PART III Arrest And Exile

XIV ARREST

It was decided to separate Mother from the rest of the family. But Father objected, saying that it would be cruel to take Mother from her sick children. At last it was conceded that Father should stay downstairs in his apartment and Mother on the second floor with us.

Now that we all were under arrest, Mother was allowed to remain with the sick children upstairs and Father was permitted to join his family at mealtime. But all the conversation at the table had to be carried on only in the Russian language. I was told that our private wing of the palace was strongly guarded by a new kind of guard. They were noisy and overbearing. Mother warned everybody to be courteous to the sentry.

Had we children not been ill, Father would have insisted that we go to England; at least the children if Mother had refused to leave. From what he said later, we were convinced that he himself would not have left Russia.

At once Kerensky appointed his communist friend Korovichenko, whom he called his governor, as a commissar over us. This man proved to be rude, dishonest, insulting, ignorant, and he quarrelled with everyone in our household, disturbing and annoying us every hour of the day. The guards were selected for the same qualities as those of their masters. We were grateful when General Kornilov sent Colonel Kobylinsky and Commissar Makarov to replace the cruel Korovichenko.

From my sick bed all this was hard to imagine. I could not believe it, until I was able to sit up by the window. I noticed that the appearance and the action of the soldiers and officers were not the same. Gradually our health improved. Tatiana had temporarily lost her hearing and we had to write communications for her. Alexei’s condition was still not up to par.

To kill our dull moments we played light games, worked on word games and other puzzles and listened to French history read to us by Mlle. Schneider.

We were told that Kerensky was coming to see us. The name Kerensky brought terror to our hearts. Was he not the instigator behind the treatment that Father was receiving? We waited, dreading his visit. When the time of his arrival drew near, we were filled with antagonism and fear. We were told that it was this enraged man, Kerensky, and his communist friend, Korovichenko, who had assembled our employees in the large hall. Kerensky told them that they were no longer working for us, and that they were from now on to take orders only from those who paid their wages. He meant of course the Provisional Government, who appropriated the money belonging to the people of Russia and us. But they themselves were paid to live in an abundance such as one could only read about in fiction.

Some of the servants were bribed to spy on us and Anna. A few servants hated Anna to such an extent that they notified Kerensky of Anna’s improved condition. Kerensky angrily ordered Anna to dress at once, and she was then taken to prison. Alexei never before heard such rough voices and he burst out crying. “Will he kill us?” he asked his tutor. Those two men not only disturbed the family but upset everybody. I saw these men passing by on their way to the classroom where they were to see my parents. Father brought Kerensky into a room and introduced my two older sisters, by merely saying, “My daughters, Olga and Tatiana.” Marie and I were still in bed, recovering from our illness.

When I first saw Kerensky, a man of medium height, he appeared to be nervously twisting his finger. His face was pale and ugly, with small greenish eyes imbedded in a peculiarly shaped head, which was flat on top. His brown hair stood up similar to General Ruzsky’s. Whenever I see a man like this, it always has an unpleasant connotation for me. Outside in the hall and behind him, there was a committee of workers, allegedly soldiers and sailors but really nothing but released convicts, untidy, rough-looking individuals, who were armed with daggers and hand grenades. We were frightened. At first, I thought I was seeing this nightmare with my feverish eyes.

With the help of foreign spies, and convicts released by Kerensky and the new leaders, these traitors were anxious to break the morale of the armies. They told the soldiers that the land was to be divided among them, but first they should return home in order to receive their share of land. They said that it was a case of first come, first served, and inasmuch as capital punishment had been abolished, wholesale desertions from the armed forces resulted.

In the meantime the munitions and other factories fell into the hands of the new government and many were set on fire. So the soldiers, lacking supplies, had no choice but to desert their posts. All this helped the enemy who was ready to collapse. Thanks to Kerensky for the ruination of the army.

When the arrest of my family, especially of Father, became known to the public, it caused a harmful effect on the morale of the Army, and in general the situation became dangerous. Many soldiers left their posts in panic; even in Tsarskoe Selo, Father’s own military escort, not from choice but from fear, displayed red ribbons. The rebels were freeing criminals who were breaking into wine cellars and becoming intoxicated.

The snow was very heavy that winter, and the new leaders cared little about having it cleared away. There was only a narrow space available where Father and the others could walk about. This proved actually to be a godsend to Father, because exercise was vital to his health and was the only activity permitted him at this time. Each day from the window I watched Father shovel snow. No doubt that for Father it was much more than exercise. His physical exertions enabled him to maintain his mental faculties in every respect.

In the beginning he had an unpleasant experience, during his outdoor exercise, when he was allowed to walk in only a small area close to the palace. One day on his return from his walk, he extended his hand to one of the soldiers, but the man refused to take it. This was hard on Father and made him realize the extent and intensity of the propaganda against him. Father’s philosophical attitude toward these incidents made him a greater hero in our eyes.

To us children, Kerensky was at first a beast, a dragon waiting to devour us. His repeated visits kept us filled with terror. He thought at first that he could come to the palace at any time and wander about in our own home, without permission from the proper authority and without Father’s consent. Kerensky, always accompanied by the Marshal of the Court, followed by a messenger, was received in Father’s study.

Father was always courteous, wishing to make everything easy for the new government. But this man Kerensky at first did not seem to know the meaning of courtesy. After a while he saw Father’s ready cooperation and became quite human. We children began to feel more relaxed in his presence. After several conversations with Kerensky, our parents felt more confidence in him. However, Mother could not forget the recent injustice she had suffered, and she hoped her innocence was now proven. But Kerensky had made no attempt to inform the public of the true situation at the palace. He was responsible for Anna’s arrest, and Mother could not forgive him, especially since she believed that Anna was still ill when she was sent to prison. Madame Lili Dehn also had to leave the palace at the same time. Moreover Madame Zizi Narishkina became ill with pneumonia and left the palace because Mother felt she would receive better care at a hospital.

This wise little lady was a favorite of my Father whom she had known since his childhood. She was like a mother to our Mother. Her kindness and simplicity was written all over her face. She insisted that she be addressed as Madame instead of Princess, yet she was a true-blooded Princess. Among us she called my Father Nicky. In spite of her old age, she too had been a victim of unfair criticism. It caused so much resentment that the newspapers had been forced to retract their false stories.

Even my Aunt Olga, who loved peasants, had been condemned because she enjoyed visiting and accepting their hospitality.

Our prison hours were well regulated. We were permitted two walks during the day, between 11-12 and 2-5. With nervous excitement we waited the designated hour, eager not to miss one second of the out-of-doors. As the clock struck eleven, we and the staff gathered in the semicircular room where we were to meet the guards who were to accompany us on our walks. We had to wait sometimes as much as one half hour. This meant our walk was sometimes curtailed that much. We felt cheated, and the thought that Father could do nothing about it made us feel worse. We discovered that the more we fretted, the longer the delay; so we learned to wait submissively. The key to the circular room was held by the commissar on duty, and the other doors, including the balcony facing the Znamensky Cathedral and the gate, were sealed. We had to wait until the commandant appeared with the key to open the door. Since Korovichenko was as a rule basking himself in the sun, he made it a habit of being late. Even the sentries hated the sight of this man. When we did go out finally, we walked briskly to cover lost ground. Sometimes we crossed the bridge over the ravine, since the area was less exposed to the public view. But because of demonstrations our afternoon walks soon were scheduled later and we were outdoors until 8:00 P.M. Our friends helped us with our garden work. M. Gilliard proved well-nigh indispensable.

At first we had no news from our relatives. But we were pleasantly surprised when several letters came to Father and to Tatiana from Aunt Xenia at Ai-Todor in the Crimea. The letters giving us news of the family were the only joy we had had since our arrest. Our mail was censored and parts of the letters we received were inked out.

Probably Aunt Xenia found our letters dry and uninteresting. But we wrote them reluctantly, as in a daze--we so strongly felt the blow of the happenings in our country and to its people. The shock was so great that no outsider ever will know the feeling unless he lives through a similar experience, that is, if he loved his country. We were glad Granny was there too. It was her first stay in the Crimea since the death of her husband, Alexander III. We had been wanting to write to them but we feared repercussions.

For months we waited for a reply to our letters which we were obliged to leave unsealed for censorship. We hoped that our coming departure would take us to the Crimea to be together with the rest of the family. Father hungrily read the newspapers, even though the ones he received had been thoroughly censored, parts of them inked out. All too often the papers were withheld altogether. Father read every word carefully to find some clue to the real truth. One of our best sources of information came from the various members of our household. Before long they too no longer were free to leave the palace. All around our home there was a strong guard posted, especially in the small garden in front of Mother’s windows and the garden gate across from the Znamensky Cathedral, which was the closest to Mother’s balcony. She was very much disturbed, having these men watch her windows; she never could look out. During this time we saw some one drive in and out of the courtyard in Father’s favorite automobile, a Packard sledge (sleigh). Kerensky of course often used our private cars, chauffeurs, and even our valuable horses.

After midnight another unpleasant incident occurred. Several uncouth revolutionists, headed by a Pole named Mstislavsky, came from Petrograd. They proceeded to show their thievish authority by ordering the telephone and telegraph lines from the outside disconnected. After a great deal of bickering and fighting with the guards, who would not let them enter the grounds, Mstislavsky broke down the gate with his heavy artillery trucks. It caused such a noise that a large number of persons collected on the avenue and loud voices were heard from the angry crowd. This noise awakened the household. The bandits forced themselves towards and into the palace, in spite of everything. They were armed and threatened the officers on duty, “Shoot us, or we will shoot you.” Count Benckendorff and Prince Dolgorukov came down and told Mstislavsky and his companions that it was impossible for them to talk to the Emperor. The intruders were asked to produce the required permit from General Kornilov, commanding the troops in the area at this time. The officers on duty then said, “You arrest us, or we will arrest you.” Notwithstanding, the bandits went upstairs to the gallery room. There they encountered Father who was walking toward them. Without a word the bandits ran away in terror.

Kerensky was held responsible for this incident, having revealed to Mstislavsky the anticipated departure of the Imperial family for England via Murmansk.

Subsequently we heard that Mstislavsky ordered many innocent families shot, people who were in his way; also he and his friends seized from them anything to their liking.

We shortly learned that all escape routes were already blocked.

Korovichenko’s transfer lifted our hopes. His place was filled by Colonel Eugene Kobylinsky, an officer of the Imperial Guard. We were thankful to General Kornilov for sending this wonderful man, who served my family faithfully in spite of many dangers to his own life. He was sincerely anxious to alleviate our condition and was determined to save us. But with many hundreds of men in our guard he was helpless, as any action of his would have drawn suspicion upon him. He went with us to Tobolsk and stayed there until four days before our departure, when he became dangerously ill. Consequently, we did not see this kind man again before we left for Ekaterinburg. Another well-disposed man was Commissar Makarov, a very intelligent and cultured person with a great deal of tact and knowledge of several languages.

He had a prison record for having killed a policeman. For this, this fine looking man paid fifteen years of his young life before he was released. He accepted his punishment as having been deserved. His imprisonment had not embittered him, and his gentle, kind manners had not changed.

Many of the guards we had known from our childhood. Whenever possible Colonel Kobylinsky tried to have these men accompany us during our walks, as these guards could not tolerate an abusive attitude of others toward us. Nevertheless, he did not dare to defend us. By this time the Provisional Government had become convinced that Father had no intention of making trouble for them. Father eagerly followed the course of the war and grieved at the way it was going. If only he could have now had a part in it, even as a private!

There were secret messages suggesting our escape to Germany. Father answered, “No, we shall not escape like convicts.” One day Father was walking, Alexei was sitting on the bench, with his dog Joy at his feet, and we sisters were a short distance from Father, when a large enclosed car rapidly drove in and two young men in it wanted Father and Alexei to get into the car and escape with them. Father was very upset by it. He said, “Go at once.” Soon after more new guards appeared.

During this time we became tired of eating cabbages and carrots. We longed for something different. Those days no green vegetables came out of the greenhouses. Father saw the rich fields for labor lying open to us, and he was willing to work. So, in the spring, Father suggested a vegetable garden be planted in an open space where some trees had been cut down. We were all eager for outdoor exercise. Count Fredericks talked it over with Colonel Kobylinsky who gave permission to go ahead. We were now full of enthusiasm, with plenty of ideas of fresh food as our objective.

Father began to work, and even Mother, for the first time, cheerfully was willing to leave the house in the afternoon. She was wheeled in her chair into the garden. She sat under a tree near the brook, while the guards paced back and forth on the bridge. Mother seldom walked those days. We planted the seeds and watered the vegetable beds from a barrel. As I worked, I thought of the words in the beautiful Russian song which said:

“The Christ had a garden, where many roses bloomed, He watered them thrice a day to make a wreath for himself.”

Because of the demonstrations, we worked late in the day, often till 8:00 P.M. In the evening Father read to us while we were sewing or knitting. When the first green shoots appeared, we were thrilled with the thought of salads within a month. The seedlings grew into bushy plants. The blossoms became tiny beans. In another week or so we would have our first harvest from sixty luxuriant beds in all. Spring, which always seems to hold a special appeal for all Russians, was beautiful but sad for us.

XV SUBJUGATION

When the first days of July with their white nights were approaching, a time when night is much like day in those northern regions, when twilight spreads a kind of magic transparency in the distant sky and woods, we saw creeping figures with shining bayonets emerge from the bushes. They were watching the windows of the prisoners. I wish I did not love that great country with so much promise, whose soul lies in debris now and of which I cannot speak without the feeling of a heavy weight on my chest.

Before the leaves came out, we withdrew to an area where we thought we could not be seen so easily. That led us to the greenhouses. We found them dreadfully neglected. No one had taken care of the plants. The gardeners had been discharged or put to work in some other capacity. Now many rare and valuable bushes surrounding the colonnades were cut down against everybody’s objection. The orders, we were told, came from Kerensky. Tears were in Father’s eyes to see such destruction.

We realized that the iron fence which protected us from the outside was now our prison wall. The driveway was a source of fear. Even the bushes and the trees of our beloved park secreted spies who watched every move we made. Even though we were accustomed to isolation from the world by a cordon of police and military protection, being surrounded by unfriendly guards was indeed depressing.

During the turbulent days, even the swans cried mournfully every morning because they knew we were in the palace, and they felt that something was wrong that we did not speak to them and feed them. Even these majestic birds must have known....

Our food now was ice-cold, more so than ever before. Our kitchens were in a separate building and the food was wheeled through the long tunnel in large carriers which had to be opened for inspection. Therefore the food cooled off before it reached our apartments.

Sometimes we played on the “Children’s Island.” On several occasions Alexei went out in a rowboat with his toy sailboats, but was not allowed to enter his little four-room playhouse where he used to play with his cousins and young cadets. It was locked up and his rowboat taken away, making him very unhappy.

We enjoyed our cycling, Father and Alexei on bicycles and we four girls on velocipedes. In the afternoon even Mother went into the woods and sat in the shade with her tapestry work, copying the original pattern of her Hepplewhite chair, while Father, his officer friends and others were cutting down the dead trees. We sisters helped to carry the smaller pieces and built tall stacks for the wood to dry during the summer months.

We heard that our friend Captain Nilov, whom we called “the little admiral”, once a commandant on the “Standard” and later at G.H.Q. with Father, had been arrested on order of Kerensky and shot without trial. This because he said while at G.H.Q. that he would kill General Ruzsky. Fortunately for Ruzsky, Captain Nilov was denied this pleasure. General Ruzsky also had a cordial dislike for Captain Nilov because the latter knew that Ruzsky was a traitor.

We already by this time had begun to enjoy our fresh vegetables. We lingered and feasted our eyes on the beauty of nature which until now had been taken for granted. Alexei, not yet thirteen, in the early summer delighted in shedding his boots and wading into the sparkling water up to his knees. It did not take much to satisfy him during these trying times. He wished nothing more from those heartless men than to be free to enjoy God’s given creation. How fortunate we human beings are, to see and feel all the loveliness and enjoy it to the utmost! How cruel too when men deny this privilege to their fellowmen!

Later, when we were in Tobolsk, Alexei recalled the Children’s Island and wistfully expressed the hope that he might be able to return to it and wade in the water again. He spoke of his playrooms, his small cars, and then all of a sudden he seemed to realize that these reminiscences of former places, dear to his heart, caused only pain, and he never spoke of them again.

Many days we saw curious strangers and friends being driven from the fence. The people, knowing the time of our walks, gathered along the fence; some even climbed on top of carriages to get a better view of us. Especially on Sundays, there were a great many watching us through the railing.

Often we saw familiar, friendly faces in the crowd, but we were afraid to recognize them. Once I thought I saw near the fence some of the Tolstoys--Marie and Elizabeth, also Pasha and her brother. Mother in her youth had met from time to time some of the Tolstoy relatives who lived abroad. Another time we saw friends from Petrograd and some nurses from the Tsarskoe Selo hospitals.

Near Easter my parents were informed that about eighty servants and workers employed in the palace were to be discharged. My family was perturbed, because some servants had families who depended on their earnings, and many of them had been with my family from the time of Father’s marriage. Before these people, so close to us, left, both parents thanked them for their past services and each one of them was presented with a gold or silver medal. Orders came that Count Benckendorff and all ladies in waiting, as well as Prince Dolgorukov, should leave us. However, they were permitted to stay without compensation.

During Lent we were allowed to have services in our private chapel, but Father Vassiliev had to eliminate Father’s name from the ritual. With trembling voice he stopped in confusion when he came to the part in which he was supposed to say, “Long Life for the Imperial Family.” I am sure that in his mind he added the omission to his own satisfaction. When Father Vassiliev became ill, after much negotiating Count Fredericks, the Court Minister, received permission to have Father Belyayev, a deacon and four singers come to the palace during the Easter holidays.

Palm Sunday services had been held in the palace chapel on the ground floor at the fourth entrance of the building. During the services we were carefully watched. The guards were secreted behind the draperies and the altar. Father Belyayev seeing all this could not control his emotions; his tears fell freely down his vestment.

During the Holy Week two services a day were the only refreshing moments in our new lives. Mother stood behind a large screen made in her favorite purplish-blue crystal glass, which Father had given her previously. Behind the screen was a small, cushioned, kneeling stand, on top of which rested a Psalter. On the wall to the right, were several religious paintings, inherited from her Mother Alice and several gifts from her Granny, Queen Victoria. The Psalter was searched when it was brought in and again when taken away. In the small room on Mother’s right adjoining the chapel some Bibles were kept. Mother was very much annoyed when a guard stood behind her throughout the service. “Even in this holy place,” she said, “one is deprived of a moment of meditation.”

On the day of the Lord’s Crucifixion the revolutionists decided to bury their own dead. With the red flags flying and a band blaring forth with the _Marseillaise_ and Chopin’s _Funeral March_, the procession advanced through the avenues of lime trees and stopped opposite the circular balcony from which we could see them marching. Among the dead they paraded were bodies taken from the cemetery, including those who died in the cellar, which they had set on fire during a drinking spree. But their evil scheme came to an end on this day, when angry, black clouds darkened the sky, when a terrific hail and wind storm furiously broke whole branches from the trees and pelted the metal roof of the palace with large hailstones. Candles were lit. When daylight returned, the courtyard was flooded, and there were large cakes of ice in the water. All was quiet now.

The same screeching cry and the detested _Funeral March_ that should be reserved only for the dead was now heard every day. It became annoying even to the sentries. Often they whistled sarcastically as soon as the demonstrators appeared. I even heard this abhorrent _March_ in my sleep.

Saturday night the staff, the servants and others, several hundred in all, were present at the midnight service in our chapel, which lasted till an early morning hour. The procession, headed by the priest who carried an icon, went through the rooms with the lighted candles and the message: “Khristos Voskrese (Christ is Risen)”, bringing the hope that our dark lives might be brightened.

We thought it was a sad Easter, but a worse one was to follow. On this Easter morning the staff, the chief of the guards, the commandant, officers, ladies in waiting and a few others assembled in Father’s library to break the blessed bread. In the afternoon those on duty assembled in Mother’s room for congratulations.

This year our relatives, and high ranking military men, Ministers, and the representatives of foreign countries no longer were permitted to come to congratulate us on this Holy Day. Queen Olga of Greece, the sister of the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich, miraculously entered the grounds but her entry into the palace was prevented. Her kind message and the Easter egg were delivered to us by an officer. A great many others came but were turned back at the gate.

There were several birthdays during our five months of imprisonment at Tsarskoe Selo. First came my Father’s. On his birthday, services were held in the chapel. The words “Long Life for the Tsar” were still missing; a sad day. Then Mother’s, then came Tatiana’s, and on June 5th, Russian calendar, I became sixteen years old--the year I should have been officially presented to the Russian court. But there was no debut for me and I did not care. The family did their best to make an occasion of it. A service was held in the chapel and I received congratulations from all around me. A year earlier a design made by Fabergé for my lavalier had been approved by my family, to be made of diamonds and pearls. I was to receive it on this day. Instead, these sixteen diamonds and sixteen pearls, one for each birthday and one for each name day, were sewn into my clothes when we left for Siberia. Not long after my own birthday came Marie’s, and then just before our departure from Tsarskoe Selo came Alexei’s.

More about our imprisonment. First, there was some improvement in Mother’s health. However, during the hot spell in July her heart condition became worse. She was forced to lead a quiet life. There were no more separations, no more hospital work and no attacks of haemophilia for Alexei. We all fell into a routine. Lessons had been entirely neglected since our illness. Some of our instructors came from outside. They taught in the gymnasium and in other schools. Now it was no longer permissible for them to resume their former duties. Monsieur Gilliard spent most of his time with Alexei, and in general was most helpful in reorganizing the household with which the others were inexpert to cope.

We had books galore to choose from, and several pianos for our use. We resumed piano lessons--now with Anastasia Hendrikova; previously they were given by Mr. Konrad. Father began to teach us history, geography and natural science; Mother, religion; Baroness Buxhoeveden, English; Dr. Botkin, Russian; M. Gilliard, French; Mlle. Schneider, mathematics. There was only one thing lacking--inspiration.

From the very first Kerensky barged into Father’s rooms without warning, much to the disgust of the Court Marshal who followed him angrily. Kerensky asked Father whether he would go to Germany if the Kaiser would extend an invitation. Father disappointed him by answering, “I shall never set foot on German soil. I have already previously rejected the invitation.” A car supposed to carry us over the border crashed into the fence as it tried to drive through the gate. Even if an opportunity had presented itself, dozens of strong chains that bound us to our Mother country would not let us leave Russia. There was an offer that we leave Russia by way of Murmansk, but Kerensky betrayed it to the revolutionists, even though we would not have accepted the offer.

Suddenly Kerensky wanted General Kornilov’s resignation but the General refused to comply with his order. Kerensky then told Father that Kornilov was a traitor. What was Kerensky? I wonder now if the General was not in Kerensky’s way! Kerensky also was against Captain Count Kotsebue, the Commandant of the Palace who formerly was an Uhlan Guard officer. Kerensky forced him to give up his post in favor of Kerensky’s communist friend, Colonel Korovichenko.

Once after a walk when Father was about to enter the palace, one of the new guards stepped in front of him and barred his entrance. Alexei from the open door saw what happened and burst out crying. Another time Father was walking with Prince Dolgorukov in the park when one of the new officers followed close behind and stepped on his heel. Father turned suddenly and hit the officer with his walking cane so hard that the officer bent double. After that none of them tried this incivility again.

Years later I spoke by chance to a former Russian officer who said the Emperor should have “prayed less but worked more.” But this officer’s wife at that time remarked to her husband, “What kind of officer were you? When you became ill with appendicitis you carried on like an infant! Is that bravery?” My Father not only prayed and worked but possessed the bravery of a hero. Every day he spent ten to fourteen hours at his desk. There was no other man that worked and fought harder and with more determination than did Father. Such words were spoken only by German traitors and weaklings who did everything to buy the privilege to stay far behind the front lines. Some said that Father was mild. Perhaps he was; he might have been appreciated in another country. However, many said that Father should have ordered guns, but the Emperor would not take the lives of men. He was very kind because he did not believe in the ruthlessness of Ivan the Terrible, or Lenin, Trotsky, Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld, Himmer, and others.

The very things we loved most, were now turning against us. Each morning when I awakened I hoped for an improvement. But one glance around convinced me the times were not right. One day a bullet hit a window in Father’s study and left an ugly round scar, showing the great thickness of the glass. Our walks continued, but every time we went out we discovered many familiar faces had disappeared, and were replaced by new ones. In the park the sentries followed us closely and engaged us in conversation. Most often we did not care to hear what they said. Then came an order limiting our walk to the first bridge of the brook. Now we were confined to a more restricted area. We tried to ignore the impertinence of guards who lolled in our chairs on the lawn in front of the small balcony which led into the entry room. This balcony was a few steps up and had an entrance on each side, but the arbitrary guards prevented us from entering except through one side only. Mother watched us from the window, and when we returned to her, one glance indicated that she had been weeping. We knew it was the sight of our being so restricted that made her cry. Whether long or short, these walks remained the most coveted events of our day. Mother too was wheeled out in her chair, and sat with her embroidery in the shade. Usually she was surrounded by the young guards who asked her all kinds of questions, mostly religious ones. Those big children understood her and she won them with her kindness.

At first our captivity at Tsarskoe Selo was not so difficult, even though there was a complete lack of privacy and our freedom to come and go was restricted. In fact it was not much different from our usual routine as we had been accustomed to watchful eyes and many limitations. We would have been fairly comfortable if we had had enough heat and the right food for the convalescents.

The familiar rooms, furnished with what we always considered to be our own possessions, were at once comforting and disturbing. But soon we found out that these things and many personal household treasures no longer belonged to us. Many of these were confiscated immediately, including all Mother’s silver sets. Some of these were heirlooms from her Granny, Queen Victoria, and some were Father’s wedding gifts. Other confiscations included trays, platters, urns and numerous gold plates, gold tea glass holders and spoons, over five hundred table place settings, Mother’s imperial jade figurines and crosses by Bolin, the most famous jeweller in Petrograd; also many priceless gold icons decorated with precious stones and other treasures.

They even took Alexei’s jade and rock crystal collection of animals, gold swords, miniatures of the family, and his icons, many of which were presented to him during his illness in Spala in 1912 and were especially esteemed by him, because the people had prayed before them to spare his life. Some of these were in gold, studded in precious stones. On his birth in 1904 the Shah of Persia ordered a religio-historical rug to be made and had presented it to Alexei on his twelfth birthday. Approximately 12 feet by 16 feet, it took twelve years to make. As I remember it, it had Christ’s face in the middle, surrounded by about a hundred world leaders from the time of Moses up to 1900. There was an excellent likeness of George Washington.

Olga and Tatiana had saved some money with which they were able to redeem some of our tea sets, place settings and a few gold tea glass holders. Our home had the finest Persian rugs and Hepplewhite furniture. The gallery contained fine paintings and rock crystal chandeliers.

Father read in the paper that capital punishment had been abolished. He knew this would mean disaster for Russia. He wrote a long letter to the Provisional Government and expressed his views, pointing out the detrimental effect it would have on the Army and the country as a whole. Moreover, it would cause a great deal of danger to the public--and so indeed it happened. He preferred death before such conditions should develop. He gave no thought to his own fate and that of his family. As a consequence of the abolition of the death penalty, Kerensky was blamed openly for the murder of hundreds of young cadets and the torture of their superior officers. It was said that he was hand in glove with the perpetrators of these crimes. Many of these officers were well known to us. We heard that many of them were bound, then covered with straw saturated with kerosene, which was then set on fire before the eyes of their stricken families.

Kerensky was a good speaker and his words flowed smoothly. He seemed to impress people as being honest in his undertakings. This belief in him eventually vanished. He spoke of freedom and many exciting ideals poured from his lips. He promised that when these ideals were put into effect they would bring a prosperous republic and a good fruit. But his theory brought nothing but tragedy. Yet the seeds of the fruit continued to grow, and do so even now.

During this time, Kerensky’s absurd promises were constantly broken. Many came to regard him as a sheer opportunist. First, he told us that we had an invitation to go to England. Later he contradicted himself by saying that the invitation had been cancelled. We were puzzled and still we had to trust him. In the beginning Father believed that he was the right man for the office. Soon people began to doubt Kerensky’s sincerity, but we could do nothing to repudiate him. All kinds of fantastic stories were germinating during Kerensky’s short-lived administration which emerged rapidly but was soon carried away into a river reddened with blood. Even his own friends whom he himself had liberated betrayed him.

With the air of a conqueror he went to General Headquarters, and the people sarcastically said, “A Napoleon is now on the march. With a snap of his fingers, he will sweep on to Berlin and secure the keys to the city.” The new hero marched with thieves and murderers of Russia, and with these men he thought that he could win the war, and thus gain popularity. They carried the red flag and sang, “My poidyom vperyod i vyigrayem voinu s krasnym flagom--(We are marching forward and will win the war with the red flag).”

Many officers whom Kerensky had kept arrested, and who were anxious to fight the enemy, were left by this man to rot and die in unkempt prisons. He wanted to be the sole power and to keep all in his hands. As a result Prince Lvov, Rodzianko (once his friend) and Generals Alexeiev and Kornilov, as well as many others, resigned their positions.

Kerensky moved into a section of the Catherine Palace, which once was occupied by Father’s A.D.C., and indulged in luxuries to gratify his palate. It was said that all kinds of vegetables and rare flowers were especially raised for his pleasure, that he spared nothing to satisfy his thirst for luxuries, and that he left terror and rivers of blood for the Russian people to remember him by.

My little brother seemed to have faith in Kerensky and on one occasion he asked him whether Father could legally abdicate for him too. Kerensky replied, “Yes and no, but in your case I think, yes.” How surprised Father was at this. Alexei must have been puzzled by the abdication and evidently, on thinking it over, he wanted an explanation by someone else.

XVI DEPARTURE

The illness we sisters had just gone through resulted in a partial loss of our hair. When Marie became half-bald our doctor suggested that we have our heads shaved, which was done shortly before our departure for Tobolsk. We four looked so much alike afterwards that we could not tell who was who. Outdoors we wore turbans, especially when we were working in the vegetable garden which was beautiful and ready for our use.

On the evening of Monday, July 31st, 1917, old style, Kerensky permitted Uncle Michael to come to the palace. Father was grateful for this kind gesture on the part of Kerensky. At that time Uncle Michael had already been placed under arrest. The visit had a painful effect. No one of the family was allowed to see Uncle except Father. Kerensky and Colonel Kobylinsky had to be present during the visit which took place in Father’s study. The meeting was distressing to Father and I am sure it was also to Uncle Michael. It was almost useless, because privacy was denied to the brothers. Neither thought this was to be the last time that they would see each other. Under the conditions the two brothers were deprived of an opportunity to confide in each other. However, I remember Father saying that he would not have abdicated under any circumstances had he known that Uncle Michael would also abdicate. It was said that the latter did so under pressure while being held as a prisoner by the Provisional Government, for which Kerensky was responsible. At this meeting Father asked about his mother and was told by Uncle that it was impossible for him to see her. Father said: “Why not send Mr. Johnson (Uncle’s secretary) or contact General Ivanov.” Father asked Uncle to have Kerensky arrange for us to go to the Crimea. Granny was in the Crimea--for the first time since the death of her husband, Alexander III. Also our Aunt Xenia with her family and Aunt Olga with her new-born first child were there.

As Alexei’s thirteenth birthday had approached, we had trembled for fear that something might happen on that day. We somehow expected our departure, but not on such short notice. So many momentous incidents had been connected with the number thirteen that we sisters were superstitious about that number. The three hundredth anniversary of the Romanov dynasty was celebrated in 1913. On March 13th, 1917, Marie became deadly ill with measles and pneumonia. On Sunday, July 30th (August 12th), 1917 Alexei became thirteen years old. Misfortune struck us again. After the Te Deum in our chapel and congratulations for Alexei’s birthday, Count Benckendorff brought the news that we were to leave the next day. We still hoped it would be the Crimea. Because of Alexei’s birthday it was postponed to the following day. We all went about as if nothing had happened, but in our hearts there was grief and fear. Alexei played on the little island and we went out and looked over the garden. We knew then that it was our last time in this beloved place. If we must go, let’s go quickly.

We did not know our destination. Kerensky made a secret of it. He assured Father it would be a safer place, and that we should take with us plenty of warm clothing. Both parents were stoical. Evidently we were not going to the Crimea. For weeks our trunks had been ready, but now we each had been told to decide what additional, but only needed, articles we wished to take with us. Mother said to leave everything undisturbed. I laid aside many things which finally had to be abandoned. I felt like a traitor. At last, I finished sorting.

I was determined to help pack my own suitcase for the first time. It was no longer possible to take anything out of our vaults, treasures given Mother by Father and her family. A number of her precious icons were wrapped carefully. She took only those given by proven, loyal friends. We children also selected some from the corners of our bedrooms to take with us on this trip.

In spite of our intentions to travel lightly, trunk after trunk was filled and sent downstairs. If we should ever reach England we wanted so much to have some of our things with us.

It was decided that any member of our household who so wished could go with us, but anyone who did not intend to follow us should leave the palace immediately. A number of employees, not wanting to be separated from their families, had already left. Father preferred to take along only those without family responsibilities. However, many servants left their families behind and followed us into exile. No doubt, it took courage to follow us, especially when our destination was not known, yet we hated to leave so many behind whose loyalty we never questioned. At the same time it was decided that the garden vegetables would be used by those employees who stayed with us to the last. Count Benckendorff was to remain in the palace and care for Father’s private business affairs.

Before we left Father reminded Count Benckendorff that he, through Count Rostovtsev, Mother’s secretary who was in charge of our private fortunes, and through Mr. Peter Bark, whose responsibilities related to family private interests abroad including insurance and investments, should pay, respectively, all our bills at home and abroad. One of Count Benckendorff’s stepsons, Prince Valia Dolgorukov, was to go with us. We heard later that Kerensky went back to the palace, after taking us to the station, and ordered Count Benckendorff to leave our home at once.

Father was given the choice of taking one of the generals with him. He selected General Tatishchev. This friend, who was independently rich, had all the necessary qualities and was liked by everybody. The several hundred men who carried our baggage downstairs were rewarded. One of them, a soldier, lifted his three-ruble note to his lips and kissed it. By the way his shoulders shook, we knew that he was crying. A few of our trunks were left upstairs and some were brought to Tobolsk much later. We were allowed to take with us several dogs. I took my “Jemmy” who had been given to me by Anna. Being small she did not require much food.

We were now leaving our bedrooms, music room, class room, and playrooms, where we had placed our dolls with their arms stretched out as if they were asking us not to leave them behind. Alexei tearfully placed his Teddy bear against the door to guard his possessions. As we wandered through the rooms in lingering farewell, each tried not to see the other. Those who were to stay behind cried and kissed us children every time they saw us. These good-byes to our childhood home were dreadful. This ancestral home we were leaving was part of us. We gave it a reverential farewell. Marie and I went to our knees in the corner of our bedroom, set up with icons. Our eyes were fixed on the empty places from which some icons had been removed to go with us on this trip.

We were nervous, full of anguish, and, in spite of our efforts to be brave, we cried and we were reduced to sobs. Our good friend Dr. Botkin, who had been absent because of illness in his family, had just returned. He gave us sisters drops of valerian to quiet our nerves. What went on in Father’s and Mother’s hearts only they knew. It was a queer, heartrending feeling when we left our rooms not knowing of the future ahead.

We five children went down the private spiral stairway. As we did so, the memory of my young years came back to me. I remembered when I happily used to run up and down the steps trying to make two at a time. Now I could not see them; a handkerchief was pressed to my swollen eyes. The stairs led us to Mother’s apartment. She had just finished a thanksgiving prayer when we appeared. We did not dare to look at her.

No doubt that to Father that home was full of Tsar-spirits, looking down on him from portraits condemning this final surrender of autocracy. A life-sized portrait of Mother when she was young, happy, and beautiful hung in Father’s study--his favorite portrait. It was by Kaulbach, painted in 1903. He stopped and examined it as if he had never seen it before.

No doubt in Mother’s mind were the words Aunt Ella said to her once: “Remember what happened to other Empresses!” Mother may also have thought of the painting of Marie Antoinette and her children by Mme. Vigée-Lebrun, which was given to Mother by the President of France. Was she thinking now of a common misfortune? Or, possibly, she thought of the words of the Emperor Joseph II, brother of Marie, when he prophesied to his pretty sister the coming disaster: “In very truth, I tremble for your happiness; the revolution will be a cruel one and perhaps of your own making.” But it was not the case with my Mother: revolution was of the traitors’ making. I often ask myself, why was Mother so drawn to this unfortunate woman, who in character and education was so different from my Mother? At home in the glass wardrobe, were Olga’s and Tatiana’s christening gowns. They were copies of the dresses of Marie Antoinette’s children. In another case were a few copies of the Queen’s own dresses, made for Mother in Lyons during one of her early visits to France. We were all puzzled by the fascination Marie had for Mother, who was a student of history and had an aversion for its tragic pages.

Our departure was scheduled for midnight, August 13th, new style. Before the fateful hour arrived we were served tea. Midnight came but no summons. Nevertheless, shortly after one in the morning, we assembled in the semicircular hall. Our personal luggage was standing at one side. Soon Count Benckendorff came with a message that General Tatishchev had informed him that he was not allowed to come to the palace but would be at the station to meet us.

Books and magazines were brought to us. We could not read anything. My thoughts went back to the pages Mlle. Schneider had read to us while we were recovering from our illness, and to the painting on the wall of Marie Antoinette in a large hat, sitting with her children and a white, long-haired dog at her feet. This large, gold-framed painting, approximately six feet high, dominated the room. Below it there was a simple, inlaid console table and on the floor, on either side, stood two tall red French enamel vases. Somehow I had the idea that they had been a gift to the family from Cousin Wilhelm. From the time of the outbreak of the war, I had a strong impulse to break them.

Father, who long before had read all the best known books on the French Revolution, asked for those volumes again when the reign of terror swept our country. My older sisters read them, too. Marie and I, because of our weakened eyes, went through only certain parts. No doubt these traitors and the revolutionists had read them also, and followed the same pattern. Kerensky likewise was probably not ignorant of these events. There are so many similarities between the French and the Russian Revolutions.

Now the French Revolution stood full of meaning before me. During the coronation festivities in France, when Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were being crowned, a number of shocking disasters occurred. These were similar to the tragedy that occurred at the coronation of my parents. In the former, when France’s economy declined and conditions were bad, only 35 per cent of the land was held by the French peasants; the rest was in the hands of the Church, the nobility and the crown. But Russia economically was strong in spite of the war and the devastation of the western areas.

When a daughter was born to the royal couple, Marie Antoinette had eighty attendants at her service. History records that she was a gay woman with demands for unlimited luxury and extravagance. It was also said that during the critical economic conditions in her country, she had purchased an enormously expensive jewel for herself. They discovered much too late that this was not true.

The Russian people would not have believed that Father and Mother had been extravagant. As Father commented, when the revolution broke out 75 to 80 per cent of Russian soil was in peasant hands. When one of the children in our family was born, we had only a few attendants. Besides, Mother never cared for gaiety or luxury. During the war we repaired our own clothes and made our own beds. As Louis XVI was betrayed by Mirabeau, so Father was betrayed by the Allies, with the help of the Duma and men like Kerensky, Ruzsky, Lenin, and Trotsky, and other foreign instigators. Many foreign elements gave aid and encouraged the revolution in my country. As horrors occurred in France, so did they in Russia. Marat asked for a quarter of a million lives, but Trotsky, Lenin, Apfelbaum and others of the clique demanded more than fifteen millions. Allegedly they all were guilty of something. Most of the educated classes, millions of peasants, and forty thousand Greek Orthodox clergymen were killed.

Many of the revolutionists were shipped to Russia for the purpose of inciting the plundering, robbing and strangling of Russia. They were supported by the prisoners of war, mostly Austro-Hungarians and Germans. They were helped by a powerful branch of the Christian church, who were apparently desirous of detaching our people from the Greek Orthodox Church. Fortunately the Russian people were and still are very devoted to and proud of their own religion which they consider to be the true exponent of the Christian faith as delegated to us by the Apostles and particularly by the Apostle Paul. (Read M. Pierre Gilliard’s book, _Thirteen Years at the Russian Court_.)

Distressed and restless we sat in this room, wondering if the same misfortune that befell the court of Louis XVI was awaiting us. In one instance to stimulate the revolution, the weapon was the jewel; in the other, Rasputin. We wondered whether the other courts of Europe and particularly our own royal relatives were making any efforts to save Russia and ourselves.

At four in the morning we had tea again. As daybreak was pouring through the windows and the lights were turned off, breakfast was ordered for 5:30. By mistake or by force of habit, the table for us five children and the governess was set upstairs. This caused a furious consternation and confusion around the watchful men. We were not allowed to go upstairs and we did not care to return there again.

Finally an excited officer came running and announced to Count Benckendorff that he had talked with Kerensky who was on his way to us. The room became full of people who waited interminably to say good-bye to us and to the staff who were to go with us. The sentries filled the doorways, forming a long line on both sides to the waiting motors. We strained our swollen eyes in the dawning light to see all we could as the cars sped down the courtyard and through the garden’s side entrance.

Near the fence there were some people who had been waiting all night to have a glimpse of their Emperor for the last time. They ran toward this gate but were repulsed by the sentry. We saw the church with its blue dome, the double eagle and the golden cross, the little lake, the palace, the park, all for the last time. The iron gates, our prison gates, swung open and closed after us. Our hearts closed with them. There were no bells ringing as we left our home, no cheering of the regiments of Cossacks who used to pass in brilliant parade before the palace. No convoy followed the Emperor on horses, dressed in tall caps and red and blue coats; and no yellow flag fluttered on the car. No flag caught the morning breeze on the roof top; it had been removed long ago, even though Father and we were still there. The cars moved like a funeral procession.

Escorted by a detachment of cavalry, we arrived at the Alexander station. The air was fresh. The golden sun flooded the sky. One hoped that he could hear the words: “I shall light your way wherever you go.” What a change in the appearance of this charming and beautiful village had taken place! The immaculate asphalt roads of Tsarskoe Selo I used to drive over only five months ago were no longer the same. I could see the wound the new leaders had inflicted upon this peaceful village. It was indeed a depressing and fearful sight.

In order to board the train, our automobiles stopped a short distance from our own white station, which was not far from the public one. Approaching it we saw in the distance a heap of luggage still being loaded into the train. With the troops guarding the vicinity, we walked along and crossed the track. As we were to board the train, Mother gave her hand to Kerensky who kissed it and wished her a pleasant trip. There was no stool to step on and Mother had trouble negotiating the high step. When she reached her compartment, she collapsed and fell before anyone could catch her, spraining her ankle and a finger, and struggling to catch her breath. Dr. Botkin gave her a sedative. Partly because of the heat, it was several days before she recovered from the strain.

It was sad to leave our friends, especially those officers who stood at the station humbly with their caps in their hand, and their heads bowed for the last time--their final reverence to Russia. The family stood near the windows in two different cars and blessed those good men, when suddenly several of them entered the car, and wanted to fall on their knees before Father, but he would not let them do so. Instead, he embraced them, their faces resting on his shoulder. This great man thanked his loyal officers (especially two men, Kushelev, and another whose name I do not remember but which was something like Artasalev) for their services with the words, “Be loyal and help your country; they need you now more than ever.”

With these words, they withdrew, and Father touched his own insignia of command, promoting them to a higher rank for the last time. This touching scene made him withdraw from the window so that they might not see the tears in his eyes. Suddenly on order of Commissar Kozmin, all the shades of the car were drawn.

Already within the confines of these quarters, Father’s spiritual agony was supreme. He knew that he had abdicated not for selfish reasons, but to avoid the bloodshed which he foresaw, but which the others did not. Now, this suffering family carried with them into uncertainty the centuries-old secrets of the dynasty.

With a quick jerk and screech the wagons-lits began to move. The vibration sent shivers to our souls. It was 6:30 A.M. We hoped the train would be heading for the west or south. However, it was not long before we realized much to our disappointment that we were heading eastward.

Father once promised us that as soon as the war was over, he would take us to visit the Siberian cities. It was now evident that Father’s promise to us of a Siberian trip was being fulfilled without advance knowledge or planning. Later when Kerensky was being accused by the people for sending us to Siberia, he did not have the courage to admit it, but instead cowardly tried to lay the blame on my Mother by saying that it was her wish to have the family go to Siberia. The truth is however that when it became evident that we were being sent to Siberia, Mother remarked, “Of all places, how could he think of Siberia?”

Just before our departure from Tsarskoe Selo, Father made each of us sign our names on slips of papers, put them in separate envelopes and leave them in our rooms.

XVII JOURNEY

It was broad daylight outside but inside, with shades drawn and lights glaring, it might as well have been night. We were all terribly tired and we sat quietly for some time before having our breakfast. No one knew what the other was thinking. Our hearts were heavy and there were tears. Mother gathered us with her eyes. “We are together,” she said. “You are my wealth and I am rewarded by the Lord for giving me such a good family.”

Our train consisted of four or five cars. One car was occupied by us. In the next car were Prince Vasily Dolgorukov, General Tatishchev, Mlle. Schneider, Countess Hendrikova, Dr. Botkin, M. Gilliard, and Colonel Kobylinsky. In addition there were Commissar Makarov, Vershchinin, and another person whose name escapes me.

The other cars were occupied by our household staff and the guard. We were grateful to them all for staying with us, grateful too that Kerensky had allowed Colonel Kobylinsky and Commissar Makarov to accompany us.

Coffee was served to us; it helped lift our spirits. We hardly moved except to go to the dining car for our meals. Mother and Alexei were served theirs in their own compartments. It was very hot, dry, and dusty, especially before we reached Asiatic Russia. The train made a number of stops to take water, usually a short distance from the stations. All the time we were closely watched and guarded by the sharpshooters commanded by Colonel Kobylinsky. It was a grim ride, but Kerensky had made Father believe we were headed for a much safer place.

On the third day we passed the city of Perm and followed a river. The view was picturesque, a typically Russian scene. We felt the change of air as we crossed from European to Asiatic Russia, through the Ural Mountains. The train reduced its speed. Luckily for Mother, the air became cooler, otherwise she might have had heart failure. We passed through Ekaterinburg with its two stations one on each side of the city. No one would have believed then that eleven months later, this Siberian city would become the scene of one of the world’s most atrocious crimes about which many volumes would be written.

Several times along the way and between stations the train would stop, once for one full hour, which gave us an opportunity to take a walk along the tracks under the watchful eyes of our guard. This gave us sisters a chance to pick violas along the track.

Father had been in Siberia in 1890-1891. Consequently, he knew Siberia well, not only the cities, but the locations of different industries and the mining regions, which he had visited during his travels. He pointed to us locations of the most important industries, such as the iron works, paper mills, and gold and copper mines. He was sent to Siberia by his father, Alexander III, with the engineers at the head of the committee for the construction of the railroads connecting European Russia with the shores of the Pacific Ocean.

When he ascended the throne he continued the work entrusted to him by his father, to complete this construction. The Amur line was finished in March 1915 exactly two years before the revolution. He told us that the first stone for the Ussuri line was laid in Vladivostok in 1891, upon his return from the Far East. Several uncles also had been in the Far North of Siberia. The University of Tomsk was inaugurated during the reign of my Grandfather, Alexander III. Father gave to the museum of Ekaterinburg part of its famous Numismatic Department, with its rare coin collection. He also gave large contributions to the Ural mining school in Ekaterinburg. The Ural Society for Natural Sciences was under the patronage of my Uncle, the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich. The Imperial stone cutting works and the gold melting department which were also in Ekaterinburg belonged to the Imperial family.

[Illustration: Marie Feodorovna 1914

THE DOWAGER EMPRESS MARIE FEODOROVNA--1914]

[Illustration: THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS II]

[Illustration: Aleksandra.

THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA]

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

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUKE MICHAEL ALEXANDROVICH]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ELIZABETH FEODOROVNA]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESSES ANASTASIA, MARIE AND TATIANA--TSARSKOE SELO--1917]

[Illustration: NICHOLAS II AND HIS CHILDREN (l. to r.): THE GRAND DUCHESSES ANASTASIA, OLGA, TATIANA AND MARIE AND THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI, WITH A CONVOY OF CAUCASIAN OFFICERS--_ca._ 1916]

[Illustration: THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI AND HIS SISTERS, THE GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA, ANASTASIA AND TATIANA--TSARSKOE SELO--1917]

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE, OLGA, ANASTASIA AND TATIANA--TSARSKOE SELO--1917]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The P. B. Corporation_

VIEW OF CITY OF TOBOLSK FROM A HILL]

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The P. B. Corporation_

VIEW OF CITY OF TOBOLSK]

[Illustration: IPATIEV HOUSE, EKATERINBURG--1918]

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

[Illustration: THE HANDKERCHIEF TAKEN BY THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA FROM EKATERINBURG TO BUKOVINA]

[Illustration: THE PIECE OF GLASS FOUND IMBEDDED IN THE FLESH OF THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA SUBSEQUENT TO THE TRAGEDY]

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

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

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

[Illustration:

_Courtesy The Chicago Tribune_

NICHOLAS II, THE GRAND DUCHESSES TATIANA, OLGA, MARIE AND ANASTASIA AND THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI; IN THE FOREGROUND, THE PRINCE VASILI--_ca._ WINTER 1913-14]

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

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA, TATIANA, ANASTASIA AND MARIE--TSARSKOE SELO--1917]

[Illustration:

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA WITH MARJORIE HANSON, GRANDDAUGHTER OF MRS. WILLIAM H. EMERY--WISCONSIN--_ca._ 1944]

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

THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA--ILLINOIS--1963]

The Alexander house for the poor and other civic institutions were built in their entirety from funds of Alexander III. Some of our friends had some industries in these regions, namely Count Vorontsov-Dashkov, Countess Stenbock-Fermor, General Tatishchev, Prince Dolgorukov, Count Ignatiev, Prince Demidov, Baroness Meller-Zakomelsky, Count Muraviev-Amursky, Count Stroganov, and others. All these names were familiar to us. General Count Tatishchev, who was with us on the train, gave us many historical facts about Ekaterinburg. His ancestors had built this city in honor of the Empress Catherine the Great.

Ekaterinburg is the junction of various railroads, connecting the Siberian main line via Perm with Tiumen and Cheliabinsk and other side lines. On Father’s wedding date November 14th, 1894, old style, a library and free reading room was given by him; and every year thereafter, whole sets of books were sent to Cheliabinsk on this day. He described to us the tea packaging business at Kiakhta in the Transbaikal, from where many of our grey horses came.

On the way to Tiumen we saw feeding stations, medical shelters and railroad car churches and portable schools. They were built for the convenience of the settlers. Practically in every city was a school or a hospital built from the funds of my Grandfather.

We kept climbing higher and in the morning we stopped near the town of Bazhenovo. Some peasants who saw us wanted to come close to us, but were sent back by the guards. They told the men that the distilleries, which had been closed during the war, were reopened and the people were becoming intoxicated on the spirits and wines produced there. They also said that the emerald mines already had been closed and that the workers were spending their time in the wine cellars getting drunk.

On the fourth midnight our train arrived in Tiumen where we were to take a boat to Tobolsk. While our trunks and other heavy boxes were being loaded on the boat, we walked for several hours through the dimly-lighted street near the dock in the cool Siberian air and crossed the three railroad tracks to the boat. In the distance and around the bend of the river we could see the flickering lights of the city of Tiumen.

We boarded the small, two-decker steamer “Rossia.” Father and his friends stayed on the deck until morning. We sisters got up early to get a view of the city in the distance, but the boat was already on its way, escorted by two smaller vessels, “Kormilets” and “Sibiriak.” We passed many small rivers, and swamps and lakes, parts of which were covered with reeds and millions of red flowers. Mother called them saltwort. We saw some red foxes and white partridges, and on a swamp there was a singing swan. We saw many beautiful birds, some familiar to us and some not.

Father said Godunov, Volynsky and Prince Bariatinsky contributed a great deal to the progress of Tiumen. Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich founded Tiumen in 1664 and visited this frozen land himself. Alexander II constructed hospitals and later Father sponsored shelters, feeding places and medical centers for the exiles on their way to the settlements.

Speaking of exiles in Siberia, the first exiles to Tobolsk Government began at the time of the murder of Tsarevich Dimitri in 1591. Two Romanov brothers, Ivan and Vasili Nikitich Yuriev-Zakharin, and Prince Beloselsky were banished in 1601 by Tsar Boris Godunov. Later even Sheremetiev and Prince Dolgorukov were exiled to Tiumen and Tobolsk. The descendants of those old families were close friends. Another coincidence: the first Romanov was to visit Siberia and the last Romanov was to die in Siberia. The people believed that Ivan the Terrible was responsible for the establishment of the prisons here. However, vicious propaganda tried to make the people believe that it was Father who had established these prison camps. This was nothing more than an unadulterated Bolshevik lie.

In the late afternoon we came to the juncture of the Tobol and the Tura Rivers. We passed the village of Pokrovskoe where on a high bank overlooking the Tobol stood Rasputin’s house. Soon the Irtysh River met the Tobol, and we continued on the Irtysh, which by now had become wider. On the second day, late in the afternoon we arrived in front of Tobolsk. This city seemed to be built on two levels of a hill, one above the other. Near the upper level of the town was a stone wall. We were told that this wall was a fortress and was built in the 16th century in order to protect the new colonies from invasion by plundering Kirghiz, Kazak and Kalmuk tribes. There were lots of people at the wharf; apparently they had heard of our coming. Dr. Botkin, Colonel Kobylinsky and Commissar Makarov went to see the Governor’s house, where we were to stay, and they found that the house was being redecorated and was not yet ready for occupancy, so we continued to live on the boat for a number of days. They also found that the furniture was inadequate and the beds were not suitable for our parents. They took it upon themselves to find beds. Later Makarov purchased even a piano, using a part of his own money for this purpose.

During the day the steamer made little trips on the river. Several times we went ashore for a walk and once to the monastery of Abalak, around the bend where the Irtysh and the Tobol Rivers met.

A carriage from the monastery was provided for Mother’s use, but the rest of us preferred to walk the narrow road up the hill, under a strong guard. The monastery stood amidst lovely grounds on a hill not far from the landing place. There were people on one side at the monastery church, who began to cry when they saw us. We prayed before the miraculous Image of the Holy Virgin with her hands raised from her elbows and the Christ Child resting in the folds of her robe. Her headgear was studded with pearls.

This Image of the Holy Virgin later was brought to Tobolsk. Peace and contentment we found in our undisturbed prayers, in this Holy sanctuary. Our hearts were strengthened, and it gave us a new hope and courage. The iconostas, with many Byzantine icons, was much more beautiful than the one in Tsarskoe Selo. We had often heard of this monastery and now we had the opportunity to see it. We were grateful to Colonel Kobylinsky and Commissar Makarov for allowing us this kind of privilege. We never forgot this gracious gesture.

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

At last the house was ready. Mother, Alexei and Marie were driven to the house, while Father and the rest of us walked along the Tulyatskaya street to the house. I think that was the street leading from the dock. Later, Marie told us that, when Mother passed near the Lutheran church, her eyes filled with tears. She said: “It reminds me of the day after your Grandfather’s death. I was baptised in the old chapel in Oreanda in the Crimea.” It was the day she was converted to the Russian Orthodox Church and given the name of Alexandra Feodorovna with the title of Grand Duchess of Russia and the style of Her Imperial Highness.