp wound but made no attempt to comb my

matted hair. Each passing day there were fewer and fewer bits of dried

blood on the pillow. Finally she cut my hair on the two spots of my

scalp in order to keep the wound clean. The deep round hole in front of

my ankle and the wounds in my back were still painful.

The torments of my mind partially overcome, I wanted to ask questions,

yet I did not. As long as I did not know definitely, I could hope. At

such moments I was almost glad of the woman’s lack of sympathy. Her

most expressive kindness was when she placed her hand on my head when

I felt nauseated, but that hand was too much of a reality and always

a fresh spur to loneliness. The nausea attacks became routine under

the incessant crying. The woman did everything in her power to relieve

them, everything except to extend a sympathetic word.

Uncertainty was tearing my heart. One minute I longed desperately for

the woman to talk. The next minute I watched her with horror for fear

she would. Perhaps she was waiting for me to grow strong enough to

hear the truth--the last thing I wanted to hear. If I could only be

told that the others were being cared for, I would not murmur at this

temporary separation, and the pain would not be so great.

The moment came when my torture boiled to the surface. The woman

was dressing my wounds when the desire to know the answers became

overwhelming.

“Where am I?” I whispered.

She hesitated, then in a low voice I could hardly catch, she said, “In

a little room underneath a house.” Then she added, after a pause, “It

is very dangerous; never talk aloud lest someone might hear.”

“The others?” I gasped. It was out--the question. If I could only

retrieve it. Suspense. I thought she never would answer. She turned her

face away and said, “All gone. Please ask me no more, that is all I

know.” She rushed to the ladder and went away.

All gone. I had known it all the time but would not admit it.

Yet everything had happened so quickly, I could not be sure. The

excitement, the running up and down the stairs, the confusion, the room

filled with rough-looking men. The woman with dishevelled hair; who was

she? Was all this a vision or a reality? To this day I’ll never know.

Yurovsky, the most vicious man in the world swaggered after Father,

whispering things I could not hear. Father’s shocked face, Mother’s

trembling, her slumping back in her chair: all this horror together

kept reappearing in my consciousness. The words, “All gone,” whirled

around my head flying out at me from all directions at once. Those soft

blue clouds which I imagined carried them rapidly through the clear

skies. I still could not believe it. Perhaps only Father and Mother are

gone, and brother and sisters are somewhere in a prison.

Another period of oblivion ended. Consciousness returned to find the

woman bending over me. The sight of her brought back a realization of

the horrible truth; the family was no more, only I was left. No, it

could not be. Now I wanted her to tell me more, but she shook her head.

I understood.

Frantic with the hopelessness of it all, I shivered down into my

covers. My foot struck something solid but warm. It was a bed warmer, a

hot stone wrapped in a cloth. Using my uninjured foot I manoeuvred it

so that I got my hands on it. To me it was more than stone, more than

warmth. I now felt the woman was sympathetic and underneath her still

exterior I discovered a new companionship.

In spite of longing to die, I awoke from each sleep more alive. Each

awakening brought a little less suffering and pain. I could now turn

my head with less pain and without dizziness. The nausea attacks were

almost gone--I was getting better. Sleep was the great healer: the

vitality of youth swayed the balance.

With real resentment I allowed the woman to tend to my wounds. Since

they were not serious enough to let me die, I had no desire to examine

them to ascertain their nature. So far I had received very little

nourishment from taking food, partly because I was afraid the nausea

might return.

She brought me some delicious soup with a strong flavor and containing

some barley. It was nourishing; I could almost feel an increased

strength as I took it. Yet I did not want to get well. The woman gave

me good care, but it seemed to be mistaken kindness. Now that I knew

the worst, she seemed more distant than ever. It was as if she feared

for her own life. She did what was necessary and departed quickly. But

why was she nursing me? I could not understand it. I only knew I was

alone and could not die. Hauntingly the prayer we sisters had written

together kept coming to my mind. I tried to say it but the words had

lost their meaning.

Over and over haunting thoughts catapulted into my mind. How did I

escape the death intended for the whole family? Why did they want to do

away with us? We could have gone abroad, never to return, if we could

only have kept together. I remembered Mother’s frequent words, that the

throne had brought nothing but unhappiness to our family. We all loved

our Motherland and would have been content to live as ordinary citizens

in some obscure part of it.

Had Father suspected this ending? When he carried his head erect, was

he looking forward with hope or was he facing death squarely to show

how bravely a Tsar could die? At the price of disloyalty to Russia,

he could have saved his life. Not he, not Mother, nor any of us could

be tempted to save ourselves at Russia’s expense. Except when his

epaulettes were removed, I had never seen Father bitter, but only

infinitely sad that he could not spare his people the tragedy of a

revolution. The ruthless propaganda would not let the nation know him

for what he was--one who wanted to do right and do it well. Father was

the victim of the Kaiser’s intrigue. Mother was misunderstood. She had

done only what she thought was best for Russia. Now I could see it all.

From the very first, there had been no chance....

We had been moved to Tobolsk, further inland, making our escape less

possible. Siberia was far from Finland, the mecca of fugitives.

Father had believed Kerensky who assured him we would be safer in the

hinterland--far safer as targets!

I hoped and prayed that Mother’s heart had failed her before the

assassins’ bullets reached her. I hoped that she had cheated Yurovsky

and his fellow-murderers. This would have given me great satisfaction.

He at no time fooled Mother. She knew, suspected, and understood it

all. She and Olga had uncanny discernment.

We believed God would always take care of us. The little intuitive

prayers that arose within us, when suddenly confronted with a fresh

persecution; the strength that we received in adjusting ourselves to

new humiliating requirements; the exaltation we felt in the sense of

God’s guidance. All these underlined the idea, “Though I walk through

the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art

with me.” Perhaps if we had not trusted so exaltingly, we might have

done more to help ourselves.

These were my thoughts of despair when suddenly I heard voices in my

cell, faint voices, but I could understand this much: the man said,

“Organized parties are searching everywhere, in the woods, in the

houses. They have found nothing. No one suspects us, but you can see we

are in danger.” He said much more than that, but this is all I could

understand.

“Which one of your sisters was very tall?” the woman asked.

“Tatiana,” I replied excitedly.

Turning to the man she said, “It is too bad. Just think, she too, could

be alive if ...”, her voice faded away, as if she was trying to keep me

from hearing.

“If what?” I burst out with a cry and tried to get out of bed only to

fall back in pain. When I gained my composure, I looked for the man,

but he was gone. The woman was still there.

“Tell me, ‘if what?’” I pleaded, as I stretched out my hand to her.

“Please do not ask any questions. I cannot answer,” she said, as she

rushed to climb the ladder.

Was there no end to my tortures? I was so near to a little truth, then

to lose it forever. Tatiana. What could have happened that she did not

come through ... as I had. Together we might have found something to

live for. That man ... who could he be? He had the same kind of accent

as the woman. From what I had heard him say, it did not seem as if

he had been one of the actual rescuers. He spoke as if he had heard

through someone else; as if he were connected with the rescuers in some

manner. He, too, was frightened, all because of me. Had they saved me

for a humane reason or had they stolen my body to rob it and finding me

alive thought it safer to nurse me back to health than to dispose of me?

For the first time I began to observe my surroundings. The place was

tiny with a ceiling so low a good-sized person standing could easily

touch the ceiling with his head. The width and length seemed about nine

by ten feet. All four walls were of dirt with little roots protruding.

The floor was also plain earth, covered by a braided oval straw mat

extending from my bed almost to the ladder. Now I could see plainly

about what I had first taken to be my unsealed grave. Close to the

ceiling was a small window, a dirt-stained pane of glass about five by

eight inches which let almost no light through. I was lying on an army

cot. On the opposite wall was a wooden ladder leading to the trap door.

To the right of the ladder was a wooden bench covered with blankets,

which looked as if it had been used as a bed. Beside me was a small

marble-topped table with a drawer. A small candle on the table lighted

the room. A chair was the only other object in my dugout.

The question came to my mind, what had become of my clothes--my white

blouse, gray plaid skirt? Now I was clad in a white cotton nightdress,

much too large for my frail body. It probably belonged to this woman.

And where were my shoes? Had the man discovered the precious stones

in the heels? Had they found the other stones which were sewn in my

clothes, especially inside the buttons? We sisters had some money in

the belts of our skirts. What had become of all that?

They could have everything if only they would tell me about Tatiana.

The man knew why she had not come through, and so did the woman, yet

they would not talk to me. The man thought I could be moved, but he

soon discovered I could not stand on my feet. The woman’s hand was on

my covers; then I felt sudden warmth in my shivering body. The stone

was back, good and hot, nicely wrapped. I curled around it.

Gradually my body marched on toward recovery; my head had ceased to

throb. I could turn it easily. Immediately the woman sensed this

progress and removed the bandages. My wounds were less painful. Again

with her uncanny insight into my condition, she placed the pillow

behind me and sat me up in bed.

One day when I was sitting up in bed, I noticed on the table next to

me a brown lump. It looked like a section of a dried apple. I picked

it up; it gave me a feeling of horror, and I quickly dropped it on

the army blanket covering my bed. As I looked at it closely, I saw

a familiar design. I unfolded a small portion of it, and recognized

the edge as the handkerchief that was given me by Grandmother, who

also gave one to each of my sisters. I could not imagine where this

handkerchief had come from. I remembered that when our rooms had last

been searched, I had picked it up from the floor and had placed it on

a small table in Mother’s room. I do not remember taking it when we

rushed to get dressed that final night, nor did I intend to use this

fine lace handmade keepsake. I must have picked it up absent-mindedly.

According to the woman, when I was brought into the dugout that

fateful morning, the handkerchief was clutched tightly in my hand.

I had brought it with me when we left Tsarskoe Selo to Tobolsk and

then to Ekaterinburg. I intend to place it in the museum which I plan

to establish. Mother had beautiful laces and had brought a few small

pieces with her to Tobolsk. Fearing they might be mishandled, these

valuable laces were to be divided among us children.

The woman cared for me quite frequently, although I had no clock

to mark the passing hours, nor was there any sunshine by which to

conjecture the time of day. During my convalescence she let me wear a

white cotton jacket which had starched pleating around the neck and

down the front. This bed jacket was far too large for me, but it was

her best. The sheets on my bed were of a coarse cotton; so was the

pillow case. The latter was edged with a peasant lace and was buttoned

together. Over the sheet, she had placed a warm army blanket.

The room was dark, day hardly distinguishable from night. The little

window high up near the ceiling was covered on the outside with hay, as

I later discovered. A little light did penetrate into this dugout, but

at night she hung a dark cloth over this pane. My eyes were sore from

the lighted candle and I put it out except when she cared for me. I had

no book or magazine or newspaper. No calendar to mark the time of year

or the day of the month. I had no idea whether it was summer or fall.

My room was always cool and damp and the days long.

As I lay in this dark mustiness, I had time to think about everything

that took place during my seventeen years with my dear family. There

were so many sudden changes in the political hysteria, that I wondered

if in my thoughts I was confused! It was unbelievable that actually

such developments really had taken place. One day I asked the woman,

whether all the turmoil was a reality or just a nightmare!

“No!” she replied, “it is true.”

Propped up in bed, from this vantage point, I was able to see and hear

the man, should he ever come back. I would judge whether he was friend

or foe. Whatever the man might be, I was sure the woman had nothing

to do with my rescue beyond the determination to make me well. But I

remember the words, “You see how careful we must be.” That sounded as

if they were working together. Perhaps others were involved, others

saved? When the man should come back I was determined to find out all

the events from him, from my last recollection to the present time. The

questions they had asked me gave me hope that Tatiana had been saved.

Absorbed in these thoughts, I was unaware that someone had come down

the ladder until I suddenly realized the man stood beside me. Behind

him was the woman holding a lighted candle. Waves of fresh, sweet air

wafted out from his clothes.

“Good evening,” he said, “it is cool outside.” “How do you feel?” he

asked.

My lips said, “Better, thank you,” but all the time I was thinking, he

sounds friendly. I will ask him.

Before I could open my mouth to form the words, his manner became

serious, almost severe. “Never speak out loud,” he warned. “Only in a

whisper. It is very dangerous.”

He wheeled around and was gone up the ladder without another word. The

woman followed.

I looked hard at that man and felt satisfied he was not one of the

Ekaterinburg guards, nor was he anyone I had ever seen before. In his

shabby English clothes I could not be sure what he was. He carried

himself erect like a soldier, his hair was well-groomed and he had an

easy manner. He looked at me squarely without self-consciousness and

delivered his orders without hesitation.

The woman usually carried my food on a rough, wooden tray. Gradually,

she brought me more solid food. Occasionally I had some potato; fresh

fish was on my regular diet. When eating solid food I had to be very

careful as I was afraid that I might swallow some of the teeth that

were broken at the roots.

I found one disfigurement after another. I could chew only on the

right side of my mouth. Feeling around my head, I realized I was

covered with welts, one more painful than the other. I also discovered

two long grooves, one on the right side of my head, back of the ear,

about an inch long, which still remained very painful. I wondered if

this pain was the result of the accident or was inherited from my

Mother who had a sensitive spot on her head. Her hairdresser had to be

very careful when arranging her hair. Mine might have been caused by

the bullet that had grazed my head. The pain indicated that my nose,

too, was broken.

A deformed, partly toothless girl at seventeen, alone in a world that

did not care. My only consolation was that in spite of everything the

Lord continued to be beside me.

Beneath the bandage of my stomach, no part was shot away. I could

not find a bullet hole; instead, my skin was covered with traceries

as though cut by myriads of flying glass. The woman seemed pleased

that I was well enough to take an interest in my wounds. She actually

volunteered the information that she had pulled out small pieces of

blue glass from my flesh. She spread honey over my abdomen and finally

the honey drew the glass slivers out.

She asked, “Do you remember carrying any glass container with you?”

Mother often carried a small blue bottle of smelling salts. It was

possible she had this in her hand at the time.

The woman showed me the wounds on my left leg, an oval gash, very deep;

and a small one in the back; a round, corresponding hole in the front.

She said nothing more as though to give no loophole, but worked rapidly

and then hurried up the ladder.

The man became a more frequent visitor in my dugout. He was always

friendly, more so than the woman. He always had something pleasant

to say about the weather, perhaps a cheerful “Good evening.” After a

while he brought along another man who seemed to be of an entirely

different type--dressed in peasant clothes, and obviously a peasant.

Both were impatient for me to get well. They were inquiring about

my progress, asking the woman how soon I might be up and around.

From their nervousness I could see they were in constant terror of

discovery. During one of the visits, I saw a newspaper folded in the

pocket of the first man. When he turned around I recognized only the

Latin characters. I could not tell what the language was.

Whenever the men came I was frightened and excited, hoping that one

of them would drop a hint that another member of my family was saved.

It was hard for me to believe that all were gone. With these thoughts

and uncertainties surrounding me, I was terrified. I knew nothing of

an outside world--my home in Tsarskoe Selo was the only world I knew.

Perhaps all this was a retribution, because I had often envied girls

who were free to go where they wished. As a young girl I had never

taken anything seriously. I had always been shielded, often looked on

with amusement, until the war broke out when suddenly I discovered how

serious life was to be. Now no one was left to stand between me and

reality. These dirt walls were reality. Yet even here someone protected

me. Beyond these walls there seemed to be some sinister power, yet I

could not comprehend it all. Days and days passed, perhaps weeks and

months.

Sitting up in bed was a short preliminary, a to-be milestone. Standing

on my feet, first touching the ground, I felt the braided straw rug on

the earthen ground as my head reeled in dizziness. I could not get back

to my bed fast enough. That proved one thing; I was not as well as my

nurse had thought.

Next morning she put me on my feet once more. My legs were stronger

and there was no return of my dizzy spell. I stood a very short time,

then thankfully I found myself in bed. This was repeated. I protested

against these exercises, because my thoughts and my whole being were

disturbed by them.

All too soon she had me walking the length of the rug several times. I

wept defiantly as she led me along. I staggered frightfully, but in the

end I forced myself to walk as long as I could endure it. Finally I

had it mastered and the woman was satisfied.

Then came the time when the woman began to bring things from above.

She brought clothes to dress me in. First she drew on long, heavy

underwear. Then she put on me a pair of old black cotton stockings, a

slip, and an old gingham dress, so faded the original blue-gray color

was almost undiscernible. Finally she fastened on peasant shoes two or

three sizes too large. My original shoe size was about four-and-a-half

at the time. She stood me up, tied a babushka on my head, threw a coat

around my shoulders and walked me toward the ladder. “We are going

upstairs,” she said. “The outdoors.”

My heart started to beat. Perhaps they were going to kill me. The

thought of possible death did not generate fear now.

If I were going to my death, my mind was ready, but my body lagged. My

hands held tight to the rung of the ladder when I realized the left

side of my lower back was injured. I could not raise my feet without

help. The woman lifted them one at a time--to the first rung, then to

the second. She unclutched my hands and placed them on the next higher

step. She swung herself behind me, her hands on the rung beside mine,

her body framed me like a strong armchair. She began to climb, lifting

me ahead of her, up and up, and through the trap door.

I climbed out on my hands and knees as she instructed me to do. She

guided me along a dark hall about two yards wide through a door to the

opposite side and into a room. Sitting at a table in front of me were

the two men who had previously visited my dugout. A candle on the table

was the only light in the room. The windows were tightly covered with

heavy cloth. These things my eyes took in as the woman led me to a

chair facing the men. My mind was calm but my body shook uncontrollably.

The man, my first visitor, was the spokesman. “Don’t be afraid,” he

began. “You know we are trying to help you.”

His voice was reassuring and my body calmed a little.

“We are in great danger,” he continued. “Spies have been everywhere,

searching for missing bodies. If anyone comes near you, and tries to

speak to you, pretend to be deaf and dumb. Make signs with your hands

but never speak to anyone, not even to us, unless we first speak to

you. We cannot be careful enough.” In a softer tone he added, “I grieve

to inform you--the others are no more. I can tell you nothing more.”

He paused deferentially. I understood. That subject was closed between

us.

In a moment he went on, “It is becoming too dangerous to remain

here. We must go away, but first you must accustom yourself to the

outdoors. Ahead of us is a long, strenuous journey. We dare not risk

the daylight, so the trip must be made after dark. Tonight will be a

starter. Tomorrow we will see you again.”

XXX RECOVERY

I was dismissed. It was over. I was not to be killed. My body throbbed

with gladness.

The woman was standing beside me. She led me to the door and out into

the open night. The air was sweet and fresh, so noticeable after being

accustomed for so long to musty air. I breathed deeply to refresh my

whole being. It was so long since the last time I had seen the night

all lighted up with golden stars so near and yet so far. This was the

most beautiful night and the saddest one I could remember. The horizon

seemed to be far away, sad and quiet as if the world were in a deep

slumber. But probably this very minute some one was facing a death

sentence.

A heavy stone lay on my soul. I could find no consolation. Never will

I see them again. My sisters fresh as rosebuds, in the very morning of

their lives, and now withered away before they even blossomed, their

youthful faces now covered with the cold earth, vanished completely and

forever before my very eyes. My heart was aflame with a grief that was

tearing my soul.

Were these the same stars which looked down on us at Tsarskoe Selo? At

Livadia? The same as on our cruises, when Father’s stories about the

heavens seemed so real? Father could see them no more; nor Mother, nor

sisters, nor my brother Alexei. Knowing that their eyes were closed

forever, filled me with a loneliness I could not bear.

How could the stars go on shining as if nothing had happened? How could

the air be so sweet and fresh when such foulness had taken place? If

my family could not breathe this fresh air, how could I? And how could

I gaze on this heavenly grandeur?

All about me reminded me of my family. I had no more tears but I cried

inwardly. I lost my balance. I collapsed on the ground. The man and the

woman were watching me. They rushed to help me to my feet, and back

into the house and down the ladder.

Again I sank into the damp earthiness of my tiny room, thankful for

its darkness. Here I felt closer to my family. Outside the stars could

sparkle, the air could be fresh, but inside the contrast could not

flaunt itself before me. I need not look at a world untouched by our

tragedy.

In the middle of the night I awoke to find myself walking about my

dugout. I was completely confused, with no idea of where I was. My bare

feet sank into the soft dirt. At last my foot touched the straw rug

which led me to my bed, and in bed was still the welcoming warmth of

the stone wrapped in a cloth.

Walking around with bare feet had given me a slight cold. The woman was

upset; she attributed the setback to the night air, to my first trip

outdoors. The men called early in the morning. They were annoyed that I

had a cold but agreed with the woman it was best to defer another trip

upstairs until I felt better. I heard them say, “Speed up her recovery.”

I lay still another night wrapped in my thoughts. Though the men had

said that my family was no more, still I would not believe it How could

they be so sure? I would never cease to hope, since I had learned how

difficult it was to die. To me their nobility, their trust in God,

their character were more impressive than the grandeur of the night.

God would not fail them.

But we were separated. That was certainty. Somewhere I would be

deposited to face an indifferent world, a world that would not bend its

knee to me. I must suppress my identity and make a new life, all alone.

God knows how I missed them all. I lay there, one minute hoping, then

despairing. I felt close to them in a world which was not theirs nor

mine. The woman continued her care of me; I was suspended between two

worlds belonging neither to this one nor the one to come. The idea

crossed my mind several times that suicide was an easy escape from my

misery, but my strong faith based on years of prayer would not permit

this lack of will power.

Soon my cold faded away and once more the woman had me climbing the

ladder. This time she stood on a chair, put both hands under my arms

and lifted me up the few rungs through the trap door. In a few moments

I was again in the presence of the same two men.

As before, the only light came from the candle on the table. The

windows had the same heavy coverings. I almost said, “Good evening,”

but remembered not to, just in time. With no preliminaries the

spokesman started immediately.

“We are very much interested in straightening out a few things,” he

said. “We want to ask you some questions.”

I was all fear. At Tobolsk, at Ekaterinburg, questions meant traps.

Surging through me, I remembered my Mother’s advice: “Answer

courteously but give no information.”

“Were they unkind to you in Tobolsk?”

I wanted to tell the truth. In spite of my impaired speech, they wanted

me to answer their questions.

“Very unkind, the last days,” I answered.

“What sort of things did they do to you?”

I hesitated. There had been so much torture and suffering, it was

difficult to begin with any specific detail. In contrast to the final

outcome, the treatment we endured at Tobolsk suddenly seemed trivial. I

could not mention anything specific, not yet. The tragedy towered over

all events, making all others seem unimportant.

“Everything to contribute to our unhappiness and humiliation,” I said.

“Who were with you in Tobolsk?” he began.

Something I could answer easily. I told him, “Our friends, and

household help.” Their faithfulness excited my memories.

“Did they all go with you to Ekaterinburg?”

While in thought, I raised my eyes and saw a door on my right side

which apparently led into another room. Through a crack I saw a bright

light and a shadow flitting across the crack in a sort of rhythmical

motion, as if someone were swinging back and forth. My thoughts were

distracted for a moment. My training came to my aid. I could see

without betraying what I saw. I hid my surprise at discovering that

there were other people in the house besides the two men and the woman.

I dismissed my curiosity since I was beginning to have confidence in

these men. Their questions must be answered.

I began, “Some went first with Father, Mother, and Marie, Dr. Botkin,

Prince Dolgorukov, a maid and Father’s valet. When our parents left

Tobolsk the others stayed to take care of us children who were left

behind to go later when Alexei should be better.”

What kind of quarters did we have in Ekaterinburg? Did we have enough

to eat? Did we ever go outdoors? Did we see our friends? How did we

pass the time? These questions were meant to pave the way for more

questions that were to come later and to encourage me to answer them.

In a way I was glad to confide my sorrow.

When they were through, one of the men signalled the woman, who led me

outdoors. My second walk in the air. I had decided to take the outing

without once lifting my eyes to the sky. I took short breaths and

leaned heavily on the woman’s arm. We walked around the house. Guarding

us, I sensed rather than saw, was one of the two men, walking a few

feet behind us. At last we were back at the entrance. The house was

dark as we entered the first room and passed through the open trap door

and down the ladder. The trap door was lowered and I noticed a cloth

was nailed on the inside. No sounds must penetrate through that floor.

The exertion and gratification at my own courage put me into a sound

sleep that night.

I awoke stronger and aware of a new milestone in my march to recovery.

Each day the terrifying world I knew nothing of drew closer. I

had almost ceased to struggle to keep from entering this world of

reality. I was being carried like a leaf floating on the surface of a

fast-flowing stream. I could not stop or sink. The prospect of living

my life in good health would have been frightening enough, but now I

must face ill health and loneliness as well. If only crying could oust

these seething tortures.

The woman was busy folding a blanket. When she finished she piled it

on her arm, tossed the pillow on top and lowered her chin on it for a

firm grip on her burden. Now she was climbing the ladder, load and all.

There was something final in the way she climbed. It suddenly dawned on

me that she had spent the many nights close by my side. Satisfied that

I was out of danger, she was henceforth going to sleep upstairs. I had

not been conscious of her presence; misery had made me deaf and blind.

Now that her watchful custody was removed, I became frightened and

longed for the nearness I had not been aware of.

Without a clock, I had no idea at what time our day started. When the

woman appeared, it was morning. The smoky window became a panel of gray

after she removed its covering. I always listened for a “Good morning.”

But that was all. She never did tell me what I should call her. If

I needed her attention, I whispered, “Lady, please.” I did overhear

the man call her Iliana or Irina. When she combed my hair, she did it

gently. All her services were performed tenderly. I thought I detected

a resemblance between her and the man who was the first spokesman. I

wished I knew something about these men and the woman.

After an early supper she helped me to get dressed again in the same

grotesque clothes and took me to the room above. The same men awaited

me; the same rhythmical shadow flitted through the crack. Previously

the questions had been of a general nature. Now they began to ask me

more personal ones. They asked about Madame Vyrubova. Did she influence

the Tsarina? Was she intimate with Rasputin? Did she live in the

palace? I did not want to answer any of these questions, yet I did not

dare to refuse.

All the time the shadow continued to pass over the lighted crack of

the door. Who could it be? Was there someone writing down my answers?

I was terrified. Suddenly I became so exhausted that I thought I would

fall from the chair. My interrogator saw the situation and excused

me. The woman accompanied me outdoors, and we walked around the house

several times. Then I returned to my little hole. Once more I sank into

my congenial darkness. The woman climbed the ladder, her touch was as

soft as a feather. The trap door opened, then lowered back into place,

quietly but firmly.

One day she brought me a piece of meat and vegetables. I refused to eat

meat. The woman had no longer to bandage my wounds; they had healed

sufficiently. Now I felt an itching sensation on my head and the woman

was pleased with my progress. “Your hair will cover it nicely,” she

said. There in the darkness my hair was growing fast. I was able to

braid it.

Ahead of me lay the nightly inquisition. Yet each trip into the

outdoors made me more independent physically. Once more and many times

later I sat in the question room trying to control myself in the face

of the curiosity of these two men and the woman. Now my Mother was the

subject of their questioning.

“Did your uncle come from Germany to see the Tsarina?” The shadow in

the next room seemed poised for my answer. Suddenly I was glad of

the recording. Here was the opportunity to show Mother as the eager

helpmate that she really was, trying to report to Father the facts

as she saw them in his absence. “Did the Tsarina listen to Rasputin,

because she believed in his honesty, foreseeing, and experience?”

I answered, “Whatever Mother did, she did it only for the good of

Russia. When Father did not agree with Mother, she accepted his

decision as final, knowing she could have no further influence.” I

expressed these thoughts as carefully as I could, hoping whoever it was

would take them down accurately.

Every evening for some two weeks I was questioned. Each period of

questioning lasted about an hour. When each bout was ended I was

burning as with a fever. The questions were personal and plentiful. The

subjects were continually changed, covering the entire Imperial family

and the palace staff, as well as the household employees. Many of these

questions seemed so impertinent to me that one night I burst out, “Why

are you asking me all this?” They replied, “We only want to know.”

Gradually I began to take in my outdoor surroundings. Not far away I

saw a haystack. Beyond it, a dark vastness, perhaps a forest or low

hills. During my walks around the house, I noticed that it was square

and squat like most peasant houses. I gathered it was made of wood.

The roof was shingled. I tried to find my tiny window and finally

located it behind the camouflage of hay. I could hardly see it. Now I

understood why my room was so dark.

The house stood some distance from the road and a long dirt driveway

extended from the road to the rear of the house. To one side was a

large shed, perhaps a barn, which apparently did not house any animals

since I heard no sounds from it Occasionally I did hear lowing herds

in the distance. Perhaps one of these cows was responsible for the

milk I received each day. There were no signs of horses or chickens.

But several times I heard a faint train-whistle in the distance. I

never saw any arrivals or departures. Did these men come from the

neighboring houses and walk across the fields? What went on in this

house was a complete mystery to me. Did these two men and the woman

live in this house? There was another young woman. Was she behind the

ill-fitting door? I had only seen the hall and the question room, but

I felt sure there was another room in the house. The furnishings I saw

were meagre. Perhaps this was an abandoned farmhouse or discarded

servants’ quarters attached to someone’s estate. The outside, too, had

a deserted appearance. I noticed some hay scattered near the house. My

observations were all based on what little I could see in the darkness.

I felt sure these people were in someone’s service, or they were using

the place as a temporary hideout.

The men became quite friendly. The woman continued her silent care

of me. The men talked freely, even joked about my recovery. Without

warning, the question I had always suppressed, suddenly broke out. “Why

did you rescue me?” I inquired.

The faces of both men turned red. The man I first met was shocked. The

second man’s eyes blazed with fury. “What is it that you want to know?”

he said.

My feelings were deeply hurt at this coarse reply. My fears returned in

full force. The worst must lie ahead.

It was obvious that I must soon go away, otherwise these people would

pay the penalty. Now I wanted to stay in my dugout forever. It was

mine and I was part of it. I would inscribe my name here, but where

exactly? I had nothing with which to write, no crayon, pen or pencil.

There was a hairpin on the table. Quickly I was out of bed and standing

on the rug. I pulled out the small drawer and set it upside down on my

bed and began scratching my name with the hairpin. I bore down with

all my strength on the bottom of the drawer and formed the letters and

numbers: “A.N.R. 1918.” It could not have been a legible signature but,

such as it was, there it would stay, a witness to my habitation, these

hairpin hieroglyphics.

A few days after this incident the woman seemed to take unusual pains

with my grooming. She braided my hair smoothly. She gave me a fresh

pillow which had a lace edging, sat me up and dressed me in one of her

jackets. She arranged my covers neatly. By the time she had finished

the men were already descending the ladder.

The first man took a small kodak from his pocket and after lighting

several candles snapped my picture. A few days later they returned

with several prints. I had one of these until it disappeared with my

manuscript. The clearest object in the picture was the lace on the

pillow case. How different I looked! My nose was still swollen, my jaw

caved in, my eyes had many light dots.

“Isn’t it a splendid likeness?” the spokesman was saying.

As they turned to climb the ladder, they reminded me of the danger of

their position. “Things are terrible,” they said in unison. “People are

lined up and shot at the slightest excuse.”

I gathered that they were more and more frightened at having me around.

The questioning continued, followed by a walk each time. How could they

think of so many things to ask?

My family would have been surprised at my diplomatic skill. The mystery

continued. I learned no more about the house. After each outing I

was returned to my dugout. Then I began to feel an undercurrent of

excitement which told me that the time of my departure was near.

One day when I was again in the question room, one of the men said,

“We can not stay here any longer. We are taking you to another little

place. It is very risky. Never forget to be deaf and dumb. Speak only

with your hands. We start early in the morning. You will take a short

walk now, then sleep until we awaken you.”

Our outing was brief. Once more I was hustled down the ladder. The

woman helped me into bed and went away. Some time after midnight, the

woman returned. This hour reminded me of the night at Ekaterinburg. I

began to cry. Her worn, white face told me only too well that she had

worked many hours preparing for our departure. She brought me a cup of

milk. Her hand was shaking. I felt a warm feeling of appreciation. I

too was trembling. I spilled the milk. She dried the splash on my dress

and turned away but our souls were knit together.

She rushed me to dress in the same clothes I had worn before, except

that the old dress now had a wide hem. It almost reached to my ankles.

My black stockings were well hidden by my high laced shoes and the

long dress. She tied a babushka around my head.

Silently she handed me a label which had apparently been removed from

someone’s coat or dress. Stamped on brown taffeta in gold were a

double-headed eagle and the words, “Mikhailov Moskva.” Mikhailov was

the name of a well-known Moscow firm. I could not recall having ever

seen such a label and could only guess at her motive in giving it to

me. Possibly she thought I would recognize it and surmise something as

to what had happened to its owner. I still have it.

I asked once more what had become of my old clothes that I had had

on that fatal night. Puzzlingly she replied, “They were so badly

bloodsoaked that I had them burned.” I wished to ask her again what

became of the items I had had hidden in my clothes. I was afraid. I was

at their mercy. I had no choice. There were some fifty large diamonds

and pearls and about twenty-five rubies, emeralds and sapphires.

I took a final glance at the room and thought of the uncertain future

ahead. Now that I was leaving this tiny spot, I knew that I owed it a

great deal. The only thing I had to give it I had already given--my

initials.

In front of the ladder I knelt down to pray for a moment for my dear

ones. I dreaded to leave the dugout for fear that I might never again

visit this part of the world where the remains of my beloved ones no

doubt were buried--somewhere nearby.

My mind went back to a question I was once asked: Why did I always

stand at some distance from my sisters? I now realized that I must have

unconsciously had the premonition that we would some day be separated.

I blew out the candle and groped my way through the room to climb the

ladder, and out through the trap door. A clam was being tom from its

shell.

In the hall I was greeted with a rush of fresh air. Our departure was

to be immediate, with no light of any kind. In a few seconds the woman

led me outdoors.

XXXI WESTWARD TREK

I was conscious of figures mysteriously scurrying back and forth to the

house. My eyes began to focus better and I could see standing a man who

led me to the back of a hay wagon, as if to introduce me to the scheme

devised for my escape. He took my hand that I might feel him unlatch

a little door, then he pushed my arm through the opening, indicating

to me the empty space inside. He guided my hand to the bottom, to the

bedding of hay and the blanket, then the arched roof to feel the hoops

laid closely above. He directed my fingers to the cloth between the

hoops, trying to let me know a covering had been thrown over to keep

the hay from falling through. He made me touch the sides of the wagon

and the arched top covered with hay. My hiding place was to be this

coop, camouflaged as a load of hay. The ingenious plan revealed once

more the risk these people were taking. I stood hesitating between fear

and appreciation, when suddenly I found myself being lifted feet first

through the tiny door. He handed me a bottle of water and without a

word hooked the little door. Locked up in my little cage, I listened.

Footsteps. It seemed there were many. I was anxious to catch every

sound. I could hear nothing. The wagon bent forward as under a heavy

weight. A stronger lurch and we were in motion.

Now I felt like a little calf being taken to the market. Yet I had

reason to trust these people. Their careful preparation, their discreet

silence could be only for my safety. I could not understand them, but

I could not mistake their kindness. Perhaps someone would meet me at

our destination. The serious, elaborate precautions indicated we were

in great danger. This first part of the journey was no doubt the most

critical. Through the rear of the wagon I could see a light. It was the

sun coming up.

I presume we traveled for hours, the horse moving at a steady and brisk

pace. I could tell when we were going up or down. The road was rough

and I was badly shaken. These country roads were in poor shape and full

of ruts. The dust sifted through the partitioned door and filled my

eyes and nostrils. I felt I was suffocating. I could hardly breathe.

My dry throat stiffened. I reached for the bottle, found and removed

the cork, swallowed some water to wash the dust down, and sponged my

face. My cramped coop was long enough to permit me to lie full length,

and high enough so I could easily turn over. I could even draw up my

knees, though I could not sit up. I rolled on my stomach and pressed my

face against the little door to catch any current of air. I hoped they

would soon stop, but dared not call out for fear that my voice would

betray us. The driver seemed to know the road well, as the cart did not

hesitate in making any of the turns. It had no springs and it jolted

brutally and ceaselessly. My head was splitting. Would my wounds break

open? My face was stiff and plastered with a mixture of dust and sweat.

I was miserable. We travelled for a long time. Then light began to

penetrate through the door and the wagon took a sudden turn. A plunge

down and up again, then slowly along a level road with many bends. It

stopped. I listened. Had we been halted for searching? Did someone jump

down from the driver’s seat? Some one was coming around the wagon. It

was one of the men, pushing the hay from the little door.

Suddenly the door flew open. In came a rush of fresh air. Feeling

unsteady I tottered into the arms of the woman. I was glad she had come

with us. She smiled, reflecting my pleasure at seeing her. She held me

for a moment before I could walk around to loosen my tensed body.

It was most exciting to find myself free in the woods in the daylight.

I learned there was no trouble here. We had stopped for a rest and to

care for the horse. My eyes squinted and watered painfully, and I could

distinguish very little. I bathed my eyes and the woman tied a cloth

over them and left me sitting on a log. I lifted the cloth a tiny bit

to accustom my eyes to the light. First I saw some green, then the

forest, then a winding stream and myriads of bushes screening us from

the road--a perfectly secluded spot. Later in the evening we resumed

our journey, stopping several times for a rest. At daybreak the light

started again to seep into my coop. The way the horse turned indicated

we were not here by accident, but had actually stopped according to

plan.

It was a beautiful morning; the dew still on the grass made the air

superb. I could see some deep orange-colored flowers and some wild

asters. I plucked some of those dry seeds from the plants and tossed

them into the air, hoping they would fly through the woods in the

direction where my family was resting. I knew so little of the cruel

facts surrounding my dear ones. If I could only kneel beside their

graves for a silent prayer. But even this was denied me. Water rushed

down a little stream and humming insects flitted about No prison walls

here.

Presently the woman spread the army blanket on the ground, motioning me

to sit on it, and opened a lunch basket. She had some hard boiled eggs,

one for each of us, fried fish, bread. It was a sumptuous feast, and a

glorious feeling there under the shaggy trees, the profusion of pines

and birches, under the deep blue sky--a typical Siberian scene. The

horse stood still munching. The leaves hung motionless, the birds were

quiet; all nature seemed to breath in suspended and sympathetic silence

as we ate our lunch hungrily.

The great sacrifice these people were making impressed me once more

and I felt appreciative. In no time all three were asleep. In order to

make it easy for everybody I had an urge to run away, but because of

the effort these people were making, my conscience would not permit

it. Also probably at the “little place” they knew of, someone might be

waiting for me.

The little brook rumbled on in the quiet of the countryside. It alone

defied silence. The trees stood in a colored hush of yellow, red and

green. The white birch and the trembling aspen beat their wings. All

this indicated it was early fall and nature was ready for its long

sleep. After taking these details of the setting, I realized I, too,

was exhausted.

The men were harnessing the horse and the woman was packing when I

awoke. She was waiting to fold my blanket. I was chagrined to have been

such a poor sentinel, but no harm had resulted. Now the men were ready.

The woman started for the wagon, so I followed, though I could have

enjoyed nature in that spot indefinitely. In a few minutes I was back

in my coop; the men and the woman were in their places. The wagon bent

forward several times and we were on our way again.

We moved steadily and confidently. The way must have been perfectly

familiar to our driver. I did not hear any other passing wagons, nor

was I conscious of passing through any village. I kept thinking about

the beautiful spot in which we had lunched. That day God and nature

were fused together. There in that beautiful resting place the family

had been with me in spirit guiding me in the very air I breathed,

caressing and encouraging me. I imagined I could hear Father’s quieting

words. Even now I thought those words might be directing us. The driver

seemed so sure of the way I became less alone, less suffocated, less

desperate. I could lie quietly. Transcended, I simmered in wishful

dreams. This was the second night on the road. The wagon rumbled.

Another abrupt turn awakened me. I listened. The horse halted. One of

the men was opening the door of the coop. He pulled me out and set me

on my feet. We were in the midst of a thicket. The third stop on our

journey. It was twilight, the sky still holding its sunset colors. The

colors faded into the gathering darkness.

The men worked hurriedly, nervously and anxiously to get through

feeding and watering the horse. It was a short stretching period, only

long enough to eat from our basket and let the horse finish his feed.

Not one word broke the evening silence, not one moment was wasted. Once

more I lay in the coop and the horse started out again.

Even in the dark I could feel a certainty of direction. The horse’s

feet met the ground as if the way was not strange to him. We went on

about the same pace as during daylight. Each moment I was prepared for

any difficulty which might arise. So far there had been no trouble.

Would we travel all night? I could not sleep in the chilling darkness

and I did not suppose any of the others did. Suddenly a lurch to the

left, a short run and a halt. No sounds, only poignant stillness. One

of the men helped me out of the cage. I found myself standing beside a

house. The woman opened the door and walked in. They all seemed to know

this house. Though it was dark, they made their way around, and lighted

a candle. The woman led me to a bed. After she finished with me, she

went out of the room.

It seemed but a moment before the woman was awakening me from my sleep.

I was getting used to the inevitable. It was still dark when she came

in with a candle in her hand. She guided me to a table where milk and

bread was laid out for me. Then she led me outdoors to the wagon which

stood ready. I could see clearly by the light of the stars.

To my surprise, we did not stop at the rear of the wagon. We passed to

the front where one of the men already sat in the driver’s seat. The

second man turned as if to help me up. I looked at the woman, seeking

an explanation. She put her lips to my forehead, pressed my hand, then

gently pushed me toward the man who helped me to the seat beside the

driver. The other man climbed after me. The wagon started, it had two

horses this time. We had left the woman behind! I suddenly realized the

woman had said good-bye. I was never to see her again. We turned out of

the yard, onto the country road. A man on each side of me and the woman

gone. I had misgivings. The men sat rigid, gazing at the pre-dawn

blackness. They were on the alert. To them, leaving the woman behind

was a planned milestone in their hazardous task. Her part was finished,

now it was up to them to carry on.

The woman was protection to me, the last remnant of a feminine world.

We were still in danger, judging by their alertness. I wondered why

I had not returned to the coop. These men were stoical and brave to

attempt this journey at all. Their continual watchfulness inspired

confidence. One of these men had annoyed me with his questions several

days ago. Now he sat beside me.

Each moment took me farther away from the woman. I had taken her

protection for granted. My feeling for her had been a mixture of

wonder and resentment. I always hoped that some day she would talk to

me and tell me what I wanted to know. Now that day was gone forever.

But she had done her part faithfully and I must be grateful. That last

night at the dugout, when we looked eye to eye, she understood what

I wanted most. I would have liked to put it in words. That night I

had felt close to her. Now she was far from me, free to return to her

accustomed way of life. What was her life? On our way, had we dropped

her at her home? This dugout, where I had been so long, was it far from

Ekaterinburg?

The men spoke of Uktus and Mramorskaya. Was one of these the location

of my dugout? It was an irritating mystery. No part of the mystery was

solved and now the woman was gone without telling me a thing.

The men kept peering through the darkness, taking advantage of its

unlimited screen to make all possible progress. My inner darkness

exceeded the darkness of the night. At length the outer darkness lifted

to herald the coming dawn. Soon the majestic sun appeared unchallenged.

I was cold and numb until a quick turn of the wagon made me forget my

numbness.

The horses halted and the men stood up to stretch. They jumped down and

helped me to alight. Then handing me the basket and the army blanket,

they began to unharness the horses. This was the beginning of our

fourth day on the road. I attended to the food while the men cared for

the horses. The basket contained a fresh supply of food--black bread,

eggs and a bottle of water. The woman must have baked the bread for

us, while we were asleep. I found a sunny spot on which to spread the

blanket while we ate.

When we finished they jumped to their feet, folded the blanket and we

were off again. I climbed to the driver’s seat, where we sat three

abreast. We were a family of peasants driving between work fields. My

faded clothes fitted perfectly into the scheme. That day the horses

seemed to know the route as well as the driver. They knew all the

byways. They must have driven these roads frequently. From a hill I

could see a village in the distance. I did not ask their names and the

men did not volunteer the information. We did see some people walking

on these roads. We also passed a few wagons.

When I noticed that the men were less tense, I assumed we were beyond

the danger zone. We were all in a more relaxed mood. We stopped in

another spot and laid out the food, but there was very little left.

They were so tired, they hardly could eat The meager meal was soon

finished and they harnessed the horses. One of them took the blanket

and climbed on top of the hay and spread it out. The other man helped

me up; here I was to spend my night. How imperturbable these men were,

so reassuring when I was most afraid. Their thoughtfulness touched me.

Now that the men could not see me, I could shed the tears I had turned

back yesterday. I fell asleep until the wagon halted again. I sat up

in fright. It was a dark night. The stars were quivering. I heard the

straps fall. The whiffle-tree hit the ground. The horses were stepping

out of their traces. We were to spend the night here. The men stretched

outside beside the wagon.

We had been sleeping for a while when I thought I heard a scream of

some kind. I heard it again. Now it was a shriek, the horses neighed

with a shrill sound and jerked the wagon to which they were tied. The

men sprang to their feet and began to pull some hay off the wagon.

They threw it to the ground and lighted a match to make a fire. Soon

the horses quieted down. I overheard the men saying there were two

wolves.

After this scare it was easy to keep awake. I felt sorry for the men

who were up and down several times during the night. At last dawn

appeared and I heard them stirring in preparation for a new departure.

I combed my hair, using my fingers for a comb and my palm for a brush,

trying to make myself as presentable as possible. I knew I did not look

well groomed but I did not much care. One of the men helped me down

from the wagon, the other brought some water and poured it into my

hands. I washed my face without soap. We had spent the night not far

from a farmhouse known to my companions.

We emerged from the forests into open fields, then another forest.

Judging by the sun I figured we were moving in a southwesterly

direction. These inscrutable men stopped at another byway for rest and

food. We ate bread and washed it down with water. Not a word was spoken

during lunch. Soon we rattled again along the roads and country lanes

without any special incident. We met a number of frail men and women,

and barefoot children wearing tattered clothes. We got out of one rut

only to get into another. The jerks and vibrations were making me ill.

Now the farms were great distances apart. A shortage of seeds in their

shacks indicated a harsh struggle to raise food and keep the family

warm. The condition of the country was such that it permitted only a

bare existence. What went on in the big cities could hardly interest

these peasants. Perhaps these people had not even heard of the massacre

of the thousands of people, of their Emperor and his family. Surely the

chances of meeting with anyone acquainted with the Imperial family must

be remote. Who could associate this pathetic, toothless, faded creature

between these two men with anything royal? I heard later that all the

grain was taken away from the peasants and many died during the winter

of 1917-18. Now the men talked freely about their journey. They even

joked about their fright. But they exchanged only a few words with me.

They did not address me nor use my real name or title.

Late in the evening the wagon halted again. It seemed like an eternity

since the woman had left us. The horses were unharnessed and tied to a

tree. We rested until dawn broke. Now we had no food.

They seemed eager to reach the destination. All of a sudden, in the

mid-afternoon, the horses made a sharp turn and we entered an open

stretch with fields and a few trees on a nearby hill. Below, in the

distance, we could see a village. The horses were unharnessed, hitched

to long ropes so they could graze at will. The men stretched out by the

wagon and soon were sound asleep. I had no idea where we were.

In the early evening, the men awakened. They jumped up and shook

themselves, saying, “Let us get going.” We were leaving the horses and

wagon behind and taking off on foot. They looked back several times to

make sure the horses were safe. I had become fond of those horses and

hated the thought of leaving them. Soon we were three abreast. We began

descending the hill, then went up and down several times until we could

see the village more clearly. One of the men gave the other directions

and then returned to his horses. The second man and I started down the

small hill to the village. As I looked back I saw in the dusk only the

figure of our departed companion going up the hill. Now my hostility

toward him was lost in the widening distance between us.

How long could I walk in my huge and uncomfortable boots? Would my

wounded left leg hold up? In spite of all the care I had received,

it continued to pain. The ground we walked on was rough. It was hard

to keep my feet from sliding around in my boots. It was dark when we

reached the village. Several dogs barked and ran out in the street,

and then turned back to their houses. Here and there in the windows

flickered an occasional candle or a kerosene lamp. All was quiet in

the streets as if the villagers had turned in for the night. We kept

walking until we reached a small dimly-lighted house. My companion gave

two short knocks on the window and a tall lean man with a cane came to

the door. He held the door open for us and said, “I have been expecting

you for the last two nights.” I extended my hand to him. He held it in

both of his hands, kissed it, and looked into my eyes, without a word.

A tear rolled down his cheek. He stood in silence ... overcome with

emotion, then said; “My dear, you must be tired and hungry after such a

trying trip.” His voice and words were touching and more friendly and

warm than I had heard in several months. He drew me to a chair at a

table and when I was seated the two men sat on either side of me.

XXXII ALEXANDER

“Did you have any trouble getting here?” my host asked.

“Very little,” answered my companion. “We used a few matches--only

three are left--to set fire to some hay in order to drive away two

wolves. Matches are scarce these days.”

“Do you want some?” asked my host, handing him some loose ones.

“Thanks,” said my companion, “It is very pleasant here, but I must not

stay long.”

“Marushka,” called our host, “tea, please.”

Immediately thinly sliced ham with cheese and bread were placed on the

table, also a small samovar. My host was surprised when I refused the

meat (a great luxury it was) but since Ekaterinburg I had not been

able to stand the sight of it, remembering the shortage. I felt guilty

taking sugar in my tea, but my host insisted and I took a lump but did

not stir the tea in anticipation of a second glass. It was refreshing

to us all.

As we finished, my companion said to me, “You are indebted to this

gentleman, not to me. He saved your life.”

As if to end such embarrassing conversation, my host stood up and

handed my companion an old, thick envelope, brown from age. The

envelope was so thick that I thought it must have contained paper money

and perhaps some jewelry. My companion lifted the flap and glanced

inside it as our host said, “Take some bread and cheese to your

friend. He must be hungry.”

“Are you really leaving?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “my part is done.”

I did not know what he meant, but I did feel confidence in my host.

Meantime I thanked the man for everything he and the others had done

to help me. I began, “There is nothing I can offer you, but my deep,

deep gratitude and appreciation. In the name of my family and myself, I

thank you for what you have risked for me.”

He bowed and was gone. Each good-bye was less of Russia. That part of

my rescue in the little room beneath the house was over.

The man had said that I owed my life to my host. What part had the

latter played? I did have a sense of security with him. He seemed like

one of my own people. I felt I could talk to him freely and find out

who he was.

“Is this your house?” I ventured.

“Yes and no,” he said. “The cottage belongs to a former estate.

Marushka’s husband worked on this farm but now he is missing in the

war. The woods and fields you crossed were also part of the estate. One

section used to belong to a family who were relatives of the Giers of

the Ukraine.”

“Was there not a governor by that name?” I asked. “I remembered meeting

him and his daughter.”

“The very same,” my host agreed, and I felt a common bond with him.

Just then Marushka came in and announced everything was ready for me. I

thanked my host and followed her.

The house contained two rooms besides the kitchen. The host slept in

the room in which we had tea. Marushka and I occupied the other room.

I slept on a cot, Marushka on a narrow wooden bed next to the wall.

On a stand stood a basin, a pitcher with water, soap and towel, and a

lantern. I discovered this house, like many others, did not have inside

conveniences.

Next morning outside the window I saw a vegetable garden. A small dog

completed the friendliness of the house. He would sniff around every

time I bathed the wound on my leg. When I shed a tear, as I washed, he

would look at me soulfully as if to sympathize. He licked my hands. I

was drawn to him right away and could not entertain the thought that I

might have to leave him some day. He followed me everywhere in the day

time and slept by my cot at night, as if to protect me from danger. You

might have thought he had always belonged to me.

In the morning my host said, “We will not hurry. You need the rest and

time for your wound to heal better. We will remain here a week or so.”

I was glad to hear this for he had already made me feel so comfortable

in mind and body that I was glad to wait. He seemed to want to talk.

After weeks of silence it was a treat to converse.

He said his name was Alexander, that he was an officer during the war.

He had received the St. George’s Cross for his distinguished service

in the Russian Army. He had also been decorated with the medal of St.

Vladimir, 3rd class, usually given to commandants of large units. He

knew my Father’s mother, and on one occasion had met us children at

G.H.Q. when he had come to see Father.

During the war he was wounded in the abdomen and was nursed at the

hospital in Kiev or Rovno where he had met my Aunt Olga. One evening he

talked of my Father, saying His Majesty was kind, really too kind. He

was so patient and understanding through his banishment. Only Christ

could understand his suffering. Their Majesties suffered a long time.

He bent his head and tears rolled down his cheeks. “It is all finished

for all of us and for Russia.”

I remembered my Father’s tears on that final night of July 16th-17th

after his talk with Yurovsky.

My host and I wept together. I breathed a prayer of gratitude to God

for such a sympathetic and good friend. We had many talks together,

but we did not touch on the subject so delicate to both of us. For the

present neither of us felt equal to it. I wanted to hear of my rescue,

yet again I did not, because of my family. He avoided the subject,

fearing the effect the truth might have on me. We did talk of my life

beneath the house. I told him of the excellent care the woman had given

me, and said I was frightened by the various questions the men asked me.

“They questioned you?”, he said. “What about?”

“About my family, the imprisonment,” I answered. He was surprised at

this news.

“Do you think they knew who you were?”

“Yes.” I said, “They never came out with it, but, judging from their

questions, I suspected they had guessed.”

“Then we must leave immediately,” he said. “There will be trouble.”

He seemed agitated and called Marushka to get things ready. It was the

third evening I had been with my host. Now we must cut short the week

of delay we had both looked forward to.

On the fourth day, long before dawn, my host and I took to the road.

It was early September, by the Russian calendar. I became aware of the

date from a calendar hung in Marushka’s room. She used the previous

year’s calendar, having changed the dates on it. Marushka, weeping as

she did so often because of the loss of her husband, saw us to the

door. We said a quick good-bye, and the little dog stood puzzled. It

was hard to shut the door in the face of my little friend.

We were off. I carried nothing. My host carried a small canvas bag

containing some food and a salve for his wound. We walked without

event, and by late morning we were near a small town. My companion was

quiet. At times he did not seem sure which road we should take. We

rested about an hour; then suddenly he said, “I know now where we are.

I see the church steeple over there.” He began to tell me that he was

familiar with this part of the country. After walking several more

hours, we came upon the ruin of a factory. We sat on the fallen bricks

and ate our lunch. We had bread, hard-boiled eggs and a bottle of sour

milk, and we purchased some apples.

For the first time, I knew approximately where we were. Passing the

ancient city of Ufa, high up on the banks at the junction of the Ufa

and Belaya Rivers, we had a beautiful view. We could see the vast stone

quarries and stone cutting mills spread before our eyes. There were

many chimneys, a witness to the size of Russian industries. But no

smoke came out of them.

Part of Ufa was inhabited by Bashkirs, but now there were very many

foreigners who were purchasing grain from the government, exchanging

precious stones and platinum for the food sold or given them by the

Bolshevik leaders, while the Russian people were not able to purchase

their own products.

Here we stayed well into the afternoon, when my host surprised me by

saying, “We are lucky that the train is leaving on this day. We will

take the train from Ufa.”

We remembered that the depot was on the other side of the town, but

when we reached it, we found no train there. We were told that the

train had stopped farther down the track. We followed the track for a

distance until we found the train standing. There were many peasants

but the foreigners with their loot were boarding it first; some of

the peasants even got up on the roofs of the cars. We finally managed

to get into the doorway, but had to stand up all night. There were

facilities on the train, but the rest rooms were packed with people.

We were afraid to get off the train for fear of not being able to get

back on again. Our next stop was a small town named Bugulma. Here we

changed to another train to go on to Simbirsk (since renamed Ulianov,

after that heinous Tsederbaum-Ulianov-Lenin). We saw the Volga River

at one of its most beautiful spots, the picturesque city of Simbirsk

lying high on the bank, its many church steeples spread out before

us. Suddenly I remembered what Miss Rita Khitrovo, former lady in

waiting, had said of her ancestors, who had founded Simbirsk, and how

we had hoped to make a trip to this historic city when the war was

over. Palisades had been constructed here by the Boyar Khitrovo in the

seventeenth century to defend the city from the Tartars.

Every Russian knew the song “Stenka Razin” about the famous Volga River

robber, and that the many legends about him originated here. We saw

the monument dedicated to the Russian historian, Karamzin. At Nicholas

Garden, Alexander pointed out to me the Club of the Noblesse.

Seeing all this I felt a great pain in my chest. We passed the Convent

of the Redeemer. I begged Alexander to let me enter it, since no one

would know my identity. Alexander refused to listen to me, saying that

many priests and nuns had already been driven out of convents, and many

had been killed. It was no time to remain in Russia. It was dangerous;

it might betray our whereabouts. So I had to be content with a prayer

every time we passed a church. The sight of those holy sanctuaries

lifted my spirits and calmed my nerves.

Alexander seemed to know this city, for without hesitation we walked

some distance from the station to a wooden gate leading to a small

house. He knocked on the door and an attractive lady of some forty

years opened the door. Her name was Alexandra. They were happy to see

each other.

“You look tired,” were her words of greetings.

“I am,” he said, “my side is troubling me.”

“You need a rest, I will have tea ready in a minute.” She invited us to

sit down.

“Nikolai will be back any minute; he will bring some bread,” she said.

“Usually the bread line is quite long and one must start very early in

the morning.”

I was not prepared to find such a lovely lady in this house. I wondered

who she was and what her relationship to my host could be. She was

very aristocratic looking. Soon Nikolai, dressed shabbily in civilian

clothes, like Alexander, arrived with a loaf of bread tucked under his

arm. I could see he was a warm friend of Alexander. He was delighted to

see us and said he had rather expected us. He and Alexander chatted at

length while we drank our tea.

As we finished, he turned suddenly to Alexander and asked, “How did you

ever happen to go to E.K. (that is, Ekaterinburg)?”

Alexander answering at length: “I wanted to join Admiral Kolchak’s

army but was arrested and put in prison for a time. While there, I

had a fresh attack and they let me out of prison. Instead of going

to a hospital, I went to Ekaterinburg. There I met a priest by the

name of Father Storozhev whom I visited several times. He informed

me of the desperate condition at the Ipatiev House. It seemed he had

been summoned to conduct a service there and was alarmed about the

consequences. He suggested I contact a man by the name of Voykov, who

was in charge of hiring the guards and other workers. I applied as a

worker, but did not get the job.

“One day I went to the guard house next to the Ipatiev House where

I became friendly with the guards through a guard whom I had met

previously and with whom I later played chess. I returned to the guard

house several times. Some of the guards were jolly but rough; most of

the outside guards were Russians, former convicts. They did not object

to my presence. They remained guarding the house to the last. The

inside guards, I was told, were replaced by foreigners two weeks before

the tragedy.”

Alexander was right; they were foreigners, mostly ex-prisoners of war.

It was as if Alexander were taking the opportunity to tell Nikolai, in

front of me, what had happened. He felt that I ought to know.

“I saw Father Storozhev a few days before the night of July 16-17th,”

he continued. “I went to the guard house again, after dark, because the

priest had given me a feeling of danger. I did not tell him where I was

going nor did I see him again. When I came upon the guards with whom I

played chess, I saw most of them had been drinking heavily.

“They asked me to drink a toast to Comrade Yurovsky; he sent the liquor

in appreciation for their services. I refused to take anything pointing

to my wound. ‘Never mind, tovarishch,’ one of the guards said. ‘More

will be left for us. You are sick and only good for the dogs.’ They

seemed to be drowning something in drink. I am sure they were not aware

of the forthcoming murder. I began to feel uneasy and feared there was

real danger. I was afraid to leave the place. I wished I had four or

five armed men with me. After dinner it was announced that no one would

be allowed to leave or enter the place. They looked at me and said

jokingly, ‘We have a new prisoner.’

“Some of the guards left drunk for their various posts. With several

other guards I entered the courtyard. I heard a truck drive up to the

house about eleven P.M. I offered the truck driver to help him back up

the truck. He accepted my offer. It flashed through my mind that this

truck might be for the purpose of secretly taking the family away.

After a while the driver fell asleep, giving me the opportunity to get

into the back of the truck. I lay down flat in the back of the truck.

Imagine the shock when I felt warm, twitching objects thrown next to

me. I knew then what had actually happened.”

At this point Alexander burst into tears. I ran out of the room. I had

been hoping he would say that some of my family were still alive, but

he denied it with his tears.

Only twice was the subject again brought up, once by Alexander and

later by Nikolai who told me the rest of Alexander’s heroic rescue.

From fear, Alexander remained in the truck, horror stricken and unable

to move, realizing his dangerous position. He had no choice but to lie

there quietly next to still warm and twitching bodies. If discovered,

he too would have been shot. That night most of the guards were drunk.

The truck moved rapidly out of the courtyard through the streets and

then slowly over the bumpy country roads, the wheels sliding out of

one deep rut into another. Suddenly Alexander heard a moan among the

bodies. As the truck turned at the bend of the road, he picked up

two bodies and tossed them into the bushes. The guards on horseback

being far behind, Alexander jumped into a ditch and lay among the

bushes until he knew they had passed. Returning to the bodies, he

quickly examined them. One appeared to be lifeless. He wrapped the

live one with his coat and carried it a long way to the first house

he could find. It was the house with the dugout underneath. Alexander

took notice of the location, which was in the vicinity of Uktus and

Mramorskaya. The long walk with the heavy burden caused his wound to

rupture, and infection set in on the side of his abdomen. He was ill

and soaked in blood, not knowing what to do. He took a chance in asking

unknown strangers to care for me, offering them a generous reward.

If these people had known from the beginning who I was, they would

probably have refused to care for me for fear of being discovered. One

of these men kept Alexander informed of my condition. This explained

why our journey from our little hiding place to Alexander’s cottage was

so dangerous. I told Alexander and Nikolai about having some valuables

sewn in my clothes. They said that that was perhaps another reason

why my clothes had been burned and why they cared for me the way they

did. They were well paid. Alexander also paid them through the brown

envelope. How much was in it, I did not ask. He did say that I was

fully clothed when he delivered me to the house and that my clothes

were soaked in blood, probably from that of the others as well as my

own.

When I left the dugout, I carried with me only the blood-stained

handkerchief, the piece of blue glass, and my soul. If any one is still

alive from among those who were with us in Tobolsk, he would recognize

the handkerchief as the one seen in Tobolsk.

Alexander said nothing about leaving Simbirsk. I took it for granted

that we would be moving on, but was grateful for the respite in which

to get hold of myself. All I had heard had unnerved me. I suspected

Alexander needed a rest for our strenuous trip ahead. On the evening of

our third day a truck drove up. Alexander and I said good-bye to Mlle.

Alexandra and were on our way again.

Alexander sat on the front seat with Nikolai, and I sat in the back

on the straw-covered floor of the truck. We drove through the night

with only the customary stops in wooded spots for rest and to change

drivers, Alexander seemed unusually thoughtful; he was continually

trying to spare Nikolai and me all he could. He made attempts at light

conversation.

“We missed the hottest month of the year; it is usually in July, and

January is the coldest,” he said.

I learned the truck belonged to a factory in Kursk, where Nikolai was

employed by the new government in some industrial capacity, and the

truck was to be delivered there. We continued our journey in the truck

until late in the afternoon, when we stopped in a wooded spot with

tall poplars, birches, walnut and elm trees which grew profusely in

this area near Penza. We rested a while and then proceeded toward the

city, an old historical site. We made some purchases of food here,

although the prices were prohibitive. Alexander noticed a woman selling

shawls. He approached her and asked for the price. It was so high that

he glanced at me disappointedly--he knew I was cold as I had no coat.

The woman came close to me and stared into my eyes. I was frightened.

She said she would take only one-fourth of the price she had first

asked. She selected the best one and placed it on my shoulders. When we

left, I turned back for a glance at her; she was making a cross in our

direction. Alexander hurried away, as I limped along next to him. At

the time the cruel murder of the Imperial family was already known in

Russia. Here we met people of many races, Tartars, Buriats, Kirghiz and

others.

We passed a lovely square with beautiful trees where the Lermontov

monument stood. Descending, we passed Sadovaya Avenue. It reminded me

of the Sadovaya in Tsarskoe Selo. The canal, the pond, the orangeries,

the Chinese Village, the Siberian blue bridge and the palace all came

to my thoughts.

The truck rolled on. Nikolai glanced at me. I knew he felt sorry for

me. Both men watched me tenderly giving every kindness to make up for

the loss I had had some weeks ago. I was appreciative of all their

attentions and hoped to cause them no unnecessary trouble.

When we passed Tambov, Alexander said he had some friends in Voronezh;

perhaps we could get a little rest there. We arrived in Voronezh in the

afternoon and stopped in front of the Convent of St. Mitrophanes. With

my companions’ consent, I walked into the convent and asked if I might

rest there for a few hours, while Alexander and Nikolai went to see

their friends and a doctor. Here the kind nuns washed my clothes and

prepared a hot bath for me, washed my hair, and dressed the sores on my

leg which looked infected.

In about three hours, when I was ready to leave, they packed some food

for us, all they could spare. While I prayed with the nuns, I was

seized by a most extraordinary feeling. Three times I felt a breeze

flying over my shoulders. My lips froze, I turned around and sensed

nothing. In my mind I saw my family in the church in Tsarskoe Selo,

entering through the small side door the Feodorovsky Sobor where we

prayed with our beloved escort. The choir in the Feodorovsky Sobor

with its beautiful voices sang throughout with such perfection that

one wished it would never come to an end. I also saw my loved ones in

Tobolsk in the winter church. Coming back to present surroundings, I

realized that I stood alone among a few humble women. There was only

a murmur of voices within these sacred walls. I thanked God for the

kindness I had received in this convent. My heart found peace and I

felt refreshed. I often wondered if they knew who their guest was.

As I came out of the convent, I was horrified to see Alexander

approaching, his face pale, grief-stricken and excited. He said, “There

is no use going to the Crimea. I have just heard from responsible

sources that your Grandmother, both aunts, their husbands, and all

their children have been killed. We also learned from a relative

that Vostorgov (a high clergyman in Moscow), together with a great

many others, were assassinated last month. Among them were the young

Ministers Maklakov and Khvostov, who had replaced the old Minister

Goremykin, Minister of the Interior.”

That Khvostov’s wife, Anastasia, had been shot in Moscow, I had learned

previously. I could not cry but shook as if in a state of fever. All

this distressing news pointed out our own danger. I had hoped that in a

week I would be in the Crimea with my relatives.

We heard, too, what had happened in Sevastopol. The revolutionists

had killed and tied stones to the feet of the young cadets and thrown

them into the Black Sea. Their disappearance was a mystery until a

young woman on her way to market saw some bodies and reported them.

She was turned away from the scene and was not allowed to enter the

street where the bodies were seen. Later a diver went down and came up

screaming. “They are alive and walking on the bottom of the sea,” he

claimed. He had lost his mind. A second diver discovered the bodies

were upright; heavy stones were tied to their feet and the waving

motion of water made them look as if they were walking.

Only fate helped me to listen with fortitude to this heartrending news

about my relatives. Later I learned that the report about them was not

true.

Alexander had also heard that late one night in June, 1918, Uncle Misha

and his English secretary, Nicholas Johnson (who thought his presence

might help the Grand Duke), were taken away into the woods near Perm,

and mysteriously disappeared. Unfortunately they had been executed, as

I learned much later.

Father was right, the taste of blood begets an epidemic.

Having heard all this about the Crimea, we knew that going there was

out of the question, so we did not, as originally planned, go through

Tula, which, I was told, seemed like our best route. We went instead

to Kursk where Nikolai delivered the truck. While he was delivering it,

we purchased some food. The price of bread was not so exorbitant, but

we paid outrageous prices for the other products. Now we were headed

for the Rumanian border.

When we first started this trip we passed mountainous fir-clad

country--with many ravines. Now the country was much flatter and

dotted with many granaries. We walked through forests and cut through

the muddy wheat fields. We rested, then walked some more. We slept in

farmers’ sheds on straw, glad of any place to keep dry, as it rained

almost every day. We crossed railroad tracks, we saw rusty freight

cars full of sacks of wheat. All were moldy, and the wheat was growing

through the burlap sacks while the people were starving, forbidden to

take this grain. Later on, when we ran out of food, Alexander bought

some wheat from a farmer and both men ate a little of it. I would have

eaten some, too, if I could have chewed it. The grain swelled inside

of them and both men were uncomfortable, drinking water whenever they

could. We heard that many had died who had eaten raw wheat.

We were not far from Kremenchug (on the east bank of the Dnieper)

where, according to a letter we had received in Tobolsk, Lili Dehn was

living. I would have liked to join her. Fighting was going on in the

area. We continued our westward trek.