PART IV Tobolsk

XVIII ORIENTATION

I had pictured the house in the midst of woods, but when I saw it surrounded by a high wooden fence still being erected, it gave me a feeling of loneliness and fear. When we crossed the noisy, wornout wooden sidewalk and the gate closed behind us, we were prisoners. Paradoxically the name of the street was Svoboda (Freedom).

With us came the following: Our faithful friend General Ilia Tatishchev, General Valia Dolgorukov, Dr. Eugene Botkin, M. Pierre Gilliard, Countess Anastasia Hendrikova and Mlle. Ekaterina Schneider; also Miss Alexandra Tegleva, a nurse and her assistant, Elizabeth Ersberg, and the chambermaids, Miss Tutelberg and Anna Demidova; Father’s servant, Terenty Chemodurov; Mother’s servant, Alexei Volkov; and Ivan Sidniev, the servant of us four sisters. Also there were our brother’s personal attendants, Trup, Ivanov and Markov, and his male nurse, Klementy Nagorny; a writer, a hairdresser; several cooks including Kharitonov and his helper, Leonid Sidniev; and other help. About forty people came with us. Later came Mr. Sidney Gibbs, our English tutor, and Dr. Derevenko, who were permitted to join us and resume their duties. Still later Baroness Buxhoeveden, a lady in waiting, followed, joining us on the boat on the day we were leaving for Ekaterinburg. This does not include the military personnel, which numbered about 300-400.

The house itself was quite nice. Our quarters on the second floor were smaller and more crowded than those we were accustomed to. We occupied three bedrooms: one for my parents, one for Alexei, and the other for us four girls. On this floor there was a big hall with a piano and a comfortable divan, tables and other pieces of furniture. Next to Alexei’s room was a room for his male nurse. Father’s study was in a corner room at the head of the stairway. We also had a balcony which we found extremely pleasant when the sun was out. From it Mother watched us when we went for a walk in the small yard. Often we went out on the balcony to see the sunset and the view of the cathedral and the low mountains in the background. It was beautiful; the sun seemed so much brighter than in Petrograd or Tsarskoe Selo.

The arrangements of the first floor were the same as on the second. The rooms opened on both sides of a long corridor which ran from the front to the back of the house. The closest room to the vestibule was occupied by an orderly officer on duty. M. Gilliard’s room and the dining room were on this floor, as were the remaining quarters used by our household. But later the larger rooms had to be divided by partitions to make two rooms out of one, in order to accommodate everyone possible. Almost all the rooms had parquet floors, and on the second floor we had some of our fine Persian scatter rugs and others, all sent to us from Tsarskoe Selo by Makarov. Most of the remainder of the staff was housed across the street in the large residence which belonged to a rich merchant named Kornilov. Extra maids had accommodations in town.

Our walks were not exciting, because of the limited space, which consisted of a small garden, where there were some Siberian irises, and a part of the street and a part of a square joined to the garden by a high wooden fence. This space was always guarded by a dozen or more soldiers on the outside and by that many more inside. In the back of the house there were the temporary barracks built to accommodate the guards. From here they could observe all our activities. We played ball or tug of war among ourselves; and occasionally other games with the guards. Father was always present at these games.

We began to feel almost natural in our prison house. The small quarters took the form of a home and we settled down into a peaceful routine. From the absence of shooting and rioting, it was evident the revolution had not reached this part of the country. In fact, everything was so quiet it was hard to believe it could be Russia.

One of Father’s complaints was the lack of news. We were completely isolated. We did receive a locally published newspaper containing mostly hearsay. No first hand information freshened its pages, nor did it contain any foreign news.

Now and then Commissar Makarov and the guards inadvertently dropped some news. Our friends from across the street were at liberty to enter the governor’s house and resume their duties. They even were permitted to see the town, but we could not go out. Thanks to Colonel Kobylinsky, our first two months at Tobolsk were quite pleasant. The house came near to being the kind of home that Mother had always longed for--one in which we could be close to each other. No external duties claimed any of us, not even Father--a situation that made him restless.

There were many guards everywhere, but they, like Colonel Kobylinsky, had come with us from Tsarskoe Selo and knew us as submissive prisoners. They became our friends and we chatted with them freely. The colonel was very kind; Father nicknamed him “our friend.” There was no friction because we complied with every demand. They trusted us but still they watched us as they were ordered to do.

Our food was simple but nourishing. Our own chef, Kharitonov, and his helper cooked to our satisfaction. In living this simple life, Mother became much stronger. She ceased to fret over the wounded soldiers, whom she could no longer help, and she found compensation in her writing, painting and religion and in our close family life. At least, we were all under the same roof. She had her one wish: the right for us to belong to each other. Our being together went a long way to soften our captivity.

At first it was very difficult for Mother to adjust herself to the new experience of housekeeping, managing personally and coming in direct contact with the attendants. The sudden change from many servants to a few was very confusing to her. She had not kept house for some years; even while living with her Granny she had devoted her time to her studies. Since these servants had to assume duties which were strange to them, we sisters helped Anna and Tootles in their daily work. Operations were not always smooth but the servants were willing and adaptable and above all loyal. After a while Colonel Kobylinsky gave permission for several maids from Tsarskoe Selo, who were willing to come, to join us. But the sudden changes in Tobolsk kept them waiting there for weeks and in the end they never were able to enter the house.

At this time we had a few letters from different friends but nothing from our relatives in the Crimea. The latter were constantly in our minds and we wished so much to be near them in that beautiful country, among all those flowers and near the blue-green sea. Then, as if by mental telepathy, Colonel Kobylinsky arrived, his pale face beaming with excitement, and handed a letter to Father from Aunt Xenia in the Crimea. It calmed us, but at the same time left in our hearts a painful and lonely feeling which stayed with us incessantly. Later a number of letters came from that distant land. One such letter took six months to arrive. Father wrote short letters as there was always the fear of bringing trouble to the recipients.

When shortly our English tutor, Sidney Gibbs, arrived in Tobolsk, he brought us first hand information on the happenings in the Crimea and the conditions in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd.

The older men who came with us from Tsarskoe Selo, especially of the First and the Fourth regiments became our friends. They were kind to us and could not understand why we were held prisoners. These men loved Alexei, and to them he still was their Tsarevich. Those good fellows brought him gifts, which they proudly presented to him with loving smiles and touching words. I will never forget the time when one of these men spent many evenings carving a puzzle out of white soft wood. It was chain-like and every turn made gave it a new design. Another man made for him a set of wooden Kalmuk toys, from the great-grandfather to the tiniest baby boy. They fitted into each other so skilfully that when all together they formed only one big great-grandfather. Alexei was touched by these gifts. We knew all these men and the families of some of them. Knowing their financial condition, we felt sorry for them.

The soldiers of the Second regiment, who at first were unpleasant, had by now become actually insolent. They formed a Soldiers Committee under the direction of a man called Arnold Goldstein who came to Tobolsk about a month after our arrival and at once started to poison those men. All other individuals who came to Tobolsk were at once arrested but this man was allowed to stay and make trouble. The committee asserted its authority over the officers whom Kerensky had sent when we first arrived in Tobolsk. The friendly spirit that prevailed in our prison was reported. Stern orders bounced back. Our kindly guards had to step aside, and radical ones took their places. Colonel Kobylinsky tried to resist but, alas, it was a losing fight.

Shortly after we reached Tobolsk, the young townspeople had a dance on the street, called “Krugom.” The girls were dressed in handsome embroidered red babushkas and the boys in high boots and pleated trousers. The dance starts when one of the girls calls her boy friend by his name, saying please come. He takes off his fur cap and the couple dance in the middle of the circle while the balalaika and accordion play and the participants sing a song--the words of which usually center on water, birds, the moon, etc., all taken from nature. The boy then kisses this girl, the girl of his heart, and asks her to dance with him. The girl then calls another man who in turn invites his own girl. The first couple drops out and the procedure is repeated.

Father liked the Siberian climate and the fabulous splendors of the sunrise and sunset over the mountains and the soft clouds hiding the distant hills. We too found it agreeable and peaceful after the turbulent months we had just gone through. But these tranquil few weeks came to an end all too soon. We shortly learned that one of our former ladies in waiting, Mlle. Rita Khitrovo was in Tobolsk. Her unannounced arrival caused us a great deal of apprehension. We felt that our Russian teacher, Mlle. Bittner, in whom Colonel Kobylinsky was interested, might find an opportunity to exaggerate the reasons for Mlle. Khitrovo’s presence in Tobolsk and thereby create an incident which would have serious repercussions. Once Mlle. Khitrovo was seen talking to a member of our staff across the street, and making a cross with her hand toward the balcony on which we were standing. Immediately after that she was arrested and sent away. The letters she had brought with her were seized and were not delivered to their owners until after they had been censored. Following this incident Kerensky ordered that all persons coming to Tobolsk must be registered.

As a result of this incident Commissar Makarov who knew of Khitrovo’s coming was relieved of his post and replaced by Commissar Pankratov and his deputy, Nikolsky. Pankratov, despite his prison record, was kind to us. His knowledge of languages and his taste for art and literature betrayed his cultural background. This middle-aged man often used to tell us sisters about his experiences in prison. Yet never once did he complain. Instead he admitted his guilt. He was a man of fifty with dark hair. He made a notation on every letter received and often delivered our mail, most of which was addressed to him, saying that he was glad that our friends had not forgotten us. Once he told Marie that no harm would come to us while he was there.

Nikolsky was a Pole of disreputable background. He was rude and fanatic and had an uncontrollable temper and hatred. He immediately ordered everyone to have his picture taken and to carry a card showing the name, age and day of birth, because he had had to have his picture taken and carry a card while serving a prison term for killing two men.

Our schedule for the week was made up by Olga and M. Gilliard. Our friends were the only gleam of light in our daily life. To change the atmosphere it was decided to stage some plays in which the staff and we children could take part. A stage was put up in the big hall on the second floor, which also served us as a school room and later as a chapel. All our friends from across the street were asked to these performances to share in this diversion. Olga was in charge of the music, if such was needed. Alexei was not very keen about taking part in the plays and often begged for someone else to take his role. There was always an officer present at these performances. But soon rapidly changing conditions no longer permitted us these recreations.

Our day began at eight in the morning with breakfast served to us and our friends in the dining room downstairs. It consisted of tea or weak coffee. Olga had hers with Father in his study, and Alexei his with Mother. At 9:00 A.M. we younger sisters took our lessons in the big hall, but during the cold spell, before the house warmed up we started the first lesson in bed with Mother. We wore in the house our woolen leggings or boots and were bundled in warm cardigans. Our instructors were M. Gilliard, Mlle. Hendrikova, Mlle. Bittner, once a teacher at the gymnasium in Tsarskoe Selo. Father continued with the history and geography lessons. The classes lasted from 9:00-11:00 A.M. Alexei had his lessons in M. Gilliard’s or his own room. Afterwards we went out into the yard for a half hour’s exercise before our luncheon at 1:00 P.M.

Father and Olga ate luncheon with us in the dining room. Mother and Alexei had theirs upstairs. Our luncheon consisted of soup, meat or fish and sweets. From two to four we went out again and helped saw wood behind the greenhouse. Mother seldom went out with us in the morning. Alexei joined us in the afternoon after his rest and, when the weather permitted, Mother sat in a chair in the sun, sewing, knitting, writing or painting. When indisposed she stayed upstairs. Sometimes she played the piano and sang, mostly religious pieces. From 3:45 to 4:00 there was a short break for tea, for the family only, during which Mother poured the tea herself. The lessons started again at 4:00 and lasted until 6:00 or 7:00 P.M. Dinner was served at eight; the menu was the same as that served at luncheon except that we had no dessert. Mother always was present at these meals. After dinner, coffee was served upstairs. While Father poured, all stood up except Mother. We could not help noticing that usually there were thirteen persons at the dinner table, seven from the family, and six from the staff. Occasionally Dr. Derevenko and his son were asked to dinner, also Colonel Kobylinsky and Mlle. Bittner.

During the first few weeks the food was satisfactory; this did not last long because many products became scarce and prices went sky high.

It was decided to raise our own food. Within a month we had many chickens, turkeys, and ducks that enjoyed swimming in their little pond which we had made by diverting a small portion of a brook which ran through the garden. The horse stable was used for pigs and even the greenhouse was converted into a chicken coop.

Soon the people learned of the hour of our walks. They tried to get a better view of us through the cracks between the boards, and many of them kneeled down in prayer for us. Even Kalmuks who are Mohammedans raised their hands and prayed to Allah for us, without being afraid to do so. To many millions, the Emperor and Empress were still the Father and Mother of Russia.

In October before navigation on the river stopped for the winter, and after his enforced return to Tsarskoe Selo, our friend Makarov sent us from there some warm clothes and rugs, curtains, linens and other needed items as well as some provisions.

During Kobylinsky’s administration we were permitted to go to church on Sundays and holidays. The church services were held at 8:00 A.M. when it was still dark. We assembled in the yard and proceeded to the church flanked on each side by sentries. The church was a short distance from the house and in getting there we had to cross the street, pass through a small park and onto another street. Father went into the church first, followed by Mother, Alexei and then us sisters. Some of the guards entered the church and stood behind us while the others remained outside, waiting near the steps. On our return, after the service and as a mark of honor, the church bells kept ringing until we entered the house. This procedure however was changed by Nikolsky who, in a childish show of authority, ordered that the ringing of the bells be stopped before we reached the gate. Church services for us were strictly private and the public was not permitted to participate in the services while we were there. Instead they waited outside, and as we left the church they kneeled and kissed the ground after we passed as a sign of their love for the family.

When Dr. Derevenko came to Tobolsk with his son Kolia, it was a joy for Alexei. The two boys played together, read and wrote little stories. Alexei was happy to have a friend to play and eat with. But this did not last very long. One day Nagorny carried a letter from Alexei to his friend Kolia. It was nothing more than childish play. Nikolsky searched Nagorny and found the letter. He immediately went to Pankratov with it, saying, “You see how easily they can smuggle letters out and who knows what else?” Kolia was forbidden to come into the house, and only occasionally were they permitted to play outdoors under the watchful eyes of the guards, provided they kept at a distance from each other.

For weeks Mother had been suffering from neuralgia. Now her teeth caused her a great deal of pain. Everyday she waited patiently for her dentist, who was to come all the way from the Crimea. I never knew of anyone who suffered so much and still had so much patience and never complained. On the arrival of Dr. Kostritsky, he repaired Mother’s false tooth and one of my front teeth which had been damaged. He brought us news from Granny and both our aunts who were in the Crimea. From a previous letter we had learned that Grandmother was ill and was complaining about the shortage of food and the fact that her belongings had been taken away from her, news which distressed us considerably, especially my Father. We had also received a charming letter concerning Aunt Olga telling us about her baby son being driven in a carriage drawn by a small donkey. I remembered when I was a little girl I rode in a small wicker chair strapped on the side of a pony. The news brought by Dr. Kostritsky was cheerful on the whole.

Finally Dr. Botkin’s children, Tatiana and Gleb, arrived in Tobolsk. We hoped that they would join us in our class work, but even that was denied us and we could only see them from the second floor window.

The situation was gradually getting worse. Nikolsky was stirring up more hatred among the soldiers and poisoning their minds with false doctrines.

Dr. Botkin spent several hours with Father, telling him of the conditions in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd. We now had a fairly good idea of the existing situation in our country. We heard that Pravosudovich, head engineer of the Imperial personal train, had been shot; also that Kerensky, his relatives and his friends were splurging at the Catherine Palace, indulging in all kinds of luxuries, of which we had deprived ourselves at all times, especially during the war. Kerensky and his friends were driving in our cars and carriages, and even some servants lay at his feet. Within a short time this man who not long ago had appeared on our threshold in Tsarskoe Selo, with men whose past was steeped in crime, was now enjoying all the luxuries of which he deprived the original owners.

We had several letters from Anna Vyrubova and even some packages. We gathered from her letters that Anna was having a terrible time, though her language was cryptic. She was forced to assume her maiden name in order to avoid persecution. All our mail that came through the regular channels was censored and the contents were known to Colonel Kobylinsky. Father tried to discourage the sending or receiving of mail secretly. He even asked his own relatives to address their letters to Commissar Pankratov, in order to avoid any misunderstanding. Father wrote only a few letters, primarily to his mother and to his sister Xenia.

We had news from the English sisters of mercy in Petrograd, and from the hospitals in Tsarskoe Selo; also we heard from Countess Orlova-Davidova; from Shura Petrovsky, whose husband was one of Father’s aides-de-camp, and from Liuba Khitrovo, sister of Rita Khitrovo who had been arrested in Tobolsk. The news we received indicated untold tragedies. Many officers were shot after they recovered from the wounds. The Provisional Government cared little for these helpless men.

We heard that the people wanted their Emperor back and that the Army was hostile to the new Government, refusing to take orders from the former convicts, spies and invaders, and that it wanted to get rid of Communist agitators around the country. Again Kerensky refused to sanction this proposal, because he wanted to retain all power in his hands, even though it would mean the destruction of Russia. Father knew then that the country was lost. We heard all kinds of stories. One concerned a boat caught sailing in the dark on the Volga River without the permission of the authorities. On the shore, it was discovered that this boat carried six bullions of gold, each worth a fortune. When asked where they were taking this loot, the persons aboard replied that they were taking it to the village of one of the leaders.

Kerensky made many blunders. He prevented the Army from crushing the revolution at a time when it was ready and willing to do so. The soldiers of our regiments, who came with us from Tsarskoe Selo, complained to General Tatishchev that they had not received the allowances that Kerensky had promised they would receive while they remained with us. As a result they were discontented. Many of these men had to meet their family needs. Some of them were able to obtain extra jobs, but those who were not able to do so became angry, which strengthened their sympathy for Bolshevism.

A few weeks before Christmas came the shocking news that Kerensky’s Provisional Government had fallen and that the Bolsheviks had taken control of the country. He was now receiving a dose of his own medicine. The persecutors were more lenient and less cruel toward him than he was toward his Emperor and his family. General Tatishchev told us that when Kerensky was betrayed by his colleagues--the Bolsheviks--he jumped from the second floor of the Winter Palace in order to save his life and in his haste to do so left the belt of his tunic behind. It was said that Prince Volkonsky was an eye witness to this heroic performance. A brave man, indeed. An Emperor without portfolio, a minister, a lawyer, an orator, and Napoleon, all in one.

There was talk that if the Ukraine were to go to Germany, Father would be placed on the throne by German help. Father said, “Never will I or my son accept the throne with the help of the enemy.”

We learned that the Winter Palace had been plundered and that many of its treasures were in the hands of foreign bandits from both hemispheres who came to our country to rob, take and plunder. They pulled down our tricolor flags--white, blue, and red. White stands for snow, blue for the heavenly sky and red for the blood spilled in defense of our country. They hoisted their own flag over the Winter Palace. They removed the double eagles from the buildings and were burning them on the streets before the eyes of respectable citizens. They emptied the historical treasures preserved for generations by our forefathers, the pride and wealth of Russia when she was in her glory. These treasures were sold abroad. The wine cellars of the Palace were broken open and the mob drank so much wine that some of them literally died from it; the rest of the old wines were poured from the bridge into the Neva River.

The secret police still was working at the time of our arrest. Before our exile the names appearing below were given to my Father which he remembered and made us remember. When some of these men found it necessary to escape from Russia for their lives, they were given sanctuary by other countries, instead of being tried for their crimes against the Russian people. These men dared to look into the eyes of Russians knowing what they had done to them, and how easy the Russian people had forgiven them all the wounds they had inflicted upon them.

Communism was founded and organized by these men whose real and assumed names follow.

_Original names_ _Changed to_

Bronstein _Trotsky_ Tsederblum changed to Ulianov then to _Lenin_ Apfelbaum _Zinoviev_ Rosenfeld _Kamenev_ Goldenberg _Mikhovsky_ Krachmann _Zagorsky_ Hollender _Mieshkovsky_ Tsederblum II _Martov_ Himmer _Sukhanov_ Goldmann _Goriev_

We were told that Tsederbaum (Tsederblum?), Lenin’s father, was arrested for murdering a policeman; his sons were very young. One son was brought up in Simbirsk by a well-to-do half-Kalmuk and half-Christian family by the name of Ulianov. The other sons were with Lenin’s uncle, Tsederbaum. While in college both boys met secretly with other boys and inspired them with revolutionary ideas, such as the derailing of the train in which the Emperor and his family were riding; as a result many people were killed. One brother was hanged; the second, Lenin (Ulianov), ran away; and the third was in hiding in Russia until the revolution when he reappeared. There were two brothers who are mentioned above in my list which was given Father while in Tsarskoe Selo. Later in Tobolsk and more so in Ekaterinburg, additional names were given to us to remember, the names of men with whom we actually had contact. Unfortunately I can only remember now the names of about twenty-five out of a total of approximately one hundred.

One morning Colonel Kobylinsky arrived in Father’s study. With tears in his eyes he informed Father that a peace treaty was to be signed, but that prior to the signing the old Russian Army would have to be demobilized. Father said that this terrible move by the Bolsheviks was dangerous not only for Russia but also for the world; that this move on the part of the traitors should now make the Russian people realize that they were being deceived. I cannot describe the feeling it left on us. Father was a prisoner, trapped like a lion in a cage, thousands of miles away.

But going back to Kerensky, it is significant that when he was in danger, he did everything to save his own life. But he never stopped to think that he was the one who had sent the Imperial family to the distant, frozen North. Did he give a thought to the fact that the unfortunate victims were trapped by the traitors and by the bribed convicts, and not by their own people? Now we could see why he had ordered the arrest of everyone who came to our aid and who was willing to risk his life, as well as ours, to save us. Kerensky had given his word of honor to Father that he would protect us. He knew what these men were like and what they were doing. I often ask myself the question: did he do it intentionally? Will one ever know?

If Kerensky was sincerely interested in protecting us, he could have ordered the train in which we were traveling, under the Japanese Red Cross flag, to proceed to Vladivostok from where we could have gone to Japan whose Emperor was quite friendly with Father and would have given us the protection of his country. During the war we had a visit by two young Japanese Princes who brought beautiful gifts for Mother and us from the Empress of Japan. They also visited Father in Mogilev.

Now the Russian people were helpless, numb as from paralysis. With stunned eyes they watched the nightmarish happenings in their country, the wiping out of their possessions, and the tragic end of their families.

XIX WINTER

The days passed rapidly as winter approached, the cold was relentless. We were glad of the warning to bring warm clothes. December was very cold and it continued through the months of January and February. The house was unbearably cold and our bedroom was like an ice house; even a glass of water had frozen solid overnight. Our rooms were large and each had only one tile stove, providing scant heat against the raw winds that forced themselves right through cracks in the windows. Even Mother, who always preferred cool rooms, complained of the cold. The only time the house ever felt warm to us was on coming in from the icy outdoors.

Mother’s arthritis began to give her serious trouble, her joints and fingers became swollen. She suffered a great deal of pain and was not able to write or paint as much as before. Tatiana had a gift for nursing. She knew how to care and comfort the sick. She massaged Mother’s frostbitten hands in a bowl of warm water. Mother’s eyesight troubled her, too; her glasses no longer helped, since she needed new ones. The cork on the bridge of her frame had broken off and she felt this increased her sinus condition which bothered her to the very end. After a long debate a doctor came and she at last had her new glasses. Now she spent a great deal of time in theological studies and writing in the old Slavonic language.

Father’s joints were swollen also, but my saintly Father never complained lest he might worry us.

We all were supposed to keep our diaries. Alexei made only occasional entries. Whenever he was encouraged to think of something, he wrote “The same old thing.” I too lost interest, for fear that writing what took place in our daily lives might cause us trouble. Olga and Tatiana wrote a great deal, but right after our parents left, General Tatishchev suggested that they burn all unnecessary papers. Olga’s poems and Mother’s poems and paintings all went up in smoke.

Our dogs always went with us on our walks. They were our constant diversion; they saved these outings from complete boredom. We envied their retrieving sticks we threw and jumping happily, since we ourselves felt cramped. Every morning my own dog Jemmy announced her arrival by scratching frantically at the bedroom door. Her happy mood made us forget our troubles. I carried her up and down the stairway, because her legs were too short to climb the stairs. Her long silky ears got into everything. Her long tongue was always out. The poor animal did not know that a few months later her happiness would end in Ekaterinburg.

For months before Christmas we worked on gifts for everyone who came with us from Tsarskoe Selo. We had some yarn on hand and some was sent to us by our friends. Mother made waistcoats, mufflers, mittens, socks and wristbands. We tore apart old blouses and fashioned them into handkerchiefs and then embroidered initials on them. Pieces of silk were made into fancy bookmarks--some of which we painted and some we embroidered. We wanted to surprise our friends with these gifts, in appreciation of their loyalty to us.

Mother, however, seemed to have a premonition of trouble. First, she was worried about Anna, who, she thought, might be in trouble for sending letters and packages to us. Mother warned Anna to be careful about sending people with messages. She feared they might betray us. And so it happened. The least suspected person was Soloviev, husband of Matriona, Rasputin’s older daughter. Soloviev came to Tobolsk several times with letters and packages. Even Olga and Marie called the situation to Mother’s attention, and suggested that Anna should let the officers handle matters and not the Yaroshinsky-Soloviev clique; but Mother said that Anna would die before she would betray us.

In the evening we gathered in Father’s study which was smaller than our other rooms. Father read to us and we sewed until our fingers became so stiff we could hardly hold the needles. But there was a richness in that room that made us reluctant to complain. Sometimes we played dominoes, bingo, or durachka, a card game (resembling five hundred) which Father disliked. Tatiana played bridge best of all, while Mother’s favorite was bezique. Ten o’clock was bed time for us younger girls, but Alexei used to retire at eight. Later on when life became monotonous, Mother asked our friends to join us in the evening. Some played games and others read.

Father also brought with him his diaries and his letters. These had been confiscated in Tsarskoe Selo but were returned to him when nothing incriminating was found in them. We sat around Father in the middle of the room, away from the draft of the windows, listening to his reading aloud. I am sure his heart felt sad as did our own. We learned many interesting events that took place before and during Father’s reign. Father wanted Olga or Tatiana to write a history of present events as soon as we were free, and for that reason he wanted us to remember every event that took place before and after our arrest and during our life in Tobolsk.

Our letters to friends were harmless; some went through Colonel Kobylinsky’s hands and were read by him, but some were not. Later, when we were in Ekaterinburg, we were shown photostatic copies of these letters carried back and forth by Soloviev. Then we realized he was a spy. Once in Ekaterinburg, Mother in her dark hour said, “I warned Anna again and again to be careful of what she was doing, and now she has made another mistake.” After this Mother never again mentioned Anna’s name. I hope she did not leave this world with this bitterness in her heart toward her friend, who unfortunately brought one serious trouble after another not only to Mother but to the whole family. Olga and Marie always opposed Anna but Mother resented anyone saying anything against her friend.

It had been promised that when Baroness Buxhoeveden arrived, she would be staying with us. We fixed her room ourselves and the final touches were approved by Mother. It was Christmas week when she reached Tobolsk. The day she was supposed to come to the house, Colonel Kobylinsky notified Father that he wished to speak to him. He informed Father that the Soldiers’ Committee decided against her joining us. Not having money Iza and her English assistant organized English classes in town and found many people enthusiastic to study this language. She met us only on the boat when we left for Ekaterinburg.

On two occasions, the icon of the Image of the Holy Virgin was brought from the Abalak Monastery to the Church of the Annunciation for services which the family attended.

The first time was November 14th, old style, the anniversary of my parents’ wedding. We had prayed before this icon in the Monastery and were deeply moved to be able to do so again. The church bells rang as we left the church and continued until we reentered the house.

The second time was on Father’s name day--December 6th, old style. No one was allowed to enter this holy place while we were there. At the end of the service, as though nothing had changed, prayers were offered, ending with a Mnogoletie (“Long Life for the Imperial Family”) as had always been done before the revolution. We were surprised at the priest’s courage. Father’s face turned white and we all glanced at each other. Olga’s pale face turned faintly red, and she wiped her eyes. We wondered if there was going to be trouble ahead. There was. They promptly demanded the death penalty for Father Vassiliev, but he was saved, though not for long. He was sent away by Bishop Hermogen and was replaced by another one. The nuns too were taken away.

We were now forbidden to attend church services, but after hours of pleading with the Soldiers’ Committee by Colonel Kobylinsky, we received permission to attend church services but only on the twelve principal holidays. From now on the restrictions became more severe.

Finally Christmas eve arrived. Mother presented everyone with one of the gifts we had been working on for months. The villagers too were thoughtful. They sent us two Christmas trees, one of which we sent to our friends across the street, with whom we shared some delicacies that were sent us by the Ivanovsky nunnery and by the head people of the local museum. In the evening, vespers were held in the big hall and we were grateful that there was no interference. We looked forward to the Christmas morning services at the church.

Somehow I felt a sadness as we walked along the path packed with snow. It was cold and dreary and at eight in the morning still dark. The sky overhead was heavy. It gave me simultaneously a feeling of loneliness and apprehension. It was so quiet that only the crackling of the frozen snow under our feet broke the stillness. We did not speak to each other; each one was occupied with his own thoughts. It is quietness like this that awakens one’s heart to fond memories of the past. We crossed the small garden and with my mind’s eye I could see the museum, the little park, and in it the proud obelisk dedicated to Yermak, the conqueror of Siberia. A short walk, but my thoughts covered thousands of miles behind the frozen plains of Siberia. I could see our Grandmother, our aunts and their children, and our friends, and I wondered if they had forgotten us. Above all I thought of our old homes, where I had spent sixteen happy years of my life. All seemed so cold and so far away.

My thoughts came back to Tobolsk. Only recently we had discussed with our friends here the historical background of this town. It frightened me. I thought of the chapel adjoining the Metropolitan’s residence where the Bell of Uglich was formerly hung. This bell summoned the people of Uglich when Prince Dimitri, son of Ivan the Terrible, was murdered in 1591. By an order presumably given by Boris Godunov, this bell was transferred to Tobolsk, where it was damaged by fire and recast. We too were transferred to Tobolsk, by Kerensky.

Father realized what the prison life had done to his family. We once overheard Father saying to Prince Dolgorukov, in the presence of Colonel Kobylinsky, that his heart was aching for his little family whose life which had just begun was about to come to an end. He continued, “During my whole life I tried to serve my country faithfully, and if I have done wrong I am willing to suffer for it. I am not sorry for myself or my wife, but for the children. It is a crime to punish these innocent youngsters. They are so pure and so good. They are the children of Russia.”

On New Year’s morning we went to church. It was one of the twelve holidays on which we were permitted to attend services. The new priest officiated but he appeared nervous. Then we heard that our former priest, Father Vassiliev, who had officiated at the previous service, had been taken away from the Abalak monastery. He was then tied, beaten and thrown still alive into the Tobol River in front of the monastery. It was very cold that morning. The temperature often went down to 25°-35° below zero. The church was unheated but dimly lighted, and we could offer only one candle apiece. Although we were provided with rugs, even then our feet were numb from the cold, but our hearts found comfort, warmth and hope ahead. Due to the extreme cold, my sisters and brother became ill again with the German measles. This time, however, they were not so seriously ill as the previous year.

Through General Tatishchev Father was informed that we could not go to church on Epiphany day, commemorating the baptism of our Lord, which falls some twelve days after Christmas. It was decided to build a movable altar in a corner of the big hall on the second floor, where we took our lessons and gave our plays. Mother busied herself by supervising the placing of the icons in their proper places. The priest and the four nuns came to the house for the Divine Liturgy and the Blessing of Water. Father and we children sang with the choir which consisted of some members of our staff, including Nagorny, Alexei’s servant, who had a very fine voice. At the end of the service, according to custom, the priest dipped the cross into the water and with it sprinkled the water in the air in the shape of a cross. We all kissed the cross but when Alexei’s turn came to kiss it, the priest bent over and kissed his forehead. It touched Alexei deeply. This kindness meant so much to the little, frail boy. To the last he never forgot this courtesy, nor did we. We “broke bread” with our friends in the dining room downstairs.

It was on this day that Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev pleaded with Father to have his epaulettes removed. For the sake of his family, finally Father gave in. Right then and there something died within him. He did keep his St. George’s Cross and the French Croix de Guerre. He was very proud of them. Father told his valet, Chemodurov, that General Tatishchev should remove the epaulettes before brutal hands touched them. With a painful expression the general removed them. I remember when the St. George decorations were given to Father and Alexei. General Ivanov sent Father’s friend Prince (Toly) Bariatinsky to present these decorations while Father was home for a few days.

Practically buried by snow, we were permitted to make a mountain. Hundreds of shovelsful of snow were carried up and covered with water, which froze immediately. The process was repeated until a good sled course was built. We helped our friends, Prince Dolgorukov and M. Gilliard, as well as the soldiers, until we were exhausted.

January 12th/25th was Tatiana’s twenty-first name day. After the Te Deum, which was held in the house, we all extended to her our congratulations. Even the soldiers of the Fourth regiment presented her with various blooming plants and flowers. Except for Mother, we had no gifts for her.

We heard that Felix Youssoupoff was killed. Mother said, “God forgive his mistakes.” Later the rumor was denied.

We had a swing in the back yard, but Nikolsky’s men at night wrote vulgar words on the wooden seat board. We were forbidden to go near it until Dr. Botkin, Colonel Kobylinsky or Pankratov had examined it. Our outdoor exercises were limited to the small space allotted to us. Each day they found something new to accuse us of. One afternoon Alexei was on the front steps before the house, which were protected by a wall about 2-3 feet high on either side. He heard some children on the street and climbed on top of this wall which was about 35-40 feet from the fence. Nikolsky saw Alexei from the window, and like a bullet ran out of the house and loudly reprimanded the little boy, who had done no harm. From then on we feared him.

From the window, hungrily, I watched the children romp and play all wrapped up like little bear cubs in bright red felt boots. They rode around in bright colored orange or red sleds, or were drawn by plucky little horses which reminded me of the Crimea. These ponies looked so warm in their winter “coats” and so alive as they tramped over the packed snow with their bells ringing and jauntily pulled their sleighs behind them. I pressed my face against the window. The jingling bells outside and the icy cold of the window cutting into my cheek inside were cruel substitutes for my great desire to go sleigh riding myself.

Nikolsky taught the soldiers all kinds of communistic doctrines which he called Yurovsky’s teaching. At that time we did not know who this evil Yurovsky was. The hatred Nikolsky taught to the men, he was to experience himself. Soon afterwards the soldiers drove Nikolsky out. Unfortunately, old Pankratov had to go too. His going was a loss to us because he always defended us. From what we heard in advance about the new commissar who was coming from Ekaterinburg, we were apprehensive.

There were many repercussions in store for us. All the old soldiers of the Fourth and First regiments, who had come with us from Tsarskoe Selo, were ordered to leave. Before they did so, however, they came quietly one by one to Father’s study to say good-bye. Almost all of them cried as Father embraced them and thanked them for their loyalty to us. One of them brought a small body icon for Father to remember him by, and another one brought with him a small notebook which he asked us to autograph. Two men from the Fourth regiment refused to leave the place, saying that they would stay to guard their Emperor. At the point of a gun they were taken away and later we heard that they were shot, near the river. When the last several hundred men were leaving, they assembled on the street behind the fence in front of the house. We all, even Mother, went part way to the snow mountain to see our friends depart. We were never to see them again. The whole family and all around us were crushed by their going and, as they went, our hopes left with them.

We derived a lot of pleasure out of tobogganing on the snow mound we had worked so hard to build. But our pleasure lasted only one month. To the guards the snow mound was a sore spot and we tried to pacify them by not going to its top, so as not to attract the attention of passers-by who often gathered on the other side of the street to watch us. Notwithstanding, the Soldiers’ Committee decided to have the mound demolished. We soon heard heavy chopping and pounding in the garden, and we knew then that the snow mound was being destroyed. They cut deep notches across the mound so it could not be used for tobogganing and in order to prevent us from looking across the street. We showed no resentment at what they did, although in our hearts we felt differently.

Now we had even less space for exercise than we had had before and we tried to amuse ourselves as we elbowed each other in the yard. We looked at each other understandingly even though no words were uttered.

More bad news reached us, that agents of the underground, friends and relatives of the men listed previously, continued to pour into Russia from foreign countries by the thousand, followed later by Generals Pilsudski and Ludendorff and Count von Mirbach, the German Ambassador. We were told that all the buildings in Moscow including all of the Imperial quarters in the Kremlin were taken over by these intruders. These men ordered that the Russian Army be disbanded and that all German and Austro-Hungarian prisoners of war be released from the camps. These camps were scattered on the important railroad lines and mining regions throughout the territories of Omsk, Tomsk, Tiumen, Ekaterinburg, Cheliabinsk and other cities.

Up to now Father had refused to allow himself to be depressed. But this time he no longer was able to hide his feelings. He suffered painfully, because he believed his Allies, in whom he had had faith, had failed to help him in these difficult times. They could have prevented these men from coming to Russia. Instead, passports and other documents were issued to them. Father said again that fifty years from now there would be no democracy left, that when Russia falls the whole world will fall with it. A year later, when I recalled these words, in 1919, I wrote in my notebook, “Only the future will tell.”

Father was so distressed that he often sat up at night with only a little flickering lamp in the corner of his study. Mother knew that Father could not sleep. We heard the cracking of the floors which were more pronounced at night. She had left her bedroom and gone to him. We heard her say: “Nicky, are you not tired? Can you not sleep? I came to keep you company, dear.” Said Father: “No, Alicky, I am not tired. I thank you for thinking of me.” Such words of devotion and understanding always rang in our ears.

The only joy we had at this time was whenever we heard from our family or our friends. We longed so much to see our aunts, especially Aunt Olga’s baby. Aunt Xenia’s letters described to us the little man so charmingly that we felt as if we knew him.

XX DANGER

After Nikolsky and Pankratov left, Colonel Kobylinsky brought back the key to the balcony which Nikolsky had taken away. Now Mother was again able to sit on the balcony in the sun. For several months we lived quietly and peacefully. But when the new guards came, our lives saddened.

One day Olga was found crying. She had been unhappy. She said that she had been observing the developments and believed that we were doomed. Father sent for Colonel Kobylinsky who admitted that danger was creeping upon us. Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev believed she was right and thought we should escape before the new commissar from Ekaterinburg arrived. But our parents refused to leave Russia, and would not think of separation. We humbly bowed our heads and accepted the inevitable.

All of a sudden a change came into our lives. The Bolsheviks turned their binoculars on us. One day Colonel Kobylinsky informed Father that the Imperial family must go on rations, because keeping us was too heavy a burden on the Communist regime. Each one of us was to receive 600 rubles per month, the same as the soldiers. Father knew nothing about the cost of the operation of our establishment. He asked M. Gilliard, who was the most practical of all, to set up a budget and Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev to help him. When they came with figures, it was concluded that ten servants had to be discharged. My parents became terribly distressed and made all kinds of excuses: this one had a sick mother, another had an invalid son, a third was the sole supporter of his motherless children. What would happen to all these families who came here from Tsarskoe Selo? It went on and on. At last Gillek (M. Gilliard) and General Tatishchev made their own decision, and ten servants came to thank us for treating them so kindly in the past. It was sad losing them, though we could not foresee how fortunate they were.

The new commissar from Ekaterinburg arrived and we heard that he had brought with him about one hundred men, all fanatical Marxists. He was a red-faced brute by the name of Zaslovsky, with a bad reputation.

No sooner had the new young men arrived than trouble developed between them and the old soldiers who had refused them entry to our residence. They became angry and threatened to storm the house. Colonel Kobylinsky and Zaslovsky were bargaining all night downstairs. We dressed and sat up expecting trouble. Long after midnight we heard familiar voices in the corridor. Colonel Kobylinsky sent for more guards to insure our safety. We heard some foreign voices coming from outside the gate, then a loud voice saying, “I am following the orders of Colonel Kobylinsky. I cannot let you in. Then speak to him.” As a result of this incident Colonel Kobylinsky wanted to resign but Father persuaded him to stay with us. We felt that his presence was helpful to us, even though we knew that he had no power over the new soldiers.

Father believed that at least ten of the new men were disguised former officers. However, if they were former officers they were helpless, because Zaslovsky ordered more men from Tomsk. These men boasted that they had killed the director of the Cadet School and destroyed the headquarters of the Fourth Siberian Army Corps stationed in Tomsk. They said that they had burned the house on Father’s estate in the town of Bernaul on the river Ob and had killed the superintendent in charge. Father had inherited several big estates with large milk and cheese plants in Siberia. Tons of these products were distributed every year to different charitable institutions. Father had visited his estates during the construction of the Trans-Siberian railroad. Zaslovsky bragged that they had already destroyed the gold smelting works and had taken away all the available gold. They also tried to plunder the monastery at Tomsk but were driven away by the monks. This is the monastery that was referred to previously.

Zaslovsky brought us much misery and inexpressible horror right from the start. He ordered us to keep from five to six feet away from the fence, and to go out only under guard and only for thirty minutes twice a day. Our outdoor exercise consisted mainly of cutting wood. We performed this humble work in the back of the building cheerfully and without complaining, and by so doing we helped members of our household whose duty it was to supply the house with wood. Zaslovsky had our house searched and several items belonging to Father were taken away.

Each day brought some new deprivations or restrictions and some fresh heckling by the guards who took pleasure in humiliating us. In return we acquiesced in their demands, disarmingly, at least outwardly. Following Father’s example we accepted everything. Among the soldiers only a few good men were left. In the past, each relay of guards had started out to be severe, then gradually softened. But not these men. They were a dangerous lot. In order to avoid trouble Father and his friends--all of them understood carpentry--had earlier built a ladder which led outside to the top of the roof of an unused greenhouse, which had already been converted into a chicken coop. They also built a platform where we could sit in the sun without being seen from the street.

More restrictions were put on us. The last two days before Lent are by custom days of merriment during which the people enjoy themselves at concerts, balls and in many other ways. Zaslovsky, fearing riots by the people, forbade us to leave the house during those two days. The schools were closed and there was a constant flow of students from the gymnasium. They were gay; we heard the bells ringing; the children were expecting to see the monkey and to hear the organ grinder, who had stopped before the house for Alexei to witness the spectacle and to hear the children sing and play. But Zaslovsky had locked the balcony door and had taken the key back to the office. We heard loud voices outdoors; the guards were driving the students and the youngsters away with the butts of their rifles. The youngsters ran and the students cried: “Go back from where you came, you unwelcome guests.” Zaslovsky said he would shoot anyone who came near the fence. In spite of the warning, the passers-by continued to walk past the house, even more than before. When the people saw us in the window, they always removed their caps and bowed low.

Sorrow and dread were our constant companions. We woke up with sadness, and went to bed in sadness. Father tried to read to us, but the silent interchange of fear muddled the thread of the story he read. He tried to make his voice firm and hopeful but it did not have the ring of former days.

Up to now we were able to send and receive some letters from our relatives in Ai-Todor in the Crimea. Now we heard that the mail service was being discontinued. However, we continued to receive some letters. Since Zaslovsky’s arrival we had stopped writing letters as we knew that they would not be mailed. The last letter we received from the Crimea told us that the family there had been separated. Aunt Xenia with her family and Grandmother had been moved to the chateau of Dyulber, belonging to the Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevich. Though they were not far from the Youssoupoffs at Koreiz, still they could not see each other.

A few weeks before our departure for Ekaterinburg we received a letter from the family through a peasant woman from the Crimea. She had carried this letter surreptitiously thousands of miles. Through her, in return, we sent a letter to the family in the Crimea, together with a photograph of the family--one of the few we had taken in Tobolsk. It was our last link with Granny and our aunts. The very last letter we received came from Irene Tatishcheva. A few of our letters were returned to us undelivered.

We huddled closer together, not so much for warmth, as to feel the strength of each other’s presence. In the evening we dreaded to think of what the morning would bring. Morning returned with the same overhanging fear. Mother’s first words were: “Thank God for the night just past and for the breaking of the new day. Also for giving me such a good family. The Almighty is watching over us.” Then Father read from the Bible some reassuring message.

Our brief walks around the yard brought us no inspiration. They were cut shorter. Mother assured us that God was with us even in our trials. No harm could come to those who had faith in Him. He is putting us to the test. What good is our religion if we are not victorious over suffering? So we continued to endure, brightening the darkness in our hearts with the trust that in time God would lead the way to our safety.

Not being able to attend church was our hardest punishment. Mother especially missed this spiritual support. It had helped us. We had found there the answer to our prayers, and temporary relief. Tatiana made her decision to sacrifice her life in search of theological subjects. She became stronger and firmer in her belief and spent part of the day in reading the Testaments. Mother was a tower of strength to us. She was full of resourcefulness and hope, continually replenished by faith. We felt sure our fate was in the hands of God. This trust in Him made Father calm and resigned. He was one of those who had the truth within him. He carried his grief silently and maintained his high spirits for the sake of his family. We shuddered at the thought of being separated and clung closer together.

Suffering had made Mother meek and more tender and her soul had grown stronger. Under Mother’s influence Olga composed a prayer which follows:

Give patience, Lord, to us Thy children, In these dark, stormy days to bear The persecution of our people, The tortures falling to our share. Give strength, just God, to us who need it, The persecutors to forgive, Our heavy, painful cross to carry And Thy great meekness to achieve. When we are plundered and insulted, In days of mutinous unrest, We turn for help to Thee, Christ-Saviour, That we may stand the bitter test. Lord of the World, God of Creation, Give us Thy Blessing through our prayer, Give peace of heart to us, O Master, This hour of utmost dread to bear. And on the threshold of the grave, Breathe power divine into our clay That we, Thy children, may find strength In meekness for our foes to pray.

Zaslovsky hated everybody. He even kicked our friendly dog Lisa, because the dog wanted to make friends with him. He also beat the dog in the yard and stepped on our cat without any reason. He said that before he left he would do away with all our pets. We suffered and our animals clung to us. When they heard his loud voice downstairs, they all ran and hid under Mother’s chaise longue. Eventually the soldiers drove Zaslovsky away and he went back to Ekaterinburg.

In the meantime our finances were getting low and Anna Vyrubova made an arrangement with a banker named Yaroshinsky to send us some money through Soloviev, the husband of Matriona, Rasputin’s older daughter. Marie and I knew Yaroshinsky from Tsarskoe Selo. He had financed Marie’s and my hospital and we had seen him occasionally. He spoke poor Russian with a Polish accent. He told us once that he had an uncle who was a cardinal in Italy. Soloviev was entrusted with several thousands of rubles and some letters to be delivered to us. We did not know Soloviev but knew that Anna trusted him and that he had delivered some letters to Tobolsk previously. We received only thirty thousand rubles out of the three hundred thousand that were sent to us by Anna. Later in Ekaterinburg we were shown copies of all letters and records of the money, which Soloviev took as a payment for spying on us. Because he was the husband of Matriona, Anna had confidence in him in financial and other matters. Dr. Botkin told Father that Yurovsky said that Soloviev and Yaroshinsky were friends of General Pilsudski, Lenin and Trotsky and of Voykov (who later, it seems, signed the death verdict of the Imperial family).

We still had about 35-40 employees whose wages we were unable to meet. Food became a problem. We had no sugar, coffee or butter. When the good people of Tobolsk learned of the conditions in the Governor’s house they sent us whatever they had. Some of the merchants and the heads of the city had met Father in 1891 when, on his way home from Japan, he had made an extensive tour throughout Siberia. At that time the museum of Tobolsk was established and Father deposited a great deal of money in the Imperial banks for the upkeep of this museum. Magazines and articles were sent to us and we read them with interest. Incidentally it was twenty-seven years later, in July also, when the murder took place in Ekaterinburg, July 16th-17th, 1918.

One morning we awoke to an acute misery; Alexei was ill. The dreaded disease had returned. And now our previous deprivations seemed insignificant. The youngster’s resistance had been lessened. He was thin and unable to take the food offered him. As always Mother nursed him. Her care for him was the same but her affection for him had changed. My heart tells me not to say that, but conscience tells me otherwise. Alexei sensed it. I remember how much Mother loved her precious “Agoo” and wanted to have him close to her on the chaise longue. I can still see this little boy under a blue silk and lace cover lying on her chaise, or later, his hand in her hand, going into his bedroom to say a prayer. M. Gilliard and all the others knew of the change on Mother’s part, and they gave Alexei more love now to make up for the loss of a part of his Mother’s affection. We sisters became much closer to him, and our hearts formed as one and this one we gave to our unfortunate brother and to our Father who suffered so much.

Following the incident when Nagorny was caught carrying a letter from Alexei to Dr. Derevenko’s son, the Doctor was not permitted to come to the house. But now his services were needed and he, at last, was allowed to see his patient.

When the conditions became dangerously bad, following Nikolsky’s departure, Father wrote an important document about the war, which was placed in a safe place until a change in the Government should occur. At that time it was to be released to the proper authorities. It was left in care of four men and it was endorsed and countersigned by at least four persons.

A treaty between Bolshevik Russia and Germany was now in the process of being signed. We were told that one of its provisions was that the Imperial family was to be brought to Moscow unharmed. Evidently the Germans suspected that our captors were dangerous and would not spare our lives. Father feared if the family went to Moscow, he might be forced to sign the treaty in order to save his family’s life. He said: “Now the people know who are the real traitors to Russia. All these years they have been accusing Mother for being a spy and wanting to sign a separate treaty with Germany.”

Father blamed the downfall of the Russian Army--our national pride--on Kerensky, Guchkov, Ruzsky and Shulgin. He said that now Germany would get all kinds of concessions, which would reduce Russia to poverty, but that Germany would not enjoy these concessions. The treaty was prepared in advance by Tsederbaum, Bronstein, Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld and others--better known to the world today as Lenin, Trotsky, Zinoviev, Kamenev. Not many Russians among them, but traitors. I well remember that as we sat one evening, Father said to Prince Dolgorukov, “Valia, you remember the time when I refused even to consider a separate treaty with Germany. I would not accept any appeasement after the loss of thousands of lives and all the property damage. I was determined to bring Germany to her knees. Even if I had signed a separate treaty, Germany would have paid for all the damage done, and now she is going to get from the traitors anything she wants.” Father went on, “Germany will not enjoy the things she has done to us, and our Allies will not either. They are digging their own graves and soon they will be buried in them. If Russia falls, the whole world will topple with her, and within fifty years from now there will be no democracy left, believe me, Valia.” I remember the last words as though they were spoken only yesterday.

By betraying his country he would have bought freedom for himself and his family. Every soldier knew that Russia was betrayed and that the propaganda about my family was totally untrue. But they were helpless. Father never lived for himself but for his people; they sinned against him and still he loved them. Mother said the time would come when they would stand before Him to answer for murdering our country. The Bolsheviks had every reason to remove Father and all male Romanovs, because by so doing they would eliminate all interference with their plans, and no emperor would ever be in power again.

Lenin had a personal hatred for the Imperial family. He waited for an opportunity to get his revenge. When Father was a young man, he and his parents were on their way to the Caucasus when the train in which they were riding was derailed and eighty people lost their lives and many more were injured. The roof of the Imperial car was on the verge of collapse when my Grandfather, Alexander III, held the roof on his shoulders, preventing further disaster. Six years afterwards he died as a result of the injuries he suffered on that day. The conspirators who caused this derailment were Lenin and his brother. Lenin’s brother was caught and was executed. Lenin himself escaped abroad. The Russian people did not know that Lenin was one of the Ulianov-Tsederbaum brothers. Later it was established that Lenin himself was the mastermind in causing this accident. Little did the people suspect that he was later also an agent of the German government. Trotsky’s brother was also a revolutionary; he was hanged in 1905. Lenin and Trotsky came to Russia shortly after Father’s abdication. Once my Granny told me if Grandfather had not held up the roof of the railway car they would all have been crushed. Aunt Olga suffered an injury to her back, and Granny to an arm. From the life-size painting which hung in Father’s billiard room, I judge my Grandfather to have been enormous, with broad shoulders and colorful, healthy cheeks, a handsome specimen. I would not be surprised if his voice was a deep baritone, like the voice of a lion roaring throughout the vast rooms of the Gatchina Palace. That kind of impression my giant Grandfather made on me.

Father was emphatic about two things: He would accept nothing from Germany and would not permit the family to become separated. After seeing what these people had done to Father, we sisters, though we longed for freedom and an opportunity to enjoy our life, young as we were, were ready to sacrifice everything and even die to save our country.

A new detachment of guards arrived from Moscow under the supervision of a man named Yakovlev. He had been in Tobolsk for several days and no one knew the reason for his being in town. Before the thirteenth day of each month approached we feared some kind of trouble, and the 13th of April was no exception. On this day Yakovlev put under arrest General Tatishchev, Prince Dolgorukov, Countess Hendrikova, Mlle. Schneider and Mr. Gibbs. They were ordered to move into our house.

After all the rooms had been searched, Yakovlev, wanting to be sure that Alexei was ill, brought in a doctor from the outside, who soon verified the boy’s illness.

I remember a conversation one evening with Count Tatishchev. Prior to the war he represented Father at the German Court and spoke German fluently. During the war he questioned German prisoners who told him that their officers were dissatisfied and that even Von Moltke, the German Commander in the field, was disgusted the way things were going by 1917, and was in favor of putting the Kaiser under arrest; that virtually the Kaiser was a prisoner at his own headquarters and no longer had the power to do anything about the situation. Besides, it was further said, Germany was at the point of collapse.

Ludendorff was then master of the Army and the Empire. It was the Russian revolution which was so skillfully promoted by the traitors who had settled for a while in Switzerland that saved Germany. Had it been delayed even by as short a period as three months, victory would have been ours.

Another evening the subject of discussion was the treaty which was about to be signed. As usual we were gathered in the big hall. With us were Prince Dolgorukov, General Tatishchev, M. Gilliard and Mr. Gibbs; also the two ladies in waiting, Mlle. Hendrikova and Mlle. Schneider, both of whom were later killed outside of Perm. Father turned to General Tatishchev and said: “General, do you remember the letter that Wilhelm wrote to me in which he said that he wanted to sign a separate treaty with Russia, after which the whole affair would be forgotten and the two countries would be friends again?” Across the face of that letter Father had written: “Our friendship is dead.” There was a second letter, this one to Count Benckendorff, in which the Kaiser asked the Count to speak to Father about a treaty with Germany.

We all knew about these letters as we were at General Headquarters at the time. Father showed these letters to Sir John Hanbury-Williams and the other members of the Foreign High Command. His own reaction (which may have been sent to Berlin by Count Benckendorff) to these letters was, “If the Kaiser wants peace, let him make his proposals to all my Allies; a separate treaty with Russia alone is out of the question. No treaty without indemnities to my country and my Allies.”

Prince Dolgorukov said to Olga, “Knowing how honest His Majesty is, he would and could not break the promise he made when he put his hand on the Bible, assumed the purple and was crowned, and received the Orb and the Sceptre. At the same time he kneeled in prayer to guide him in his service as Tsar and Judge of the Russian Empire and to keep his heart in the will of God asking for His guidance to help him in his task to rule wisely and be a true father to his people, in order that on the Day of Judgment he may answer without shame.” During the proclamation of war Father again swore with his hand on the Bible never to make a peace with the enemy as long as one enemy soldier was on his soil.

Father would never have betrayed his Allies. However, the Allies did not recognize his loyalty to them and his unwillingness to sign a separate treaty with the Central Powers. Because of his loyalty and their failure to recognize it, he underwent great spiritual suffering, particularly because he knew that it would mean the end of Russia at a time when he so needed the support of the Allies which they failed to give. Even the Bolshevik leaders feared that the stubborn Emperor might be a threat to them, and decided that the only thing left to do was to kill him. Father might still be alive today, if he had been willing to betray his Allies. It was known that Wilhelm had more confidence in Father for keeping his word in honorable dealings than in his other cousins.

XXI SEPARATION

At this time the new commissar informed Father that he would have to leave Tobolsk within twenty-four hours; and that, because he could not take along the entire family on account of Alexei’s inability to travel, he could take with him any other member of the family who wished to accompany him. That meant separation, the thing we dreaded most. Mother was caught between two tortures, at Yakovlev’s mercy. If she accompanied her husband, she must leave behind her sick boy, who needed her above everything else. But should Father face whatever was ahead alone? Suppose he was to be tried and questioned, would he not need her support? Might they not try to force him to sign the shameful Brest-Litovsk treaty, by threatening to kill his family? Yet Alexei might die without Mother. And what about Father? Did this mean death for him? We knew that all this was surging through Mother’s tormented mind, just as it was through ours.

General Tatishchev wanted to go with Father and said: “Your Majesty, you will not sign anything. They will have to kill us both.”

Olga was like a mother to Alexei. With Gillek, our loyal friend at his side, and Dr. Derevenko across the street, Alexei would be well cared for. At last Tatiana spoke up. She suggested that Mother and Marie go with Father. We knew that was the right suggestion. We knew also how Mother and Alexei would grieve for each other. In the midst of this discussion Father, as was always his habit, went outside in the yard to be alone and not show his agony to others. He had always found the answer to his problems when alone, but this time he had none.

Father was supposed to leave at night, but it was decided to wait till morning when it would be safer to travel on the river. If only they could wait a few days, perhaps Alexei would be able to go with them. It was decided that General Tatishchev should stay in Tobolsk while Dr. Botkin, Prince Dolgorukov, Chemodurov (father’s old attendant) Sidniev (our footman) and Anna Demidova, Mother’s maid, would go with them. Colonel Kobylinsky selected eight soldiers of our guard, under the supervision of eight officers, who would accompany them on this trip.

All day we moved about in a daze, as if we were under hypnotism. Mother ordered her most needed articles to be packed. Tatiana with trembling hands placed them in the suitcase. She swallowed fast to turn back the tears but in spite of stoical efforts more than one tear dropped on the articles and sank deep out of sight. Alexei cried incessantly. With him was Gillek (Gilliard), his faithful tutor. Alexei called for Mother for hours but she could not go to him. She could not hide her tears. At last she found strength to see him. When Gillek left the room, Mother threw herself on her knees in front of his bed and her face next to his, though she could not control her emotions. Her arms around Alexei’s thin body, she wept bitterly over the sick boy, “We will be back in a few days. We will soon be together.” A few drops of valerian were given him. While she sat in a chair, holding his hand, Alexei fell asleep. Then Mother bent over him and kissed her sick boy. He woke up and started to cry again. We could all see that she had prepared herself for this ordeal.

Mother understood the seriousness of this trip, that it might mean the death of all three of them. They all accepted it stoically in the hope that it might save their country even though it could lead to the loss of their lives.

The presence of new guards produced another problem, but Colonel Kobylinsky promised that he would see to it that all who remained behind would be cared for by him personally and that he would have the few remaining old soldiers on guard in the house and watching over us. Countess Hendrikova and Mlle. Schneider were to move in with us.

When all the business was finished, late at night we all assembled in the large hall. All the employees, with tear-stained eyes, came to say good-bye to those who were leaving. Mother embraced all the women and Father all the men. After tea our friends from downstairs departed. The family did not go to bed; our friends also stayed up all night. At 3:30 A.M. tea was again served to the travellers. All changed into clothes for the trip and took with them a few valuables which could be sold, if necessary. But upon their arrival in Ekaterinburg, Mother’s and Marie’s handbags were searched and the contents confiscated.

Mother drew us daughters into our room. We gathered around her. Then and there I suddenly realized what Tobolsk had done to her. Mother’s hair was partly grey and her eyes were sunken deep in her head. Her beautiful skin was lined and transparent, and her neck thin and drawn. Her clothes hung on her wasted frame--she cared little how much she had aged. She was speaking slowly as if the choke in her throat would not let the words come through. “My only desire,” she said, “is that should we ever be scattered outside of Russia, I hope none of you will ever choose Germany, and that you will never do anything to disgrace yourselves. There will be some people who will try to put you in a compromising position--to take advantage of your youth. Always keep respectable. Never marry for wealth or power, only for love and devotion. The greatest happiness I can ask for you, if ever you will marry, is that you will love your husbands as I do mine, your dear Father, and we are thankful, for He has rewarded us by giving us such an understanding family.”

We fell on our knees while she prayed for our safekeeping. Then she drew each one of us to her and kissed us feverishly. She embraced us together, then tore herself from our clinging arms and started toward the door. Suddenly she was back again to hug us once more. Again and again she tried to leave. Each time she came back.

Until the last moment