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Title: Anastasia: The autobiography of H.I.H. the Grand Duchess
Anastasia Nicholaevna of Russia

Author: Eugenia Smith

Dubious author: Emperor of Russia daughter of Nicholas II Grand
Duchess Anastasiia Nikolaevna

Release date: July 28, 2022 [eBook #68616]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Robert Speller & Sons, 1963

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68616

Credits: Thomas Frost, Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANASTASIA:
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF H.I.H. THE GRAND DUCHESS
ANASTASIA NICHOLAEVNA OF RUSSIA ***
$5.95

This is the only authentic autobiography of the Grand Duchess
Anastasia Nicholaevna, fourth daughter of the late Emperor
Nicholas II and the late Empress Alexandra Feodorovna of
Russia.
The Grand Duchess Anastasia furnishes authentic information
and many previously unpublished details concerning the life of
the Imperial Family and suite from the days of her childhood to
the date of the murder of her parents and other members of her
Family in Ekaterinburg on the night of July 16-17, 1918.
Her story is divided into six major parts: the youthful years, the
period of the First World War, arrest and exile, life in Tobolsk,
life in Ekaterinburg, and the period after the tragedy which
includes her rescue and escape to Bukovina.
The life of a Grand Duchess of Russia was no downy bed of
roses. Discipline was imposed by the Tsar and Tsarina,
particularly the latter. Study was an essential duty which took
many hours. During the war years there were responsibilities
connected with the operation of hospitals for the wounded.
Always over the Family hung the fear of the possible demise of
the heir to the throne, the young Tsesarevich and Grand Duke
Alexei Nicholaevich, who had inherited haemophilia through his
Mother.
The Grand Duchess Anastasia rejects vigorously various
accusations directed against each of her parents. She explains in
her preface the reasons for her long submergence and for her
present re-emergence forty-five years after her reported death.
Her style is brisk and invigorating. Her sense of humor
repeatedly delights with accounts of lighter events and
anecdotes.

This is an invaluable historical record.

ROBERT SPELLER & SONS, Publishers
33 West 42nd Street
New York, N.Y. 10036

Photograph by Stephen Gaillard
Portrait by Richard Banks
H.I.H. THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA NICHOLAEVNA OF
RUSSIA

ANASTASIA

The Autobiography of H.I.H. The Grand Duchess
Anastasia Nicholaevna of Russia

Volume I

ROBERT SPELLER & SONS, PUBLISHERS
New York

© 1963 by Robert Speller & Sons, Publishers, Inc.
33 West 42nd Street
New York, New York 10036

Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 63-22672

First edition
All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

WITH LOVE AND ESTEEM
I dedicate this book
To My Family:
To My Father, His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor
Nicholas II,
To My Mother, Her Imperial Majesty, the Empress
Alexandra Feodorovna,
To My Brother, His Imperial Highness, the Tsesarevich
Alexei Nicholaevich,
To My Sisters, Their Imperial Highnesses, the Grand
Duchesses Olga, Tatiana, and Marie;
To those dear and understanding friends who perished with My
Family in Ekaterinburg;
Dr. Eugene Botkin, Mlle. Anna Demidova, Ivan
Kharitonov, and Trup;
To those faithful friends and companions who, because of their
loyalty to us, perished before or after the tragedy which befell
My Family:
Countess Anastasia Hendrikova, Mlle. Ekaterina
Schneider, Prince Vasily Dolgorukov, Count Ilia
Tatishchev, Nagorny, Chemodurov, and Ivan Sidniev;
To My Brother’s youthful companion and helper, whose fate I
never learned:
Leonid Sidniev;
To My Uncle, His Imperial Highness, the Grand Duke Michael
Alexandrovich, and his secretary and friend, Nicholas Johnson,
both of whom disappeared, apparently murdered by the
Bolsheviks;

To My Aunt, Her Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess
Elizabeth Feodorovna, and her faithful nun, Varvara, who were
brutally murdered by the Bolsheviks;
To other members of the Imperial Family who were murdered by
the Bolsheviks;
To all members of the Imperial Family who died during the First
World War and the Civil War in Russia;
To all members of the Imperial Family, living and dead, who
survived the Bolshevik revolution;
To those dear and helpful friends:
Count Apraxin and Captain Nilov;
To the two officers who came to pay their respects and salute My
Father for the last time at the station at Tsarskoe Selo just
before our departure for Siberia:
Kushelev and Artasalev (?);
To friends who voluntarily accompanied My Family into exile;
To my rescuer, Alexander;
To Nikolai; to the Serbian, the Croatian, and the former
Austrian soldier; and to all others who befriended and aided me
during the long journey from the vicinity of Ekaterinburg to a
refuge in Bukovina;
To those millions of heroes of the Russian Empire, sung and
unsung, who gave their lives in defense of their country against
the Central Powers and against the Bolsheviks;
To all members of the Imperial Armed Forces who served their
Emperor and their country faithfully and loyally at all times;
To the millions who died in Russia from execution, starvation
and other causes deriving from Bolshevik cruelty, tyranny and
misrule;
To the members of the Imperial Armed Forces who are now
living outside their homeland and especially those among them

who are maimed and destitute;
To all who have helped me in any way since I left Russia;
To all these—departed and living, known and unknown, relatives
and friends—I am eternally grateful.

Acknowledgements
The present book could never have been completed without the
encouragement, inspiration and help of friends who were interested in
having the story of my family, as known to me, the youngest of the four
daughters of the late Emperor Nicholas II and the Empress Alexandra, and
my own story made known to the world.
My indebtedness to these friends is deep and lasting. First of all must be
mentioned the late Mrs. Helen Kohlsaat Wells, a close friend and confidante
for many, many years. She worked with me closely during the years 1930 to
1934 during which we completed the first complete draft of the manuscript.
Many years later we worked intermittently on revising the manuscript until
Mrs. Wells’ untimely death. Also in a separate category is the late Mr. John
Adams Chapman, whose friendship and counsel were so valuable at all
times. Deserving of special gratitude are Mrs. Marjorie Wilder Emery, Miss
Edith Kohlsaat, Mr. and Mrs. Norman Hanson, Mrs. John Adams Chapman,
Mr. and Mrs. Louis Ellsworth Laflin, Jr., and Mr. and Mrs. Francis Beidler
II.

Table of Contents
List of Illustrations xi
Author’s Preface xiii

PART ONE THE YOUTHFUL YEARS 1
Chapter I Earliest Memories 3
Chapter II School Days 15
Chapter III Cruises 25
Chapter IV The Crimea 40
Chapter V Spala: 1912 53
Chapter VI Jubilee: 1913 66

PART TWO THE FIRST WORLD WAR 73
Chapter VII Eve of the War: 1914 75
Chapter VIII No Choice But War 83
Chapter IX Family Heartaches 95
Chapter X Mogilev 113
Chapter XI Our Last Autumn in Tsarskoe Selo 126
Chapter XII Revolution 140
Chapter XIII Abdication 152
PART THREE ARREST AND EXILE 171
Chapter XIV Arrest 173
Chapter XV Subjugation 182
Chapter XVI Departure 193
Chapter XVII Journey 203

PART FOUR TOBOLSK 209
Chapter XVIII Orientation 211
Chapter XIX Winter 226
Chapter XX Danger 236
Chapter XXI Separation 248

PART FIVE EKATERINBURG 263
Chapter XXII Reunion 265
Chapter XXIII Deprivation and Courage 278
Chapter XXIV The Nights Are Long 286
Chapter XXV Accusation 291
Chapter XXVI Fear and Dread 297
Chapter XXVII Our Final Decision 303
Chapter XXVIII Dawn Turns to Dusk 314

PART SIX AFTER THE TRAGEDY 321
Chapter XXIX Dugout 323
Chapter XXX Recovery 338
Chapter XXXI Westward Trek 348
Chapter XXXII Alexander 358
Chapter XXXIII Escape 373
Chapter XXXIV Refuge 378

Index 383

List of Illustrations
FRONTISPIECE
The Grand Duchess Anastasia (portrait)

FIRST GROUP
The Grand Duchess Anastasia
Announcement of Birth of the Grand Duchess Anastasia
The Empress Alexandra
The Grand Duchess Anastasia, the Tsesarevich Alexei and the
Emperor Nicholas II
The Tsesarevich Alexei, the Empress Alexandra and the
Emperor Nicholas II
The Russian Imperial Family on visit to the British Royal
Family
The Grand Duke Alexander and the Grand Duchess Xenia and
Their Children
Alexander Palace, Tsarskoe Selo
The New Palace, Livadia
Nicholas II
The Empress Alexandra
The Tsesarevich Alexei
Nicholas II and the Empress Alexandra
The Grand Duchess Anastasia
The Grand Duchesses Marie, Tatiana, Anastasia and Olga
The Empress Alexandra with Her Daughters

Nicholas II and the Empress Alexandra and Their Children
The Grand Duchesses Olga and Tatiana
The Grand Duchesses Marie and Anastasia
The Grand Duchesses Anastasia, Olga, Tatiana and Marie
Nicholas II
The Grand Duchess Anastasia, the Empress Alexandra and
President Raymond Poincaré

SECOND GROUP
The Dowager Empress Marie
The Emperor Nicholas II
The Empress Alexandra
The Tsesarevich Alexei
The Grand Duke Michael
The Grand Duchess Elizabeth
The Grand Duchesses Anastasia, Marie and Tatiana
Nicholas II and His Children
The Tsesarevich Alexei and the Grand Duchesses Olga,
Anastasia and Tatiana
The Grand Duchesses Marie, Olga, Anastasia and Tatiana
Views of Tobolsk
Ipatiev House, Ekaterinburg
The Death Chamber, Ipatiev House, Ekaterinburg
The Handkerchief
The Piece of Glass
Map of Ekaterinburg and Vicinity
The Grand Duchesses Marie and Anastasia

The Grand Duchess Anastasia
Nicholas II with His Children and His Nephew, Prince Vasili
The Grand Duchess Anastasia
The Grand Duchesses Olga, Tatiana, Anastasia and Marie
The Grand Duchess Anastasia
The Grand Duchess Anastasia and Marjorie Hanson
The Grand Duchess Anastasia

THIRD GROUP
Cameos of the Grand Duchess Anastasia Through the Years

Author’s Preface
A few weeks after my arrival in Bukovina—after I had had time to recover
from the emotional and nervous shock and body wounds which I had
suffered at the time of the tragedy on the night of July 16-17, 1918—I
decided to write about my home life with my beloved family, about our
arrest, about our exile in Tobolsk and Ekaterinburg, about the assassination
of the family in Ekaterinburg, and about my rescue and subsequent escape
across the frontier.
I made many, many notes, totaling over three hundred pages. I spent hours
and hours in the writing, days and nights of introspective experiences, of
grief and horror. I wrote in a peasant cottage in a lonely village dotted with
thatched-roof houses. I wrote at night in the candlelight, agonizing over my
story. At times the only relief I had from my misery was the howling or
barking of a dog. I remembered my beloved Father’s words, “Dearest
children, are you awake?” Tear after tear dropped as I labored.
I remembered also my Father’s desire that a history of Russia should be
written by a member of our family. My Father had had in mind that such a
history might be written by my two oldest sisters and, to that end, he gave
them much valuable information. As it has turned out, it is the youngest
sister, the one least prepared to do so, upon whom devolves the task of
writing such a book, if it is to be written. That is something for the future.
In 1918, after my escape, I thought that the book I had decided to write
about my family and myself might include historical data and interpretation
which would be of interest to the world and would be of benefit to the
Russian people and to their, and my, native land. I particularly wanted to let
the world know the facts about the arrest, exile and murder of my parents,
sisters and brother, and about the nature of the Bolshevik regime in my
country. It was the notes for this book that I produced so painfully and
painstakingly.
These early notes unfortunately vanished in 1919 when I was on my way by
train from Rumania to Serbia—second homeland to us Russians—while in
the vicinity of Turnu-Severin. I had accepted from another traveller—I

thought he was an Italian—his kind offer of a slice of bread and a piece of
ham. Three or four hours later I became ill and had to leave the
compartment. When I returned some time later, the heartless traveller, who
had no pity for a young woman travelling alone, had disappeared along with
my suitcase and a blanket. The suitcase contained not only my precious
notes, so laboriously produced, but also some personal belongings, some
letters, and a list of about one hundred names of the men who had done
most of the harm to Russia, and to my family. These names I had written
down from memory, based upon information furnished by my rescuer,
Alexander. Most of these names were already familiar to me.
In Yugoslavia, I resumed work on my book. I continued the task later in
Rumania and, once more, in Yugoslavia. I again wrote many pages of notes,
using a pencil stub and scraps of paper. Such of these notes as remained
legible were used subsequently in the preparation of the first draft of the
present book.
Later, in the early thirties, some years after my arrival in the United States, I
began to revise my materials which were in a disorganized but generally
readable condition, assisted by my good friends, the late Mrs. Helen
Kohlsaat Wells, and her sister, Miss Edith Kohlsaat. During this phase of
the undertaking I was determined to complete the book as soon as possible
and to make provision for its publication only after my own demise.
For about twenty years, I was unable to work on the manuscript, due to the
necessity of making my own living. During this period I gave no attention
whatever to the manuscript which I had confided for safekeeping to my
lawyer, a friend who was aware of my real identity and who wished to help
me ultimately to find a publisher.
Five or six years ago I decided to resume work on the book. A complete
revision and reorganization of my materials were again required. Once
more I had the benefit of Helen Wells’ assistance and counsel.
I had also the great and valued encouragement of my good friends the late
John Adams Chapman and Mrs. Marjorie Wilder Emery.
Early in 1963 I mentioned to a friend in New York, who was unaware of my
identity, that I had in my possession a manuscript on the Russian
Revolution. He suggested I get in touch with a close friend, Dr. Jon P.

Speller of Robert Speller & Sons, Publishers, Inc. This I did. The first
member of the firm with whom I talked was Mr. Robert E. B. Speller, Jr.,
who surprised me with the depth of his knowledge of my family. I informed
him that the Grand Duchess Anastasia had left the manuscript with me, a
close friend, shortly before her death in 1919. I hoped—naively—to
achieve early publication of the manuscript while keeping secret my true
identity. Dr. Jon Speller then joined the conversation. He asked if I would
be willing to take a polygraph examination to back up my statements. Upon
my consenting to do so, they agreed to read the manuscript.
They, and their father, Mr. Robert E. B. Speller, Sr., President of the firm,
after reading the manuscript became convinced for various reasons that the
manuscript could have been written only by a member of the Imperial
family. They questioned me at length and finally I confided to Dr. Jon
Speller and then to Mr. Robert Speller, Jr. that their suspicions were correct,
that I was Anastasia, but that, if possible, I would like to retain my
anonymity.
Therefore the polygraph examination, given by the noted polygraph expert
Mr. Cleve Backster, was begun by testing me on my statements that I was a
friend of Anastasia. Mr. Backster quickly recognized that I was withholding
pertinent information, even to the extent that I could be Anastasia; I finally
admitted my real identity to him. In a series lasting more than thirty hours
in all, Mr. Backster became convinced that I am really Anastasia. I signed a
contract with Robert Speller & Sons and began editing my book with Mr.
Earl L. Packer, senior editor of the firm, and Mr. Robert Speller, Jr.
My reasons for bringing the book before the world at the present time will, I
hope, be readily understood. They are not complicated. First, I wished to
come to the defense of my deceased parents, against whom many
unfounded accusations and slanders were made. Second, I felt that various
distortions of history which have been given wide circulation needed to be
corrected. Third, I wished to expose the falsity of the claims of other
persons to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia. Fourth, I desired to establish a
foundation which would set up a museum, with a small chapel therein, to
honor my family who loved Russia so faithfully; and also to assure, in so
far as I might be able to do so, funds for its maintenance, hoping proceeds
from the sale of the book might in large measure provide such funds. Fifth,
I wished to establish a fund for the provision of financial assistance to

destitute former Russian soldiers and officers; again I hoped that the
proceeds of the sale of the book might help in this undertaking. Sixth, I
planned that, in the event the proceeds of the sale of my book should
provide sufficient funds to enable me to do so, I would assist financially a
very small number of charitable and philanthropic organizations which, for
the most part, I have already definitively selected.
Sometime earlier I had come to doubt that, if publication of the book were
postponed until after my death, as I had earlier resolved, my projects would
ever materialize. Also, I thought unlikely the possibility that anyone but
myself could or would make knowledgeable and effective defense against
whatever unfavorable criticism might be made of the book and myself upon
its publication.
I have had the opportunity for a relatively quiet life in the United States,
where I have had comparative freedom from all the attentions that might
have surrounded an earlier reappearance in the world in my true identity.
But my purposes, as enumerated above, could not be accomplished by
remaining longer submerged. So I have resolved to balance the
opportunities for good against the possible personal inconveniences, hoping
still to be able, after publication of my book, to continue to live undisturbed
a simple, private life devoted in large part to further writing.
A.N.R. 1963

PART I
The Youthful Years
I
EARLIEST MEMORIES
It was June 5th, 1901, by the Russian calendar, June 18th by the new.
Suspense and excitement abounded at Peterhof. The accouchement of the
Tsarina was momentarily expected. The fourth child, surely this time it
would be a boy. Russia bowed to the little Grand Duchess Olga, then to the
baby Tatiana. But Marie, a third daughter in succession, had been entirely
too many. However, all would be righted if this fourth child were the long-
awaited Tsarevich.
At last, the guns: the baby had arrived; a three hundred gun salute would
announce an Imperial Grand Duke and heir to the Russian throne. One
hundred and one guns would announce a Grand Duchess. The guns saluted
a second time. The people paused to count—three, four, five, on and on,
came the rhythmical booms. The populace stood breathless. Twenty-three,
on and on, one hundred, one hundred and one, the guns stopped. No, it
could not be. It was not possible. Alas, yes. The fourth child of the Tsar and
Tsarina of Russia was another daughter. Caught in an anticlimax, the man in
the street went his way, but diplomatic Russia said “Bah” and resented the
Tsarina who could not fulfill her function. The Tsar and the Tsarina
accepted the inevitable and said, “It is God’s will.”
All the while I, the unconscious cause of this frustration, had lain peacefully
in the same little crib which had cradled the three sisters before me. It was
not long however before the unwelcomed wee one won the hearts of its
parents and I was christened Anastasia, but to the world outside I was
number four, almost forgotten beyond the family circle.
As a child, my tomboy spirit predominated and I was permitted to indulge
this urge until I became something of a novelty in a court reeking with

formality. Nothing pleased me more than an audience, especially when they
nodded and whispered “cute.”
My next older sister Marie and I were inseparable. At an early age my
greatest delight was to arouse her curiosity. Often when we were at the
height of some make-believe, I would suddenly dart away. Marie was as
slow to action as I was quick, so I would slip out of sight into one of my
hiding places. Then began the hunt I revelled in. The searchers went
around, as I listened from my vantage point, purring with satisfaction when
I heard the call, “Anastasia, where are you? Be a good girl and give us a
hint.” These games began good-naturedly, but often when the hunt dragged
on, I lost patience and felt compelled to reveal my whereabouts.
Secret hiding places became an obsession with me, especially tiny ones so
snug I had to squeeze into them. There I often stayed gloating over the
bewilderment and eventual rage of searchers. Once when I was quite young
I slipped out of the nursery onto the balcony. It was late in the afternoon
and the long shadows fascinated me, so that I must have remained there
quietly for a long time. Suddenly I heard excited voices and I decided to
keep perfectly quiet. At dusk, in the uncertain light, I flattened myself
against the shadowed wall. The sentries were spreading over the park; the
worry was growing. I was thrilled when I knew they were searching for me,
but I was a little frightened of the gathering darkness. I ran quickly down
the stairs and to the main floor. Mother was talking to one of the officers
when her eyes suddenly fell on me.
“Anastasia,” she cried, “where have you been?”
“Right on the balcony and no one could find me,” I answered with all the
glee in my voice I could muster.
Almost before I could finish, Father was beside me. He took me by the
hand. One look at his face warned me that something was very wrong.
Without a word he signaled to the distressed nurse. Her face was flushed.
She marched me to my room and I never ventured one look of triumph as
she undressed me. She did not say a word until I was in bed. Then she said,
“You were a very naughty girl to worry your Mother so. She was very
hurt.”

Mother always came to kiss me goodnight. I didn’t stir in my bed lest I
should miss her footsteps. Finally I heard her approaching with my sisters;
their voices sounded happy. She stopped at the door for only a moment, and
Marie entered the room alone. When the nurse turned out the lights, I
realized that Mother was not going to kiss me that night.
The next morning a penitent little girl asked herself: “Will Mother come to
me now?” And: “Will she be cross with me?” I was full of contrition, but
how could I express it if Mother were not in a receptive mood? My eyes
fastened on the door, hoping to see Mother’s face. Suddenly she appeared. I
ran to her and wrapped myself around her neck. I promised never to worry
her again.
Mother’s daily round took her to the nursery the first thing every morning
before breakfast to say a prayer with us children and to read one chapter to
us from the Bible. She was usually attired in a beautiful dressing gown of
white—occasionally in other soft colors—her hair braided and tied with silk
ribbon to match the trimming of her gown, a habit acquired from her
grandmother, Queen Victoria of England. These were precious moments to
us children. She was a fairytale empress—stately and beautiful.
On July 30th, 1904, Russian calendar, August 12th by the new, my little
brother was born on a Friday noon. Three hundred guns announced the birth
of the heir from the Fortress of Sts. Peter and Paul, in St. Petersburg.
On the same day, it was learned that the Russian fleet at Port Arthur had
been sunk on August 10th by the Japanese navy. My Mother often said it
was a day of sunshine and a day of darkness at the same time. It would have
been customary to hold a large banquet to celebrate the birth of an heir to
the throne but my Father would not hear of it. Instead, prayers were offered
in the churches for the lost ones at sea and for the baby Tsarevich. All day
long the bells rang out from all the churches of Russia. Thirteen years later
Mother spoke of this day as being as gloomy as the day we arrived in
Ekaterinburg. It was on Alexei’s thirteenth birthday, and about the same
hour in 1917, that the family was informed they must leave their beloved
home in Tsarskoe Selo.
I do not remember Alexei’s christening since I was so small, but I have been
told about it and have often seen his christening mantle and the cross which
he wore on a chain around his neck. These were displayed in a glass case

along with the christening dresses of us sisters. Olga’s was an exact copy of
that of Marie Antoinette’s older daughter. It had been made in Lyons. Olga
and Tatiana held a corner of the long mantle which was attached to the
cushion because of its weight. Alexei’s godmothers were his grandmother,
the Dowager Empress Marie Feodorovna; his sister, Olga Nicholaevna; his
aunts, Mother’s sisters, the Princesses Irene of Prussia and Victoria of
Battenberg (subsequently Marchioness of Milford Haven). The godfathers
were his grand uncles, the Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich and King
Edward VII of Great Britain; his cousin, Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany; his
great-grandfather, King Christian IX of Denmark; his uncle, the Grand
Duke Ernest Louis of Hesse, the Empress’ only brother; and his Aunt
Irene’s husband, Prince Henry of Prussia. To commemorate his birth the
cornerstone for the Feodorovsky Sobor (Church) was laid in Tsarskoe Selo.
Now that this handsome brother had arrived, the handicap of my life, that of
being a girl, seemed somewhat lifted. Alexei was a beautiful little boy with
a very light complexion and curly auburn hair which my Mother brushed
lovingly into a curl in the middle, big blue eyes, long eyelashes and a most
alluring smile. He was the most fascinating thing in my existence, so
whenever an opportunity presented itself, I ran into his nursery bringing
various toys to him. Mother had many pet names for him, among them:
“My precious Agoo” and “Kroshka” which means crumb. Olga and Tatiana
were permitted to hold the baby; Marie and I could only hold his feet.
One of my most vivid childhood experiences, when I was nearly four years
old, happened on a Sunday when we sisters as usual were dressed in white,
ready to go to church. We heard excited voices and saw Mother running
upstairs. This frightened us and we all ran after her to the nursery. There I
saw a spot of blood on little Alexei’s shirt. While nurse was bathing him he
sneezed, thereby causing a discharge of blood from his navel. Though I was
very young, I could easily tell from the faces about me that something was
wrong. At the time just what it was I could not understand. A few years
later, when I was about seven, we three younger children were playing in
the garden when our brother fell over his cart. Soon a large blue swelling
developed around his ankle. When Mother came she fainted at the sight,
knowing it was the dreaded haemophilia that might kill her son. As a result,
the lives of Father and Mother were noticeably saddened. Father searched
in every country for a specialist, but without success.

We were continually reminded that we must be careful of Alexei. He was so
easily hurt. The toys I was in the habit of bringing to him were removed
before they reached his hands. Once he fell on his head and his face swelled
so terribly that his eyes were almost closed and his whole face became a
purplish yellow, a dreadful sight. At one moment he would be perfectly
well; an hour later, he would lie in bed seriously ill. We were instructed not
to speak to anybody about it, but we innocently gave away the secret of his
illness to some members of our staff who had led us into believing that they
already knew all about it.
Mother was constantly at his side, never trusting any one else to care for
him. Each time, when he recovered, Mother was entirely exhausted, so
much so that she was unable to leave her room for days at a time.
When Alexei was well and his normal chubby self, it was hard to remember
that we had to be careful when we played with him. I often felt belligerent
when he teased me saying, “Go away, you’re playing just like a little girl;
you don’t know this game.” I maintained my composure pretty well and
occasionally retaliated by refusing to play with him, but he bitterly
complained of such treatment. Suddenly he would be well again at which
time it was difficult to restrain him from getting too bold or playing games
that might end in disaster.
Alexei had several guards, Cossacks who were trustworthy and on duty day
and night. Every morning they searched the palace grounds before any
member of the family could walk about in them. Alexei also had two
special attendants. One was Derevenko, nicknamed Dina, a huge strong
sailor, a member of the crew of Father’s yacht, the “Standard.” He was no
relation of Dr. Derevenko, Alexei’s physician. Dina applied hot compresses
and light massages to Alexei, when they were needed. Dina also gave foam
treatments, and always carried him around when he was not able to walk.
Unfortunately Dina turned against his master during the revolution and was
later arrested by the Soviets when they found some of Alexei’s belongings
in his luggage.
The other attendant was Nagorny. He was the last to give Alexei his usual
care. Nagorny took charge of him during the revolution, and was killed in
Ekaterinburg because he defended the little boy’s property. These two, Dina
and Nagorny, were constantly at Alexei’s side to see that he did not harm

himself. They helped my brother to grow to normal boyhood by using the
exercises prescribed by Dr. Derevenko and the suggestions of M. Pierre
Gilliard, our French tutor. They helped to carry on in such a way that the
little fellow never suspected that he was being shielded. For he was not told
of the serious nature of his illness but was to realize it for himself when he
grew older.
At his birth Alexei received many titles: “Hetman of all the Cossacks,”
“Knight of St. Andrew,” “Knight of the Seraphim of Sweden,” “Head of the
Battalion of the Horse Infantry,” “Head of the Siberian Infantry,” “Head of
the Cadet Corps” and others. Alexei loved everything military. I think he
had a uniform for almost every military order in Russia. He was so proud to
wear each one, and carried himself with true military bearing. From
childhood he had worn a white sailor suit with ribbons around his collar.
When we cruised in the Baltic, he wore a white sailor cap with the name
“Standard” in white on a blue band. When cruising on the Black Sea he had
a black band with yellow lettering.
One day in a snow storm I pulled Alexei on his sled. Then he insisted that it
was his turn to pull me. Soon his hands became swollen but fortunately this
did not result in one of his serious attacks. He was not permitted to take part
freely in sports, though he was allowed to ride a tricycle and later a bicycle,
when he was carefully followed by Dina. Finally he was allowed to drive a
small motor car with his cousins or a friend.
Alexei had playmates other than myself. I remember a youngster who was
driven up the driveway accompanied by a guard and well supplied with
many toys. He had among other things a box of powdered chalk.
Considering the boy an intruder and unable to hide my jealousy, while he
was escorted by the runner, I snatched the box from his hand and scattered
the contents all over the floor. It all happened so quickly that no one was
able to stop me. Soon I was escorted to Mother. By the time I reached her I
was all smiles—a bit strained to be sure. She sat silently and held my little
hands, studying them and wondering how they could do such a thing. I
peeked at her face, putting on my most winsome smile. Mother assured me
that “Smiles will not help.” Just then Father came in and sent me to my
room for the rest of the day. Later he came to see me and said, “You must
not fight with your younger friends. Always be a little lady.” “I don’t want
to be a lady,” I said defiantly. Father answered, “Then you cannot live in

this place.” “Where will I live then?” “In one of the guard houses,” said
Father. My dear Father often apologized for Alexei and myself.
Gentle as Father was, I took those remarks seriously, because I knew he
always meant what he said. So I applied myself to the idea of “being a
lady.” It soon paid off. Some time later when I was roaming through the
park I chanced upon two workmen who were fighting in the ravine. It
looked serious and desperate. With all the ladyship I could muster I ordered
them to stop. To my astonishment they did. The contrast between little me
and those two, so huge and menacing, convinced me that there must be
something in this ladylike business after all.
By nature I enjoyed the rough and tumble, while being a lady meant being
dignified, sewing, practicing on the piano, in general following in the
footsteps of Olga and Tatiana. I would much rather have played the kind of
games that Alexei enjoyed. Marie did not like these games at all. She
preferred dolls, which I thought were not half as much fun as shooting off
pop guns. I often held the gun while Alexei slid down the toboggan slide
held on the lap of his attendant Derevenko or his assistant Nagorny.
The park surrounding our home at Tsarskoe Selo lent itself to my eager
desire for exploring the world around me, although even this could not
satisfy my curiosity about that part of the world which lay beyond the
fence. One afternoon I found an owl opposite the balcony in the garden. I
had seen something flying which fell to the ground. When I ran to it I found
an owl which did not move. I wanted to pick it up, but was told it was bad
luck to do so. In spite of this advice, I picked up the bird and stroked and
fed it. In a short time it became a real pet so it could even recognize my
step. It always stayed nearby, hopping about in a small area, though it didn’t
seem to be hurt. Whenever it heard me, it would fly up and sit on the rail of
the balcony. While the owl was perched there, it seemed to stare at me and I
could not resist walking around, fascinated by its twisting neck and staring
eyes which apparently followed my movements.
Most of the time I was content to wander through our fairyland park with
my sisters and brother. Its beauty was overwhelming with fine vistas
embracing gardens, ravines, lakes and even islands. We often sailed our toy
boats on the lake or rowed Alexei in a boat Sometimes we sat on shore
watching the varied reflections on the surface of the lake. These might be

reflections of the Feodorovsky Sobor with its golden cupola, or again a
glimpse of the luxuriant tree tops, or the rapidly changing cloud formations.
On the lake the swans glided back and forth in graceful splendor, but, when
they came near our shores, with one stroke they erased all the pictures
before our eyes.
These swans were my special pets. I usually carried bread to throw to them.
One day in a mischievous mood, I made them think I had come to feed
them. When they swam toward me expectantly, I ran away. I was suddenly
thrown to the ground, and the largest of the swans with his wings spread
wide stood over me. He began to beat me with his wings. My screams
brought help from one of the guards, who drove off the swan. When I
stopped sobbing I had not lost my love for the swans, but I had learned I
could not tease them.
Father found time to visit us at play every day, often only for a few minutes,
but he made us happy with these visits. Sometimes he watched us as we
went down the slide which had been installed in a large room on the ground
floor. He whistled as each child took her turn and the rest of us jumped up
and down expressing delight.
Several times, as a great treat, we children were permitted to take our bath
in Father’s big, sunken tile tub, large enough for one to swim several
strokes. After the bath we romped over the huge couch in Father’s dressing
room, watching the flames dance in the fireplace.
Mother called Father’s study “the forbidden land.” We children were not
allowed to enter it, which made me rather curious about it. I often ran down
the hall, hoping that I would find a way to get into the study, but there was
always someone who would send me back. If I could have found out what
Father did there, I would have been satisfied. One day I managed to slip
through the narrow passage of his dressing room and opened the door
leading into his study. I was breathless with excitement, but kept quiet. I
was about to open the door for a tiny peek, to see if Father were there, when
I heard footsteps. I decided to retreat quietly as if I had gotten there by
mistake. But as I backed out I had moved too quickly and gone too far. I
rolled down several steps right into the middle of Father’s sunken tub.
Fortunately I was not hurt, but my feelings were. I extricated myself and

retreated down the hall in the midst of laughter. I never did know my
discoverer.
My curiosity was still not satisfied, and I was determined to keep trying. I
used all sorts of excuses for going to his study with pressing messages or
gifts. But Mother spoke with finality: “Father cannot be disturbed in his
work.” In spite of Mother’s words, the opportunity finally presented itself.
One day I stood quivering on the threshold. There was Father at his desk
looking quite serious. I leaned forward on my toes to take in all that I could
see, so far forward that I lost my balance and fell on my face into the room.
I was terribly frightened, but Father rushed to me and with a smile picked
me up saying: “What are you doing here, baby?” Then he sat me down at
his desk and held me on his knees. I was speechless to think I was in the
forbidden place. I glanced at piles of papers, then at Father’s face. With a
hug and a kiss he deposited me in the hallway. “Now run along, my little
Curiosity.” I skipped away elated and I could hardly wait to tell Marie I had
actually been in “the forbidden land.”
I was often instrumental in getting my sister and my brother in trouble.
When we drove to Pavlovsk, a short distance from Tsarskoe Selo, I watched
for the moment when the nurse was occupied with my cousin’s attendant. I
snapped my fingers—a signal to dash to the brook for the mud fight. Within
seconds our faces and white clothes were beyond recognition. These mud
fights made the nurse furious. Once when she rebuked me, she said it was a
pity I had not been born a boy. This worried me so, I went to Mother with
the question, “Do you love me, Mother?” “You know I do, little
Shvibzchik,” was her reply, using her pet name for me. “But if I were a boy,
would you love me more?” I questioned her tearfully. Mother understood;
she shook her head a decided “No” and I was satisfied.
Sometimes after tea, I slipped into the servants’ quarters to partake of tea
again, because I thought they had more interesting things to eat. I was quite
wrapped up in my small world without realizing that there was any other.
And yet being born into a royal family I still kept wondering whether I
should have been someone else. I wondered if my grandmother, the
Dowager Empress Marie, ever forgave me for not being a boy. That might
explain her critical attitude toward me. I thought I sensed an unsympathetic
bearing in her and I often retaliated by being irritable which in turn justified
her criticism of me. On second thought this same Grandmother understood

me perhaps better than anyone else. When all despaired of me, she would
say, “Don’t worry, she’ll tame down after a while.” This may have been a
comforting thought to my family, but not to me. I did not want to be like my
Granny, not at all. She was small, dark-eyed, deep-voiced, always
beautifully groomed. I wanted to be like Tatiana, tall, beautiful and
graceful. Often after I was tucked in bed, I whispered a prayer that God
might transform me overnight into a girl like Tatiana. Grandmother was
Alexei’s favorite. He loved her more than we sisters did. She was Father’s
mother and there was a strong bond between them.
I remember the satisfaction I felt when some Danish relatives were visiting
us and my Grandmother said to one, “Anastasia is certainly small,” and the
relative replied, “You are not very tall yourself.” This kind person must
have sensed that I was touchy about my height and she attempted to defend
me before Grandmother.
When Father’s work was done for the day, he would enter Mother’s
apartment and whistle melodiously. This was the signal for a family get-
together or for an exercise outdoors. Sometimes Father took me on a walk
alone. He listened seriously to my talk and pretended to be concerned about
my petty problems. I swelled with pride that he considered my little world
was as important as his. He was a lover of nature, and this knowledge made
our walks even more interesting.
Father had the reputation of being graceful and a good tennis player. He
played with the best professionals in the Crimea and won most of the time.
Olga and Tatiana often played with him and I looked forward to the day
when I would be able to match him in a real game. But that day never came.
Before the war I was too young, and during the war there was no
opportunity. I did return the balls occasionally when Father was practicing.

II
SCHOOL DAYS

With excitement I looked forward to my first day of school. I was anxious
to make a good impression on my teachers. Dressed in a blue or white
pinafore and with ribbon bows on my hair, holding my Mother’s hand, I felt
quite grown up as I joined Marie in the school room on the second floor of
the palace. I was proud to hear Mother say that I was good, quiet, and
thoughtful as I sat at a fair-sized table opposite my tutor, answering the
questions. But to Mother’s disappointment my good behavior did not last
long. As the days passed, confinement began to irk me and I longed for the
outdoors. School became a difficult chore for me, and no doubt I was
difficult for my teachers. My mind turned to the other side of the classroom
door. Only the threat of punishment could bring me to a school desk at all,
and once there, instead of concentrating on my lessons, I planned my
activities for the hours after school.
My mind dreamed about Vanka, the donkey, when she came as a present to
Alexei. She was very bright and extremely stubborn. She was named for a
character in a humorous Russian song of the time. Vanka was cunning.
When Alexei hurt himself, she laid her head on his shoulder as if she were
crying. She could shake hands, wobble as if dancing, and rolled her eyes
flirtatiously. She understood every word we said, often shook her ears in
joy. But when things were not in her favor, she stared straight at us. Her
ears stood up into a half-cone. She had been a circus donkey, but she would
only perform when she felt like it. Derevenko, the sailor, could make her
walk while I rode her, but she wanted a lump of sugar in payment for every
step she took.
“Anastasia, put your mind on your work,” jarred my consciousness away
from Vanka and back into the classroom. I did like arithmetic and drawing.
I would often doodle until my pencil was taken away and the lessons
resumed. In the spring it was more difficult to concentrate. The warm,
sweet air and the chirping birds would not let me sit still.
Often after school, Mother would take me to my favorite farm where I felt
complete freedom. Here were many soft creatures to cuddle: tiny pink

piglets, toylike lambs, calves and colts, the cutest I ever saw. There were
human babies, too, belonging to the farm workers, but Olga had a way of
monopolizing them. Every place we went the children followed us and were
anxious to show anything new that happened. They all spoke at once,
excitedly. We pretended to be surprised, which encouraged them to tell each
story over again.
One day one of the workers gave me a tiny chick, born late in the season.
We put it in a basket with some straw in it. I covered it with my
handkerchief and went ahead of Mother to hide it in the carriage, and
waited there impatiently. I was afraid that the little thing would die before
we reached home. Soon after Mother heard the chick cry, she said, “You
have taken a baby from its mother. You must keep it well and happy.” This
chick taught me my first lesson in responsibility. You never saw so much
affection lavished on such a small thing. I fed it most tenderly and presented
it with my precious pillow which until then had belonged to my doll. In
spite of my devoted care the chick’s cries grew fainter and fainter and one
morning I found it lying on its back. It was a shock.
I decided to give my chick a funeral. I dressed it regally with veil and gown
and, as a great concession, I allowed Marie and Alexei to help lay the little
form on a mattress of rose petals in a pretty box. A bouquet of white flowers
was placed on its breast. Then we invited everyone to the funeral. Besides, I
wanted no one to miss seeing how beautifully I had prepared my pet. Alexei
was the priest, Marie and I chanted mournfully. Derevenko, the sailor,
prepared the grave. The box was opened for all to see. At last the box was
closed and placed on top of a stretcher, which was hoisted up on the
pallbearers’ shoulders. I, the chief mourner, led the procession with a black
band on my arm. We buried the box amidst quantities of flowers, then
marked the grave with the prettiest stones.
For a week I mourned at the grave every day, wondering how the chick
looked after its journey to heaven. Finally, I dug up the box. I opened the
cover expecting that the little angel had flown away, but instead I ran to
Mother to tell her the worms were eating my pet. Mother explained that the
box contained the shell of the chick, the soul was already flown away, now
nature was destroying only the shell.

I was quite socially inclined, and made calls on anyone staying in the
palace. I chatted with all on various subjects. “If Olga and Tatiana ever
marry, will they leave us? Olga squeezed an orange peel yesterday and it
squirted right into my eye. Do you know that Mashka (Marie) put on her
underwear wrong side out and refused to change it, it is very bad luck. Did
you hear that “baby” (Alexei) painted a droopy mustache on his face with a
crayon? Olga says, he looks like the Cossack in Riepin’s painting. Do you
know that painting? Why do you think Marie did not take her cold bath this
morning? Olga says that mother kangaroos hide their babies in a sack on
their bodies and the babies poke their heads out to see where they are going.
Why doesn’t papa get cribs for the kangarooshkas?” These ideas or others
like them were expressed to all in five to ten minutes of social visits.
Sometimes I asked them to tell me stories like the Golden Apple and the
Princess. I clapped my hands and thanked them for the most delicious story.
If anyone was not well, I was ready to play nurse. My one cure for the
indisposed was always a wet towel on the forehead.
Some of my most pleasant early memories about Mother were the times
when she told us stories. There was one favorite she was asked to repeat
over and over. One day she changed the words slightly and I burst into
tears, saying: “But, Mommy, I like the old story better.”
When I was older, Mother read to me an American book called Ramona. As
much as I could understand, it was a fascinating story about an Indian girl.
It made a big impression on me, and left me with the most tender feeling of
affection for the Indian girl. Several years later, when I heard that an
American gentleman was coming to see Mother, I begged to be allowed to
meet him. I remember that I wore my best new dress, of white silk, a recent
gift from Queen Alexandra of England. This frock had smocking at the
waist. I was told it came from Liberty’s of London. I kept this dress until
the war, at which time I gave it to an orphanage.
At the time of this American’s visit, the nurse was supposed to bring me
downstairs when Mother rang the bell. But, when I heard the signal, I ran
ahead, and flew down the spiral stairway as fast as my feet could carry me,
and burst breathlessly into the room. A tall handsome gentleman arose and
politely kissed my hand as we were introduced. Distressed, and almost in
tears, I looked sideways up to him as I cried out in surprise: “Mother, this
gentleman is not an American because he does not have his feather hat or

his blanket.” The poor man, whoever he was, tried his best to explain, but to
me, he still was not an American.
Mashka (Marie) had the most wonderful disposition, but I often got her into
trouble. We used to practice on the piano in a room above Mother’s boudoir
where she could hear us. When the instructor, Mr. Konrad, happened to step
out for a minute, we began to roughhouse. Soon the telephone rang and we
knew it was Mother to remind us to attend to our practice and not to fool
around.
Mother realized that we missed having friends of our age, and she made up
for it by forming a closer knit family of our own. Occasionally we saw the
Tolstoy girls or the children of General Hesse, once Father’s aide-de-camp.
We took some lessons, danced and played with them: two boys and a girl
about the age of my sister Olga. But no intimacy whatever was allowed. We
also enjoyed our cousins, Aunt Xenia’s children, when they were at home.
When Alexei was about seven years old, he had a nurse named Maria
Vishniakova. She disturbed Olga and made her cry. Vishniakova told
Mother that the muzhik Rasputin had been upstairs in our apartments and
conducted himself improperly. According to the tradition of the Russian
court, no men were allowed in the girls’ rooms except the two Negro
doormen, Apty and Jim. Father became so upset by the report that he
personally questioned Vishniakova. She was evasive, and gave one date,
then another. When Father told her that Rasputin according to the report
was nowhere near St. Petersburg during those dates, she admitted her whole
story was a fabrication and that it was a malicious relative of the Imperial
family who had had her say what she did. She then burst out crying and of
course she was discharged. It was then that the attack on Rasputin began.
Another incident which caused a great deal of confusion some years before
the war involved our governess, Mlle. Tutcheva, a native of Moscow. She
spoke various languages, but no English. Aunt Ella (the Grand Duchess
Elizabeth Feodorovna), Mother’s sister, had recommended her for this
important position. Tutcheva was a cultured woman and came from a fine
family, but at the same time was unpleasantly outspoken and domineering.
She hated the English so that she would not allow the English language to
be spoken in her presence, and often criticized the English, especially when
we went through our albums of our trips. She even complained to us about

our own Mother, that she was English and not a Russian, and constantly
exchanged sharp words with Mlle. Butsova, Mother’s favorite lady-in-
waiting, addressing her in an abusive manner, but Mlle. Butsova spared no
words for her either. All this made us children excited and nervous. Mlle.
Tutcheva was also in continual conflict with others in the palace. To our
dismay she also spoke unkindly of Princess Maria Bariatinsky. Later she
told Aunt Ella that Rasputin visited our apartments although at no time had
any of us sisters seen the man in the upper quarters.
Aunt Ella made a special trip to Tsarskoe Selo from Moscow to inform
Mother of this gossip. This incident also came to Father’s notice and he
came to our rooms to ask about it. We all said we had not seen the peasant
in our apartments at any time. Then the police records showed that he was
away on those days. Tutcheva finally admitted that the story was untrue and
that she had never in her life seen Rasputin. She was dismissed.
Father loved everything about Russia: her people, her customs, her music
and her national food, particularly he was fond of the dark bread. It was
baked only in the military kitchens and was most delicious. He also enjoyed
a glass of slivovitsa, a plum cordial. During the war he preferred non-
alcoholic drinks and omitted strong drinks when prohibition was
established, making no exception for himself. However, some wine and
other drinks were served to high foreign military officers in Mogilev. Father
disliked and often neglected taking medicine even though it was necessary
for his weak stomach. He believed, as did his Romanov ancestors, that
nature is the best medicine.
Father had the best possible education and training. One of his favorite
teachers was the famous Konstantin Pobedonostsev. This man was an
outstanding theologian and lawyer. He taught Father both law and religion,
so that his faith remained strong to the very end. Another favorite was
General Danilov who taught military tactics. He was carefully selected for
this most important assignment. Father had a Swiss tutor who taught him
the French language and literature, and an English tutor, named Charles
Heath, who acquainted him with the English language and literature.
Father had the most extraordinary memory. He was able to recite many
Russian, French and English poems, including passages from Shakespeare.
He was a fast reader and writer, his sentences being short and concise and

always written in ink. He enjoyed the classics. His reading also included the
works of Gogol; Gorbunov’s stories of Russia; and Feodor Dostoevsky,
many of whose autographed novels were on the shelves of our library;
likewise the works of Longfellow, Dickens, Wordsworth and many others.
He was familiar with international law and often remarked that many
diplomats complicated matters to such an extent that it took a great deal of
time to unravel a simple problem.
On the “Standard,” the Imperial yacht, he had in his cabin the complete
works of Shakespeare and other English contemporary authors, and books
carefully selected by our tutors for us to read during our cruise.
The strict training demanded of my Father, the future Tsar, was due to the
discipline of his austere father, Alexander III. Had Father not felt restrained
by his oath of office, I feel sure he would have lifted some of the
restrictions he had inherited from his predecessor. His love for his people
and his gentle nature were often shown when he lessened the punishment of
soldiers by their officers. He believed in a close family relationship and on
one occasion, after receiving a request, he granted permission to a Jewish
woman to see her sick son in their prison hospital as often as she pleased.
Father was very loyal to his friends, many of whom he had known from his
childhood. He disliked the waste of time on petty talk.
Many requests were withheld from him, and occasionally actions were
taken without his knowledge or approval.
In spite of previous attempts on his life, he had resumed the ancient custom
of the “Blessing of the Waters” on the river Neva in St. Petersburg. When a
little girl, I was told that at one of these ceremonies an explosion occurred
on the river, injuring several persons including my Father’s physician. Part
of the canopy and the windows of the Winter Palace were shattered. Father,
therefore, ordered the discontinuance of this tradition. When an epidemic
broke out soon after, the peasants attributed it to the decree. So the order
was rescinded and the Epiphany ceremony was resumed. Once I was
present at this picturesque ceremony which was one of the great national
and religious traditions of Russia.
At this ceremony the dignitaries of the Church and State gathered at the
Winter Palace. The procession formed there and proceeded to the river,

followed by the church dignitaries. Father took his position in front of a
crimson and gold canopy. A hole had already been cut in the ice. At the end
of the ceremony the priest handed Father the cross which he dipped in the
water and then raised high and made the sign of the cross in the air. This
was repeated three times. It was so cold that the drops of water froze as they
fell on the ice. After the ceremony the procession returned to the Palace,
where luncheon was served to hundreds of guests, who formed a brilliant
array in their court regalia.
I remember how beautiful the ladies looked at the luncheon in the Palace
following the ceremony. They wore long court dresses of various pastel
colors and jeweled filets (kokoshniki) from which soft veils hung down.
There were glittering diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires and
alexandrites, the latter a rare stone found in the Urals in 1833 and named
after the future Alexander II, my great-grandfather.
Many officers wore the dress uniform of their regiment: the Horse Guards
were in white and gold; the Cossacks in deep blue or crimson; and the
Hussars in white and gold with scarlet dolmans over their shoulders. The
“Blessing of the Waters” ceremony was conducted the last time in January
1916. It did not stir the same feelings as before. This time there were many
dignitaries present and the foreign High Command, including our friend, Sir
John Hanbury-Williams, and, of course, Sir George Buchanan, the British
Ambassador.
Grandeur surrounded us in the Winter Palace where I spent the first years of
my life. But during the Russo-Japanese war in 1905 we moved to Tsarskoe
Selo, when my childhood recollections began to take root.
The Alexander Palace at Tsarskoe Selo was our permanent home. Many
members of the Imperial family had their residences in this suburb and
nearby; it was only fourteen miles south of St. Petersburg. Our Palace stood
in the middle of a vast park of about six hundred acres, in which were
located stables, barracks, greenhouses and several churches, including the
Feodorovsky Sobor (Church) and Our Lady of Znamenie which was my
Mother’s favorite. There were islands nearby. On the “Children’s Island”,
Alexei had a small house; the four rooms were left as they had been at the
time of Alexander II. In a book case were some books by the poet
Zhukovsky and there were also books by Byron, Schiller and other poets

which he had translated into Russian. Zhukovsky who was the tutor to
Alexander II spent a great deal of time with him before he came to the
throne.
There were some tiny ports for landing, bridges, dog kennels and an
elephant house, a concert hall and a Chinese village, a theatre and so on. In
the palace grounds was also a white tower, a photographic building and an
arsenal. The barracks for the regiments were located in the vicinity.
Before the war the cabinet ministers came to Tsarskoe Selo with their
reports in the morning and were ushered into Father’s study by an aide-de-
camp. Occasionally however, Father met various officials in St. Petersburg.
In order to save time and money the private audiences once a week were
held in the Winter Palace in the General Chamber. Because of several
hundred audiences that were held during the day, Father could give only a
few minutes to each of these audiences and they were held standing. The
reports of the high officials were received from 10:00-10:30 after his walk.
Several hundred attendants took care of the grounds and buildings; many of
them lived outside. The personnel included the Grand Marshals of the
Court, Masters of the Hunt, Masters of Ceremonies, Equerries,
Chamberlains, coachmen, valets, butlers, chauffeurs, gardeners, cooks,
maids, etc.
In Tsarskoe Selo the Palace of Catherine the Great was surrounded by a tall
fence featuring a finely wrought iron gate. This building was like a
museum, with its matchless rooms of amber and malachite and its mosaic
and gold decorations. Two rooms I especially recall: one an anteroom in
which Catherine kept her famous collections of snuffboxes, and the other a
drawing room with a ceiling of ivory silk satin, in the center of which a
tremendous double eagle was embroidered. In a third room, the walls were
of satin, with exquisitely embroidered golden wheat and pastel blue
cornflowers. There was another room with a double eagle inlaid in its
mosaic wooden floor.
The private chapel had a large balcony for the choir. This awesome Palace
was in great contrast to Alexander Palace, which we thought had a homelike
atmosphere.

While I was a little girl, during our absence the public had permission to go
through the Palace, but it was reported that the men conducting the tours
allowed their relatives to enter our private chambers. Mother resented this
abuse and the tours were forbidden. Later even the park could not be visited
and everyone had to have a special permit from the Household Minister to
enter even the Tsarskoe Selo grounds; this rule applied also to those
employed in our service.

III
CRUISES

During the summer we vacationed on the yacht, but, since Tsarskoe Selo
was inland, we went beforehand to Peterhof on the Gulf of Finland. There
was a splendid feeling of anticipation of a trip ahead. The great palace of
Peterhof was too formal with its many groups of fountains and Peter the
Great grandeur. We preferred to stay in the little Alexandria Cottage, while
we waited for Father to get away. It was exciting for us children. I
remember how often I packed and unpacked my little suitcase, with scraps
of papers, which I called my secret records. Among my prized possessions
was an old bedroom slipper on which our dogs loved to chew. These things
in the little suitcase were my precious childish treasures.
Alexandria Cottage stood to the east of Peterhof Palace; it consisted of two
simple buildings joined to each other by an enclosed passageway. We had a
glassed-in winter garden where palms and other tropical plants abounded
and flowers flourished. Also, there were garden chairs and a doll house for
us children to play in during the rainy days. Occasionally we had our
luncheon here.
This estate had originally been purchased by my great-great-grandfather,
Nicholas I, and he was the first to occupy it. There was a saying that
Peterhof started with Nicholas and would end with Nicholas. The park was
beautifully landscaped, with winding paths, ravines, and magnificent white
birches against the green spruce trees. Its natural rustic beauty had been
preserved since the time of Nicholas I.
The entrance to the grounds of Peterhof presented a breathtaking view. Tall,
graceful trees on both sides arched the roadway, while between them were
fountains, bronze statues representing various historical events and
enormous urns filled with flowers. A short distance away was a pavilion, a
tall tower which we often climbed to get a view of the activities on the
Island of Kronstadt. We walked to worship at the nearby Alexander Nevsky
Church, named after a national hero who defeated the enemies of Russia in
the thirteenth century. From Peterhof we took a tender to Kronstadt, the
naval base on the island bearing the same name. There we boarded the

yacht, the “Standard”, which was too large to come in to the wharf of
Peterhof. We youngsters were each assigned a sailor to watch over us. My
poor sailor had his hands full since disappearing was almost an obsession
with me. Once he caught me just in time as I climbed the ship’s rail and
nearly fell overboard.
Our cabins were large and airy; they were upholstered in light chintzes and
each had a washstand, cold and hot water, dresser and desk. Olga and
Tatiana occupied one cabin; Marie and I, another. Dinners were held in the
big dining salon on the upper deck. There was a chapel where services were
held regularly by the ship’s chaplain. Mother as at home stood behind the
screen. The “Standard” was painted black with gold decorations at the bow
and the stern. It was a two-decker and had two smoke stacks.
I was often frightened on the “Standard” when at sunset a gun salute was
fired from the deck. It hurt my ears. When it was time for the firing of guns
I would run through the corridor down to the other side of the boat and hold
my hands over my ears. The hoisting of the flag took place at 9:00 a.m. and
the lowering at sunset.
Charles Dehn, captain of the “Standard,” was a person whose
companionship Father enjoyed, and my brother was Captain Dehn’s
shadow. Alexei never questioned anything “Pekin Dehn” said. Dehn’s wife,
Lili, was a dear friend of my Mother’s, as well as of us children. Mother
was the godmother of their infant son, Titi, who occasionally came to visit
us. When he was about seven years old, he could already speak several
languages. We loved to see this handsome boy. At tea time he sat next to
Mother. When she poured tea, he asked, “Sugar, Madame, and how many?”
Another officer of the yacht, Drenteln, was one of Father’s aides-de-camp
and a devoted friend; he accompanied us on our trips. He knew Father from
his young years and went with him to the Preobrazhensky regiment. Father
found him interesting and they often talked all evening and well into the
morning.
Father enjoyed all kinds of sports: tennis, boxing, swimming, diving; and he
could stay under water some minutes. He was an expert rider and an
excellent dancer, but was not especially fond of hunting. He was devoted to
the Navy and when we were on our cruises he spent a great deal of time
studying navigation. He was particularly proud of the “Standard” which

was built at the Bay of Odense in Denmark at the time of his marriage.
During one of our cruises we visited the yard where the boat was built.
Each cruise brought fond memories to my parents of their honeymoon.
Mother once said that the happiest years in her life were on board the
“Standard”.
For us a cruise meant spending a part of each day on shore, tramping in the
Finnish forests. On the yacht our attendants turned a rope for us girls to
jump. Then there was the tug of war with an admiral or a captain and other
officers joining in. Sometimes we roller-skated on the deck. Everyone
participated in the fun, except Mother and Alexei. They could not enjoy
activities, but they joined in the laughter.
Occasionally we received word that the Dowager Empress Marie, my
Father’s mother, was cruising on the “Polar Star” in the neighborhood and
would pay us a visit. On board was Admiral Prince Viazemsky.
Immediately the holiday atmosphere changed to serious work. We children
had to stay on board, practicing our music, because Grandmother always
liked to see our musical progress and a concert was invariably planned.
Grandmother was a gifted musician herself and was brought up in a musical
atmosphere with her whole family constituting an orchestra. I was told that
on one occasion the public was invited to a concert in which her whole
family took part, including her father (Apapa), who later became King
Christian IX of Denmark, and her mother (Amama), subsequently Queen
Louise.
When Grandmother Minnie arrived everyone became tense. I especially felt
rebellious at the endless warnings to be on my good behavior. We three
younger children had our own early supper, because we could not sit quietly
through the dinner in her honor. Try as I might, I was bound to do the
wrong thing and disappoint everyone when Grandmother was around.
Fortunately her visits were not long and the minute she left we resumed our
former manners.
When our yacht anchored in a sheltered cove, we went mushroom hunting.
Mother and Alexei seldom joined us in this. But when Alexei came,
together we darted this way and that way, dodging the tall trees, and trying
to catch the scent of mushrooms. The ground was all springy with pine

needles and moss so that we fairly hopped along. It was fun to hear the
twigs crunch beneath our feet.
Father was a fast walker; to keep up with him, I had to run. On one of these
walks we came to a little stream, partly covered with twigs and moss.
Father jumped over it and stretched out his hand to me. “Jump,” he said.
The ground was slippery and uneven and I failed to get a firm enough grip
on Father’s hand so I fell into the middle of the brook, with its bed of
yellow mud and clay. My face, hair and dress were plastered with mud and
so were my canvas shoes. The long, wet walk sent me to bed for a while.
Before the war we used to take a trip every other year to Fredensborg
Palace near Copenhagen. It was great fun for us children to visit the white
villa at Hvidore, which stood majestically amidst the flowering trees and
bushes, with its terraces offering a magnificent view of the sea, each level
rising smaller and smaller to the top.
From the terraces the sight of sailboats and yachts in the bay gave us a
feeling of tranquility and relaxation. Beyond the marshes were the Danish
farms with their charming thatched-roof houses, tall poplar trees, golden
wheat fields and millions of scarlet poppies which added grandeur to this
natural landscape. It was this that impressed my young mind during our first
visit. This villa belonged to my little Grandmother and her sisters, Queen
Alexandra of England and Thyra, Duchess of Cumberland. It was at this
quiet place at Fredensborg where the happy family reunion took place
during the summer months.
We were especially excited on one occasion when Queen Alexandra and
Uncle Bertie (King Edward VII of England) joined us at Reval on their
yacht, the “Victoria and Albert”. I recollect that King Edward came dressed
in Scottish kilts. Grandmother Marie and Aunt Olga arrived on their yacht,
the “Polar Star”. Later we were joined by Uncle George, who subsequently
became King George V of England, with his wife May (Queen Mary) and
their children, including the eldest son David, later Edward, Prince of
Wales. In addition, there were many other boys and girls belonging to other
relatives. We had a great family reunion and a full schedule of activities.
Fishing, bathing, rowing, wading in the shallow waters in the bay and
various games were the order of the day. We youngsters enjoyed the high
swings which were put up especially for us. Alexei, though only four or five

years of age, had been well versed in geography and could name all the
various ports in the Baltic. The Russian Ambassador to London, Count
Alexander Benckendorff, regarded Alexei as being an unusually bright
child. Soon we were off again in the fiords for a glimpse of Norway. When
we were in sight of Christiania (Oslo), so many yachts and other vessels
surrounded the “Standard” that we were forced to turn back. Apparently the
news of our visit had preceded us.
On our return we brought with us a number of Royal Copenhagen pieces
which were adorned with capricious scenes of winter or summer meadows,
all interpreted so realistically, and also numerous figurines of animals and
fowl, all executed in those soft blue and white colors, some with a touch of
brown. Only the hands of Danish artisans could create those heavenly
colors.
Once I remember Kaiser Wilhelm II was cruising on his yacht in our
vicinity and our ship fired a salute to him. The salute was returned and
when the Kaiser came on board our ship, he greeted Father with a kiss and
exclaimed, “My most valued friend.” The German band played the Russian
national anthem; then the Russian band played the German anthem. During
the ensuing visits, the Kaiser took quite a liking to me, calling me “The
Little Joker”. I also remember how he danced in a way that Mother thought
was undignified and unbecoming to an Emperor. He was one cousin who
drove us to despair.
Grandmother Marie joined us in Reval. She brought with her her sister-in-
law, Queen Olga of Greece. Queen Olga was the consort of King George I,
Grandmother’s brother who was later assassinated. This deed made a
fearful impression on us. I remember when Granny cried, “Why do they
want to kill an innocent man?” I remember King George as being quite
bald, so much so that the Kaiser remarked one time that King George had
his own exclusive moon. Extreme baldness seemed to be a feature of the
Danish royal family. Kaiser Wilhelm referred to the Danish branch as the
“deaf, bald-headed Danes”. King Gustavus V and Queen Victoria of
Sweden also paid us a visit. They came on their yacht. We later returned
their visit by going to Stockholm.
Quite often our trips were marred by unpleasant incidents, such as the time
when, while cruising in Finnish waters, an English freighter persisted in

coming too close to our yacht. When our repeated warnings were ignored,
we were forced to fire a shot which unfortunately wounded a member of the
English freighter’s crew. On this trip we were invited to visit Prince Henry
of Prussia (Mother’s brother-in-law) at a beautiful villa on the shore
overlooking the sea at Jagernsfeld, so that the Kaiser could show us his fleet
at Kiel. Unfortunately the weather prevented us from doing this and after a
brief stop we proceeded to England.
A twenty-one gun salute greeted the “Standard” as we entered the English
harbor of Cowes on the Isle of Wight. This was returned by the Russian
warships and we passed through a cortege of yachts lined up on each side as
we sailed down the middle. Soon the “Victoria and Albert” and the
“Standard” were alongside each other. Cheers filled the air and salutes were
exchanged. Not until the next morning did the real entertainment begin,
when King Edward VII appeared on the bridge dressed in the uniform of a
Russian admiral. Father stood next to him in the uniform of a British
admiral. The Russian and the British flags were flying, as bands played both
national anthems. Amidst the greetings and cheers we proceeded aboard the
“Victoria and Albert” to the royal pier. We exchanged pleasant visits and
many pictures were taken for our albums.
At luncheon on the yacht, we sat at a long table. King Edward sat in the
middle, Mother, dressed in white, looking beautiful and radiant sitting
beside him. Queen Alexandra was opposite the King with Father next to
her. Alexei kept trying to get King Edward’s attention; until finally the King
said: “All right, Alexei, what do you want?” Alexei replied gloomily, “It’s
too late now, Uncle Bertie; you ate a caterpillar with your salad.” We were
served from gold plates and the table decorations were in pink roses.
The other guests at dinner were the Crown Prince of Sweden, the Prince of
Wales (later George V), Princess Beatrice, and Princess Irene, wife of
Prince Henry of Prussia. Mother gave a dinner on the “Standard” for the
ladies in honor of Queen Alexandra. At the many dinners on our yacht, I
remember there were many elegant and beautiful ladies, several hundred of
them: friends, relatives, English, Swedish, German and Russian. On one
occasion King Edward gave a talk thanking us for the visit and turning to
my Mother called her his “dear niece”.

There were several excursions, and in the afternoon tea was served on the
lawn of the Royal Yacht Club. Several hundred guests were present, mostly
relatives and friends. Mother knew them all.
Alexei was accompanied by a playmate. One day we were all whisked to
Osborne House, where Princess Henry, Mother’s sister, and Princess
Beatrice played with us on the lawn. This included Marie, Alexei, his
companion and myself. Alexei was all slicked up from head to toe in a
white sailor suit. Both boys behaved disgracefully. In the afternoon before
tea, this brother of mine crawled over a new car belonging to one of our
relatives and by teatime his white sailor suit was completely wrinkled and
disreputable. He refused to leave the car and added, “You girls can go to the
tea; I am happy at what I am doing.” All of us were disgusted with our
brother. Finally his sailor servant, Derevenko, took him off the car. At tea
we frowned at him and motioned with our hands to keep at a distance from
us, pretending that he did not belong to our family. Tearfully he added to
our embarrassment by saying aloud; “What is the matter with you girls? I
do not like your attitude. If I were not ashamed, I would cry.”
At another time Olga and Tatiana had quite an experience. Dressed in their
gray suits they walked about the town of Cowes, unattended. They paused
in their sightseeing before a window display and entered the shop to
purchase postcards and photographs for our albums. As they came out of
the shop a carriage bearing Count Benckendorff and a friend stopped on the
other side of the street. The girls ran across to surprise them, and surprised
they were—to find my sisters unescorted. My sisters became frightened
when a large crowd, having heard about our visit, recognized my sisters and
gathered around them. Finally the girls made their escape through a store as
a constable blocked the door against the pressing crowd. Two carriages
were summoned, one for the constable, the other for the girls. At the
suggestion of the constable, they finally avoided the crowd by taking refuge
in a church. This was their first experience of an unescorted adventure, and
their last. When they returned to us, we youngsters kept asking them about
it a dozen times, especially when we saw the pictures of the incident in our
albums. What a great and priceless triumph it was: that young girls of our
position were allowed to show themselves unescorted in public.
Prince David, who was to become King Edward VIII, came by torpedo boat
to Osborne House from Dartmouth where he was attending the Royal Naval

College. And before we left, he took Father through his college. Father was
so impressed with Dartmouth, he talked of sending Alexei there. This was
the end of our visit. King Edward, Queen Alexandra, Prince George, then
Prince of Wales, and Princess Mary with all their children came to bid us
good-bye as we sailed away from Cowes after a most memorable visit.
As usual our party included Princess Obolensky, Mlle. Butsova, a lady-in-
waiting, of whom Mother was very fond, as were we all; also Mlle.
Tutcheva, our governess, with whom I was continually at swords’ points,
because she could not hide her jealousy of Mlle. Butsova, and also because
of her derogatory remarks about our English relatives. Present too, were
Count Fredericks, Father’s chamberlain, Ambassador Izvolsky, Prince
Beloselsky-Belozersky, Dr. Botkin, Dr. Derevenko, Captain Drenteln and
many other Russians from our escort ships.
The “Standard” then sailed to Cherbourg, where President Fallières was to
meet us in his yacht, the “Marseilles”. During this cruise, as on others, we
ran into a great deal of fog and storm and our speed was greatly reduced.
We arrived late in Cherbourg. Father reviewed the French fleet with the
French President, and we children were allowed to take pictures of
submarines which were important exhibits in our albums. These albums and
Olga’s description in her diary were a source of great pleasure to us later
during the war when we could relive each moment of this pleasurable trip.
During our arrest in 1917, these pictures were confiscated.
President Fallières gave a dinner on the deck of a battleship, in honor of my
family. It was a beautiful affair. The table was in the shape of a horseshoe.
In the center of the table, roses were arranged to form the Russian coat of
arms. During the dinner bands played popular compositions of French and
Russian composers. Afterwards there were floats on the water, lighting up
scenes from the opera Lohengrin and others. Someone must have informed
them that Mother loved this opera by Richard Wagner. Launches were made
to look like dolphins, sea serpents, Lohengrin’s swan, a huge egg (on top of
which was a rooster pulling a gondola with a man inside playing a
mandolin), a huge grasshopper and many other fantastic shapes. A float
carrying a band of musicians drawn by many make-believe swans ended the
procession. There were also beautiful fireworks lasting late into the night.
Later a complete movie of the entire display was sent to us; when Alexei
was ill, he amused himself by operating the projector with interest.

The next day we all went to the yacht’s chapel for a divine service, and to
give thanks for the wonderful trip and our new friends. Later the President
brought us gifts. To Alexei he presented miniature rifles, guns and drums, as
well as a military tent completely equipped with a miniature cot, table and
folding chairs. Alexei was overwhelmed. Afterwards he derived many
happy hours in the park playing with his field equipment. It was this little
gun that the Bolsheviks seized while he was playing with it in the garden
during our arrest in Tsarskoe Selo. Olga received a writing desk set of dark
blue enamel, beautifully initialed. Tatiana received a travel clock which she
took with her later to Tobolsk. Marie received a dollhouse, two stories high,
completely furnished, including a bath tub and electric lighting. I received a
beautiful doll with a complete trousseau, even a veil for a bride. A twenty-
one-gun salute was fired at our departure from Cherbourg, as at Cowes.
This cruise made me appreciate Olga and Tatiana; they impressed me
highly with their graceful manners. I did so wish I could be like them when
I grew up. They were so tall and each looked to be every inch a Princess,
while it did not seem that I had grown at all during these years. Even Alexei
was an inch or more taller than I. Marie too was tall. People said I would be
short like my Grandmother. I was tall enough when I sat down, but my
limbs were not long enough to suit me. Our Captain had a suggestion, that I
hop on one foot, then on the other, three times a day, saying that would
produce the desired results. I followed his instructions, even doubled and
tripled his recipe, but without success. On a cruise, when I confided to him
that his suggestions bore no fruit, he nearly died laughing. I never forgave
the Captain for making me feel so ridiculous.
In spite of these several cruises during that summer of 1909, Mother’s
health did not improve sufficiently to satisfy the doctors. She suffered from
neuralgia. Karlsruhe was recommended, so the family went to Mannheim,
to Uncle Ernest’s castle at Friedberg. Princess Louis of Battenberg and her
two sons were there too. Then we went to Wolfsgarten near Darmstadt.
Darmstadt was Mother’s old home, where as a young lady she lived with
her brother Ernest when he became the reigning Grand Duke on the death
of his father. Mother was fond of him because he replaced her late parents,
and so we were irresistibly drawn to him. Uncle Ernest was handsome,
kind, musical and artistic. Mother had the same talents as her brother. His
second wife Eleonor (Onor) was a delightful person. She had known

Mother since childhood, and their friendship grew stronger each year. This
trip therefore was meaningful to our family.
I recall little of our stay. There was a constant flow of Mother’s relatives
and hordes of royal children. We four sisters had only one bedroom to
ourselves and Father had one small room where he could receive people. I
remember Mother’s sister Irene (Amity) and her husband Prince Henry, the
Kaiser’s brother. She completely won us over with her tender affection, and
referred to us as “the dear children.” She was closer to Mother than were
any of Mother’s other sisters. It seemed that we were always being
summoned to meet a new cousin, aunt, uncle or a friend. One of the
relatives had a homely nose, but fortunately I do not remember who she
was.
Father went to Potsdam as guest of the Kaiser and Kaiserin. It gave me a
queer feeling when I first realized the Kaiser’s deformity. I remember
seeing him ride his horse in his Hussar uniform. He stuck his reins into his
belt; with fingers resting partly on his hip he cleverly manipulated the reins.
He seemed to lean his weight heavily to one side. Aunt Irene explained to
us about his left arm. She said: “When Prince Wilhelm was born, the
doctors and his father rejoiced because the child was a boy. But the little
infant had not yet shown signs of life. They did everything to get him to
breathe. They slapped him, tossed him into the air, swung him by his feet,—
there was a full hour of working over him. At last he gave a feeble cry. His
mother, ill at the time, did not know of the overly rough treatment of her
baby. Later when she found out, she was in despair, she blamed the doctors
and the nurses for the injury her child had received. For his left arm, which
had been pulled out of the socket, became paralyzed and later shrivelled.”
Many of our relatives were in deep mourning for King Edward VII of
England (Uncle Bertie), who had passed away in the spring of 1910. Kaiser
Wilhelm had been hunting with Father in the Oranienburg forest near
Berlin, and upon their return, in the presence of the widow, Queen
Alexandra, and of the new King George V and Queen Mary, he looked at all
the ladies in black dresses and white collars and remarked: “Everyone is
dressed in black because the old rooster has died.” He knew Queen
Alexandra was partly deaf and could not hear his remark; but there were
many others who did, including the beautiful Princess Alice and her
husband, Prince Andrew of Greece, who had come with Cousin George

from England. We all bore disapproving expressions at his remark, and one
relative whispered, “Wilhelm must be mad.”
All of the family knew that the Kaiser was tactless. During the time when
he was only heir apparent, he never hesitated to express his impatience at
having to wait so long to inherit the throne. Long before his grandfather and
father died, he wrote the Proclamation, so as to be ready when the occasion
should present itself. Aunt Irene and Mother cried when they heard that the
young Emperor, Wilhelm II, the day he ascended the throne, ordered
everyone in the palace placed under surveillance, including his own mother,
the Empress Victoria; this in spite of his having sworn to his father that he
would always uphold the honor of the royal house. He despised his
courtiers, calling them parasites—the same men who during the war
wrested his power and then held him practically under arrest. He hated the
sight of his Mother’s friends and ladies-in-waiting and without hesitation he
once said that the only joy in his life was being at the Yacht Club. Now he
was obviously pleased that Uncle Bertie was no longer in his way. His
dislike had begun when Uncle Bertie had called him “the boss of Cowes”
and, whenever possible, had avoided holding the regatta when Wilhelm was
present. One would not have believed that he had the use of only one arm
and with it skillfully steered the sailboat.
Kaiserin Augusta Victoria always looked beautiful with a clear, almost
transparent complexion, and was most friendly but quiet. I was intrigued by
the black ribbon which she wore around her throat. She and the Kaiser
showed us pictures of the palace at Potsdam. It was beautiful except for one
room which I thought was in bad taste. This room had ornate pillars
encrusted with all kinds of precious and semiprecious stones and odd-
shaped shells. I understand that Father had contributed a large uncut
diamond to this conglomeration, which also included geological specimens,
together with petrified snakes wrapped around the pillars, turtles and
crocodiles in creeping or crawling positions.
One day Father went with the Kaiser to the mausoleum and placed a wreath
on the tomb of the Emperor Frederick III, the Kaiser’s father. Photographs
were taken on this occasion; later, in the bitterness of war, while looking at
these pictures, Mother said; “Papa would rather lay a wreath on Wilhelm’s
tomb.” We children cut the pictures of the Kaiser out of all our photographs.
Alexei tore up his pictures of Germany completely, remarking that he (the

Kaiser) did not deserve to be called a godfather, and indignantly tramped
the old photographs with his feet. I did the same. After our arrest and
imprisonment in Tsarskoe Selo, I purposely broke several gifts from the
Kaiser pretending that it was an accident in every case.
Before we departed for home, Father gave the Kaiserin a pendant of pearls
and sapphires, which we had previously proudly displayed to our friends for
their approval. We liked the Empress and often felt sorry for her because
she had to put up with such an intemperate husband. The Kaiserin gave
each of us girls a sewing basket complete with all necessary equipment. We
used these until 1914, when we gave them away not wanting to see them
again. Some of the Kaiser’s sons, resplendent in immaculate uniforms and
eagle-crested helmets, escorted us to the station, frequently clicked their
heels as they saluted us, making our departure a gala affair. The Kaiserin
was forbidden to accompany us to the station. At the time Mother
considered this an insult, but a letter from Aunt Eleonor revealed that the
Kaiser in a fit of anger had slapped her face that morning before our
departure, and each of his five fingers had left an impression on her face.
As we boarded the train, Father was dressed in his civilian overcoat and
Alexei wore his customary dark-blue sailor suit, while we sisters wore our
traveling suits as it was already cold. On the train, Alexei said: “I was
scared of those cousins.” Upon the occasion of that visit to Germany,
Father, out of courtesy, appointed the Kaiserin Augusta Victoria honorary
colonel-in-chief of the Grodno Hussars. This aroused terrible consternation,
especially on the part of Grandmother who was so furious that she cried and
carried on bitterly, saying that she hoped she would never see the Kaiserin
wearing that uniform. I am sure she never did. En route home Father
received word from Aunt Ella that two Russian millionaires whom he knew
had committed suicide. This made a sad impression on us children. Later,
after we arrived home, Mother received a Christmas gift from the Kaiser,
two enormous red enamelled vases. I presume they were made by the royal
manufacturers. These vases were placed in a room in our home, one on each
side of a console table.
Each member of our family settled into his usual routine of activities. The
problem of finding playmates for my brother loomed large again.
Derevenko, the sailor, had two sons, both younger than Alexei; they became
my brother’s playmates, for which my Mother was bitterly criticized.

IV
THE CRIMEA

Lessons were always an ordeal for me, especially when it was time for a
visit to the Crimea, for our hearts had always been set on the sea. Lessons,
however, were never neglected, for Mother was always strict about their
regularity. Livadia was the favorite estate of my Father, as it had been that
of his father and grandfather before him. It is located at Yalta on the
Crimean peninsula, and its sunshine and warmth were a welcome change
after the gloomy, cold days spent in our more northerly home at Tsarskoe
Selo.
At this time Dr. Botkin, Mother’s physician, who was ill, requested
permission to have his children come aboard our yacht. Mother replied that
they could come as often as they wished during their father’s
convalescence. I heard that the sick should not be forsaken. I, as a good
Samaritan, did my part by visiting the doctor every day, sitting at the edge
of his couch with my folded hands, like those of an old lady, wishing to
entertain him. We were all very fond of him. He had a wonderful gift of
story telling, and after taking in every word I flew like a bullet to tell Marie
and Alexei every detail of our conversation, often embellishing it to add
more zest to the story. At home I used to wait for him in the room next to
Mother’s bedroom. I knew he had to pass this room after he finished her
examination. I stopped him and opened my heart to him with my childish
problems. He asked me all kinds of questions, and in turn I received from
him first hand information about his family. I always carried scraps of paper
in my hand. Asking him for his pencil, I scribbled down some kind of curly-
cues for my record.
We were so excited when we heard that his two children, Tatiana and Gleb,
were coming to visit their father. Dr. Botkin had told us so much about his
children that we felt we knew them. At first Gleb was shy and Tatiana
excited, but soon we all got acquainted and had a hilarious time. My older
sisters left the newcomers to us younger ones. I remember hiding from
Tatiana behind a drapery. Dr. Botkin was resting on a couch and kept
saying: “I see you, Anastasia,” since my shoes were clearly visible
protruding underneath the drapery. I did not answer him. Finally Tatiana

pushed aside the curtain expecting to find me there, but all she found were
my shoes. I had left them there and moved to another hiding place.
Dr. Botkin was so understanding in the way he got into the spirit of our
games. In my eagerness for his children to have a good time, I asked him
confidentially what I could do to make his family happy. He replied, “Just
being with you is the greatest pleasure you can give.” His children called
him “Papula,” and I too appropriated that as my pet name for him. In
Ekaterinburg, when times were sad, I often said: “Cheer up, Papula; all will
be right.” In Tsarskoe Selo, we girls had little opportunity to play with
anyone from outside except occasionally with our cousins.
One of the unforgettable sights at Livadia was the Hill of the Cross
(Krestovaya Gora) which greeted our eyes each time we reached the Bay of
Yalta, and we gazed upon it in thanksgiving for our safe arrival. It was this
towering mountain with a monumental cross at its peak that fascinated me. I
refused to believe that the world was round but I imagined that the peak
was one of the props which supported the sky like an umbrella. To explore
the mountain, I devised a plan. I ran to Marie about it, since she always was
interested in my adventures. As a result, one sunny afternoon, when I was
overcome by curiosity and our nurse was absorbed with the others, Marie
and I slipped through the bushes and were actually on our way. We dashed
from bush to bush until we thought we were safe from possible pursuers.
Unfortunately the mountain which we had set out to climb proved to be
farther than we had anticipated. On and on we went. Finally we could move
only slowly. The mountain was still far away. Bewildered and discouraged
we turned homeward. We were worn out. Suddenly we noticed guards
coming toward us. We rushed toward them, weariness forgotten. “Here they
are,” a voice sang out, and we two explorers were hurried back to the
palace.
I recall an incident involving Alexei. He suddenly seemed to have
disappeared. At the first report everyone thought in terms of drowning,
kidnapping, or some other tragedy. Every guard and the household help ran
in different directions. Father, by instinct, went straight toward the sea, and
there he found Alexei happily playing on the beach with a pile of shells he
had gathered.

At Livadia we had beautiful orchards, bearing every kind of fruit. We loved
to spend our leisure time in these orchards. The gardeners displayed apples,
peaches, apricots and cherries, all according to the season. We were
especially proud of our vineyards nearby at Massandra. We had every kind
of grape—white, purple, red—each one a perfect specimen and unusually
large. Whenever we visited the wine cellar we found large bunches of
grapes artistically arranged on platters in the reception room. They looked
so tempting with sprays of leaves accentuating the soft colors of the fruit.
After tea, cakes and grapes were passed.
After our tour of the vineyards we usually took the lift down and walked
through seven huge store rooms. These contained many shelves of bottled
wines lying on their sides, dated, labelled and crested with the Russian
double eagle. These bottles were in deep red, white or blue marked with
their age, which went back several generations. Father commented on the
age and quality of the wines stored there on platforms, in large barrels,
holding several hundred gallons of wine to age. It was here that the
coronation wine was made and bottled; a lot of it still remained in these
rooms at the time of the revolution. There were varieties of wines here
which were used in the palace at Tsarskoe Selo. Father drank only
occasionally. He disliked champagne, but enjoyed a glass of sherry. Mother
and we children used some only for medicinal purposes.
Many of our activities were centered around the waters of the Black Sea.
We often went bathing but none of us children could be called good
swimmers. As a matter of fact we were afraid of the deep water, especially
since that frightful incident when I was swept under by a huge wave and
was saved by Father from drowning. After this a platform or breakwater
was built for our protection.
Nineteen eleven was a turbulent year for us. On our way to the Crimea we
stopped for several days in Kiev. Father and my older sisters accompanied
by the ladies of honor and by Crown Prince Boris, the heir to the Bulgarian
throne, went to the opera. After the first act, when the curtain fell and the
orchestra played, voices were heard from the audience and confusion
began. Prime Minister Stolypin who sat in a white coat in the front row had
been shot. The bullet pierced the cross and his chest. The foul deed was
done by a man who used a pass given him by a friend of the Okhrana who
had been made to believe that he was anxious to be present at the

performance. The family returned earlier than expected. Father was as white
as a ghost and both sisters shook when they reached the train where Mother
was in a state of collapse. She had already heard about the murder. It was
said that the Minister, Count Witte, who wanted to regain his former
position, which he had lost to Stolypin, exchanged sharp words with
Stolypin shortly before the killing took place. Father ordered no reprisal,
stating that court action should settle the matter. For this he was deeply
criticized.
Madame Narishkina told us then the experience the Stolypin family had had
during the Japanese war. Their home in St. Petersburg was bombed and
about two dozen people were injured; one remained a cripple. She said that
arms, fingers and limbs were scattered all over the garden.
Amongst Mother’s closest friends was Mme. Anna Vyrubova (née Taneeva)
who sometimes quarrelled with members of the staff. Anna Vyrubova even
declared war on Mlle. Butsova. Mother said: “Never again will I have her in
Livadia,” but she broke her promise again and again. Anna’s mother before
her marriage was a Tolstoy and her husband was related to General
Voyeykov, the commandant of the palaces in Tsarskoe Selo. He, too, was
disliked by many.
Mother invited Anna to come to the Crimea despite the feeling against her.
She had been our friend for a long while and we accepted her as though she
were a member of the family. Her house in Tsarskoe Selo was conveniently
located a short distance from the palace gate and we children loved to go to
Anna where we did not spare her cookie jar which was always full and
accessible. There was no formality at her house and we were free from
surveillance. Anna knew how to make us feel at ease with her friendliness
and understanding, and our ties with her grew stronger. Sometimes even
Father joined Mother at Anna’s, and that was a unique experience for my
parents. It was at her house that Mother and sometimes Father saw the
Starets (Rasputin). Hence all the messages from the Starets to Mother came
through Anna.
We had heard of the malicious stories about Anna’s relationship with
Rasputin. However, a thorough investigation disclosed that these terrible
rumors were totally unfounded and that Rasputin had never visited her
house when she was alone. Mother had a special interest in her because she

had encouraged Anna to marry an officer who had been shell-shocked
during the Russo-Japanese war. The marriage eventually ended in divorce.
After the death of Rasputin, Anna moved to our house because Mother
feared she, too, might be killed. Her father, Alexander Sergeevich Taneev,
held a position at court and Father esteemed him highly. He was also a fine
musician and from him Anna had inherited much talent. A love for music
bound Mother and Anna into this close friendship. These musical hours
served to release Mother’s suppressed ambitions. In her younger days she
had taken voice lessons, learning many arias from operas. Had she been
born into another family, she could have made music her profession.
Miss Baumgarten or Miss Clements usually accompanied Mother during
her vocal practice. Mother played many complicated compositions on the
piano; the harder they were the better she liked them. She possessed great
patience and would never stop until her undertaking was accomplished.
When she played she always laid her rings on a tray. She had an idea that
the rings interfered with the clearness and softness of the melody.
Anna was a constant visitor in our house and occasionally Father dropped
in to listen and enjoy the simple pleasures Mother and Anna had together.
Whenever possible, in the evening, we children were allowed to slip into
the room to hear them play and sing classical numbers. At these Mother was
radiantly beautiful and she carried the melody with much expression and
feeling; we were often deeply touched. There was an expression of sadness
in those melodies and the plaintive ones were those she sang the best.
Father enjoyed Mother’s informal concerts but never encouraged the
presence of strangers during these intimate musical evenings. He also was
musical and while young often played the piano with Madame Narishkina.
Mother often played and sang with Countess Emma Fredericks, the
daughter of our chamberlain. She, too, had a beautiful voice; unfortunately
she was a cripple. I often wondered what became of her when misfortune
swept the country. Another musically gifted friend was the lady-in-waiting,
Baroness Iza Buxhoeveden. All these people contributed considerably to
Mother’s happiness. Alexei’s illness in 1912 aggravated Mother’s heart
condition and forced her to withdraw considerably from her hitherto
enjoyed pleasures. When the war came, she stopped singing altogether,
though she did take part in chants during church services, especially when
we were under arrest.

Father encouraged all sorts of artistic endeavors. He wished to give an
opportunity to all the poor to hear the best of concerts and see the plays and
cinemas. The year of my birth he sponsored Narodny Dom, a cultural center
in St. Petersburg, not far from the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul. This
included large concert halls, a theatre and a cinema. The same artists who
performed at the Imperial Theater were heard and seen in this cultural
center, at the cost of only a few kopecks.
Never did Livadia seem more magical than at the time we arrived to find a
beautiful new palace replacing the old wooden structure which had stood
for generations. The new palace construction began in 1910 and was
finished in 1911. It had forty or fifty rooms. It rose naturally from its
surroundings as if it had grown out of the fertile soil itself. The old palace
had been torn down because it developed some kind of malodorous
mushroom which was hazardous to our health; so now only a memory
existed in our minds. This was in contrast to the new building, so full of
light and air, which was constructed of steel and of native, white Crimean
Inkerman stone. It was quite as dazzling, in the sunshine, as the sea itself,
and, indeed, cheerfully different from anything we had ever lived in. It did
not seem like a palace, least of all ours. Mother was charmed, especially
with the harmonizing colors; her pleasure made a home of it immediately.
She was everywhere, supervising the putting up of different pictures or
icons, or the placing of vases (designed by her) of exquisite blossoms on
various tables. Father had made plans with the gardeners to make sure there
would be plenty of Mother’s choice, favorite flowers. Her greatest favorite
was lobelia. She loved its purplish-blue hue so much she requested that the
same shade of velvet be set into the stair rail, next to the Byzantine-style
chapel leading upstairs to the second floor apartments.
This time the old porcelain stoves were omitted and the palace was heated
by hot water. All the rooms had direct bells connected with the room of the
officers on duty who could enter the rooms if needed. Father later had
telephone booths installed throughout the park, so he could be found
wherever he might be. Also we had some trained dogs to watch the palace
grounds. The colonnades and balconies were in white marble, and some of
the lower rooms were in lemonwood, mahogany and redwood. Mother with
the help of her architect, Krasnov, selected all the needed articles. She
herself had painted a picture of wisteria vines which hung in one of her

rooms in the Alexander Palace in Tsarskoe Selo (proof of her artistic
talents). In our chapel there she had a glass screen of that same color,
behind which she prayed undisturbed.
Father, too, was delighted with the new palace but his delight centered more
on the outdoors, with its rare specimens of trees, shrubs and plants. The
climate of the Crimea lent itself to all sorts of agricultural experiments, and
he gave a great deal of time to naturalizing importations from the famous
Nikitsky Botanical Garden near by. Whenever Father had a free moment to
himself he enjoyed working in the gardens under the bright sun. In the
spring there were varieties of hyacinths in bloom, white, purple and pink.
Many flowering trees and shrubs embellished the beauty and elegance.
Mother loved the combination of wisteria and smoke tree. A year before the
war a storm destroyed many of these rare trees, which were soon replaced
by new importations.
In front of the palace, facing the sea, was a lovely, life-sized, reclining
female figure in pure white marble. Alexei and I discovered a hole on the
side of the figure. It was large enough to squeeze a kopeck into, which we
promptly did. On the following morning we rushed out to see if it was still
there.
I have many vivid memories of the place and the happy times which we all
enjoyed while there. To me the Crimean peninsula was a concentration of
nature’s best: snow-capped mountains with little Tartar villages nestling on
their slopes, high plains under cultivation, and valleys full of wild flowers
and berries. The estate itself was especially beautiful, with its wide lanes,
lovely gardens, and many orchards bearing every kind of fruit. But,
perhaps, most beautiful of all, and certainly the accent for all the other
natural beauties surrounding Livadia, was the sea itself. Even today, as I
think of my childhood visits to the Crimea, happy memories come to my
mind. I can see pictures of vividly colored flowers, soft green-blue waters
and deeper skies, all fused together in the melting sunshine of the Russian
Riviera. Life here was most pleasant, with less formality and with more
leisure time for Mother and Father to spend with us children. Our visits
usually came in the spring and fall, and the protracted winter which
intervened became for all of us one long period of anticipation. Our last
stay of any length was just before World War I, when I was almost thirteen.

We went to the Crimea by special train. We invariably went first to
Sevastopol, where Father inspected the naval installations. These included
the admiralty, naval barracks, hospital, and other buildings. Father
frequently lunched with the officers at the Officers Club. When he was
ready to proceed, we boarded a yacht or tender at the Tsarskaya Pristan
(dock) and landed at Yalta where we were greeted by the people who lined
the road as our carriages passed through. The natives considered this day a
holiday.
Granny Marie had not visited the Crimea since the death of her husband,
Alexander III, in 1894 and even the new palace which stood majestically
among the trees could not induce her to pay us a visit. During the
revolution, however, she was forced to flee to the Crimea.
Before the war, while we were in the Crimea, Father got up one morning
before dawn, and dressed himself in a soldier’s uniform. Eluding the
guards, he walked toward the rising sun. He passed through villages and
saw people working in gardens and fields. All seemed happy and contented
as they passed by him. We, afterwards, wondered if he had his great-
granduncle, Alexander I, in mind. For it was believed that Alexander left
one early morning, disguised as a beggar, walking for weeks through the
villages until he reached a Siberian monastery. History tells us that
Alexander I was ailing and died in Taganrog. But many believe that the day
he was supposed to have died, he was seen escaping into the darkness of the
palace grounds. His wife had a simple funeral for him, which was witnessed
by only a few. The body was then brought to St. Petersburg where it was
laid in a mausoleum in the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul—where all
the Russian emperors were entombed. But it is said that the entombed body
was not the Emperor’s but that of a soldier who had died in Taganrog at the
same time that Alexander I had escaped. Alexander I allegedly died while
hiding in an ancient monastery in Tomsk as a monk; the birthmarks on the
body were the same as those of the Emperor. Later the Cathedral in St.
Petersburg was flooded and, when the coffin that allegedly held the body of
the Emperor was opened, it was found to be empty. The investigation
disclosed that the coffin had been pried open in the past and the body
removed.
Father, however, after walking all day and talking to the peasants, returned
late in the afternoon. He found the police and his staff officers terribly

worried over his disappearance. Father was happy. He said it had been one
of his most pleasant walks for he had seen how his people lived. General
Dumbadze, who was responsible for Father’s safety, was very much upset
over this incident.
Another time, when Father tried unsuccessfully to leave the palace in
Tsarskoe Selo, dressed as a soldier, one of the guards saluted him as he
passed. Father asked him: “Do you know me?” The guard answered: “I do,
Your Majesty, by your kind eyes.”
In the Crimea there were other activities to look forward to: such as the
bazaar that was organized under the patronage of Mother and Princess
Bariatinsky. This bazaar was held annually and the funds raised went to the
support of the Children’s Tuberculosis Sanatorium. This institution was
located on the Imperial estate of Massandra. It was housed in a beautiful
building overlooking the sea and was surrounded by spacious grounds with
avenues bordered by roses and rare species of carefully labelled shrubs and
trees. This adjoined the Imperial vineyards. Here several hundred children
were cared for and educated, and when they were cured of tuberculosis,
many entered schools of higher learning. These children came from all over
the Empire, from rich and poor alike. The large sums needed to support the
hospital were raised through donations, concerts, plays, bazaars, selling
flowers and photographs. Mother and her friends, with the assistance of my
sisters, made many articles to be sold at this bazaar. We three younger ones
felt the responsibility, too, and enthusiastically found buyers for flowers and
for tickets to the concerts. The public was always generous.
Alexei was most eager to help in this project as he, himself, suffered so
much and understood the misery of others. From time to time he gave his
whole monthly allowance to this cause. Once, on our private train on the
way to the Crimea, Aunt Ella joined us at the station in Moscow. She, too,
brought with her gifts for the bazaar. We took turns selling Easter eggs on
the train and, by the time we reached the Crimea, the donations had grown
enormously large. One of our entourage carried the basket while Alexei sold
many of these treasures with his heartbreaking sales talk to our friends who
were on the train. He kept a careful account of all the gifts he collected
which were valued at several hundred thousand rubles; a check for 50,000
rubles came from Prince Dolgorukov. Alexei never forgot this generosity
and looked forward to another year in order to do the same thing. When he

was subsequently praised for this, he answered cheerfully: “I never had
more fun in my life!”
Our cousins, the Princesses Nina and Xenia Georgievna, helped us in this
charity project when they were at their estate in Kharaks. Our other
relatives from Ai-Todor, adjoining Livadia, always lent their aid as did
those of the Youssoupoff family. Countess Vorontsova-Dashkova, that
beautiful woman, was a great supporter of this charity.
In 1914 the “Standard” was brought to the Crimean waters from the Baltic,
through the North Sea. Box after box was carried down from the
“Standard.” They contained items to be sold at charity bazaars which were
held in the gymnasium under the auspices of the Governor of Yalta. Most of
the buyers wished to purchase something handmade by my Mother or that
had been touched by her. Madame Zizi (Elizabeth) Narishkina assisted
Mother and handed to the guests whatever Mother selected. It might be a
child’s bonnet, a cushion, or a scarf. Mother thanked them and offered her
hand which they always insisted upon kissing. Olga and Marie, Tatiana and
I sold at different stalls. Hundreds of beautiful handmade boxes of all kinds
of shapes and sizes, in lapis lazuli, malachite, leather, or in the famous
transparent enamel, or the lacquer boxes of papier maché were sold in great
quantities. In the evening, after supper, a concert was given by Madame
Plevitskaya, the nightingale of Russia. Her graceful bows were like a
weeping willow and her long fingertips touched the floor before us. She
was noted for her rendition of national songs.
Plays were given in our honor which were often attended by our friends and
cousins. On one of these occasions Alexei was unruly. During the
intermission he acted like a wild colt. His friend encouraged him in this
exhibition. He jumped on top of a chair and then up on a table, pretending
that he was delivering a speech. He changed his voice, using a peculiar
accent in pronouncing certain letters. Marie and I were so ashamed of him
and could not believe it was our brother. Mother said she would never again
allow him to appear in public without the two older sisters.
Everyone worked hard and made large donations besides. During the war a
part of this sanatorium was turned into a hospital for the wounded officers
who recovered quickly to return to combat.

Father’s purpose in taking the long walks mentioned above was to make
sure that the exercises required of his troops during maneuvers were not too
strenuous for them. He frequently exceeded by several miles per day the
distance the troops were required to march. On such walks Father carried
only water and bread.

V
SPALA: 1912

The summer of 1912 found us once more in Peterhof.
Before long we departed on another cruise for official reasons. Kaiser
Wilhelm came to Russia for a few days for nautical ceremonies and to
inspect the Viborg infantry of which he was the honorary colonel-in-chief;
he cruised with us in Finnish waters. He was so noisily jovial that Mother
called him “the comedian.” At this time in our presence, one of his officers
said something about “my men.” The Kaiser turned sharply and curling his
mustache nervously said, “Once again, they are my men.” He was happy
one minute and moody the next, so that my sisters remarked, “There is
something wrong with him.” But, of course, at my age, I saw only the
humorous side of his nature and enjoyed his amusing anecdotes and clever
caricatures, drawn by himself, mostly characterizing his own relatives. He
was jealous of Mother, because he could not understand how she could
become all Russian, as his English mother had never become all German.
He liked our yacht, the “Standard,” and said, “Nicky, I would like to have
the ‘Standard’ myself, but with a German crew.” Father’s face flushed. He
knew what he meant. The remark was intended to indicate German
superiority in navigation. After a pause, Father answered: “We are very
fond of the ‘Standard’; it is quite comfortable and the family enjoys it a
great deal.”
The Kaiser often asked Father for donations for his charities and Father
could not refuse him. This made my Mother angry. It was during this cruise
that the Kaiser’s action and behavior aroused disgust in Mother more than
before. Often she said: “I remember when he was a young man he used to
provoke Granny with his sharp words. But Granny did not spare him,
either.”
At the time of his departure, the Kaiser surprised everyone by kissing
Father’s hand in the presence of our Foreign Minister, Izvolsky, who
remarked, “A kiss on the hand and a stab in the back.” This diplomat
foresaw, obviously, the great events of the coming World War I. We were
glad when the Kaiser sailed away on the “Hohenzollern.” Grandmother also

did not feel kindly toward the Kaiser since the German absorption of
Schleswig-Holstein and the expulsion of the native Danes from their
homeland. The wound was so fresh that she strongly resented the Kaiser’s
visits to Denmark. Kaiser Wilhelm hated every living Slav and I have often
wondered how he felt in his heart when he accepted expensive gifts from us
and ate food with Father, who was not only a Slav but defended all the
Slavs.
The same year we went to the monastery of Borodino to celebrate the
Napoleonic defeat on the Berezina River in the war of 1812. The people
wept from joy to see the Imperial family and they gave Alexei relics of the
war of 1812.
Occasionally in the fall hunting lured Father to Poland to his estates at
Belovezh in the government of Grodno. On our way there we landed in
Reval where Alexei laid a stone at the harbor to Peter the Great. Father
reviewed the Sixth Army Corps here, while Mother and we children visited
the Nicholas Institute for Girls. In Belovezh we stayed in our new large red
brick shooting lodge, with several watch towers and a fine balcony, from
where we viewed the game brought in after the day’s hunt. One side of this
residence held rare stuffed animals found here years ago and the other side
was used by us as our living quarters. The house was located in the midst of
a forest of pine and white birch trees surrounded by picturesque hills and
ravines. Most of the best hunting took place in the vicinity of Belovezh and
Spala.
Our lodge at Spala was a two-story, gloomy, wooden villa near a river and a
park; one side was closely surrounded by tall trees through which little
sunshine penetrated, making it necessary to keep the lights burning in the
corridors and halls. The whole house here, too, was decorated in English
chintzes.
We sisters went horseback riding over the broad, sandy roads and alleys
which wound through the woods of white birch and fragrant pines. In the
midst of fir trees the ground was covered with yellow milk mushrooms, as
bright and smooth as silk which the natives ate raw. We also found time to
play in the park or fish in the brook and occasionally Father and his guests
had a game of tennis.

These forests had been stocked with game for generations of royal hunters.
There were many wild animals roaming at large, including deer, wild boar,
lynx, and wild fowl. But the most rare and sought was the auroch, an
unusual variety of bison found only here and in the Caucasus mountains. At
dusk the party returned, the prey was spread on the lawn and everyone was
supposed to rush out to examine it and express great admiration. Mother
often made some excuse to stay indoors, or appeared, out of courtesy,
briefly on the balcony; she did not care to see these lovely creatures killed.
The sight of dead deer with their large pathetic eyes, still open, reminded
her too much of a human suffering.
Here, too, were many mounted heads, killed in previous years, which
adorned the various walls in the house. I was glad when Mother had some
of them removed from the dining room. Several large landscape paintings in
heavy frames and some paintings of horses brightened these rooms. But the
other pictures of hunting dogs with a fowl in their mouths or a large boar
lying on the green grass with a spot of blood on its body was not very
cheerful.
In spite of the wonderful care which always surrounded Alexei, he bumped
his knee during our trip on the yacht, bursting a blood vessel, which
affected his groin and developed into a black and blue lump. It was so
painful he could not bear to have the doctor examine it. His condition had
bettered and the swelling below his abdomen was somewhat reduced, but
when he was taken for a ride in a carriage, suddenly he became very ill and
the swelling increased again, as did his temperature, and he became
delirious.
Mother’s sister, Princess Irene, wife of Prince Henry of Prussia, and their
son, Prince Sigismund, were visiting us at the time. She was very
sympathetic regarding Alexei’s misfortune because one of her sons had died
of haemophilia. She was one of the very few who knew about Alexei’s
condition from the earliest symptoms. Those outside the family did not
know of the serious nature of Alexei’s illness. Now Aunt Irene joined
Mother in taking care of Alexei, especially since our trip to Spala had been
planned several months ahead and previously arranged engagements could
not be cancelled without arousing suspicion concerning the state of Alexei’s
health.

We had many house guests who had come from several foreign countries
and from many parts of Russia. Friends from nearby Warsaw sometimes
joined us for dinners and entertainments which had been arranged for the
pleasure of our guests. There was dancing and other professional
amusements. But it was difficult for Mother to appear to be enjoying these
festive occasions when at the same time fate might claim the life of her son.
She ran up the stairs whenever possible, in order to be with Alexei for a few
minutes. Meanwhile Father carried on as host, with Princess Irene taking
Mother’s place as hostess during Mother’s absence.
We sisters gave a French play before our guests. I was delighted that our
Swiss tutor, M. Pierre Gilliard, gave me a part that contributed largely to the
success of our little performance. But, while performing before our
audience, I mixed up my lines and could not hear the prompter; so I
resorted to improvising. At this moment, while the guests were hilarious
over my ad libbing, an elastic of my most delicate undergarment broke and
the embarrassing white ruffled cambric fell to the floor. The audience
became well-nigh hysterical and laughed far more than if I had remembered
my lines.
The secrecy surrounding Alexei’s illness had always tormented me. I knew
bleeding was involved, like the bleeding of a wound that could not be
stopped. Marie and I were almost as ignorant as the general public as to the
real nature of his illness. I remember tiptoeing into my brother’s room and
there I saw Mother lying on a couch. In one corner was a basin filled with
pieces of cotton which she had been applying to the blue swelling. As
Alexei’s condition became worse, the rest of the family joined Mother at the
side of his bed. I would have preferred to be outside where I could not see
my brother’s suffering or hear his moans, yet something held me inside.
There they were, Father, Olga, Tatiana, and Marie, all huddled together, a
thin layer of hope spread over their despair. They were all in an attitude of
prayer, and totally unaware of the struggle that was taking place in me.
Suddenly, shame-faced, I slipped in beside them and found myself in the
front ranks of the sorrowing family.
We all watched Mother, her hand enclosing Alexei’s as though she were
trying to transmit her own strength into his frail body. He was not lying in a
pool of blood as I had always expected but looked quite normal, except that
he was very pale and moaned pitifully. His eyes seemed to be sunk into his

head and he wore a peculiar expression on his face. Mother knelt beside
him, encouraging her little son with a smile which seemed to say, “You will
be well soon.” So long as Mother did not give up, Alexei knew his
condition was not hopeless. We knew her heart was breaking, but before
Alexei she was a picture of confidence and hope. Mother knew that if she
left Alexei to the nurses, the boy would stop fighting, for it was her heroic
presence which strengthened him.
Dr. Botkin, Mother’s private physician, relieved her on many nights as did
my Aunt Irene. Dr. Fedorov, Dr. Dreifuss and Dr. Ostrogorsky were all
summoned to repeat all the treatments which had helped in previous
attacks. Dr. Fedorov, a renowned specialist in haemophilia, was in charge of
Alexei. He had brought my brother through several other attacks, after
which Dr. Derevenko, who was Dr. Fedorov’s assistant, became Alexei’s
personal physician. The doctors’ efforts did not seem to bring about any
change. Mother, however, remained confident even when the doctors were
shaking their heads in despair. Mother understood every agony of the boy
and seemed to be able to relieve his suffering. Alexei extended his feverish
hands to her in appreciation. They understood each other perfectly.
Hopelessness was crushing Father. It was such double torture with the fear
of losing Mother as well as Alexei in the event anything happened to
Alexei. We had practically given up hope, but not Mother. She would not
give up. We braced ourselves to meet the inevitable. Mother’s face was
white but calm before Alexei’s searching eyes. As a last resort she directed
that a telegram be sent to Rasputin at his home in Siberia, imploring him to
pray for Alexei’s recovery. In the morning Mother sent for Father Vassiliev
to administer the holy sacrament to our brother. Alexei and Mother looked
straight into each other’s eyes, the one sending out waves of assurance, the
other hopefully receptive. The light in her eyes never failed him.
In the meantime a bulletin had been issued about the boy’s serious
condition. Father felt that the people had the right to know about their
Tsarevich, although it was torture to reveal the secret kept so long. At this
time Father also ordered the sending of wires to our foreign diplomatic
representatives with a view to locating specialists who might be able to help
Alexei, but no medic for this malady was found.

The doctors worked feverishly, their foreheads moist with their exertions.
Silence was broken as Alexei moaned and Mother whispered, “Has no word
come from the Starets?” Alexei clung to life even when all of us except
Mother thought each breath might be his last. Under the tension we even
wished that it would be, to spare him further agony!
Suddenly one of the officers approached with a quick step and handed a
telegram to Father. He read it aloud to all of us in a clear voice. “The little
one will not die, do not let him be bothered too much.” (This was the sense
of the telegram, the words are my own.) When we all heard these words, the
air became charged with renewed hope. Alexei must have felt it too for he
relaxed into a deep sleep. It continued for so long that Mother kept listening
to his heart to make sure that he was still with us. When he awoke, the
bleeding had stopped. Whether it was the medicine, the holy sacrament, or
our prayers, as well as those of Rasputin, which caused the sudden turn for
the better, we could not tell, but we knew that death had been averted. We
had seen a miracle before our very eyes.
From that moment on, the boy’s ravaged body began to mend. We could
only think of Rasputin as a holy man and the instrument in the healing of
my brother. I recall seeing him later—only three or four times—but he
made a deep impression on me. He was so different from other human
beings. His piercing eyes seemed to look right through me even into the
depths of my innermost self. He frightened me. When I first saw him he
said, “Is this the little one?” and I was afraid that he would touch me, but he
didn’t. He wore a long cassock with a cross hanging down on his chest. He
looked like a monk. I was told he walked long distances barefoot, not
having the necessary money to travel by train. But when I saw him he wore
boots. By nature he was a son of the soil, like a wild plant nourished by
accident.
Grigory Rasputin was not a monk at all except in a very loose sense. He
was not even a member of any holy order. He was a Starets, a pilgrim and
lay preacher among peasants. Could he be a biblical character come to life?
I wondered. On his many journeys he had learned many of nature’s
remedies. He had faith in them in the face of modern scientific medicine.
He believed nature had made provision for man’s health as she had made
provision for his food and drink. He knew an herb or berry for various
maladies. His remedies were simple; it did not seem possible they could be

effective. I heard he used to put dried berries in his tea. For bronchitis, he
used high bush cranberries or red raspberry juice. We did not follow any of
his remedies for my brother. We believed that ultimately God was the only
Healer.
Father Vassiliev, our chaplain, held services twice a day in the camp chapel,
which had been especially built in a large tent in the garden, until our
departure from Spala in the late fall. Many different gifts were sent to
Alexei during his illness, including some enamel and silver icons of St.
Alexius and a Virgin and Christ in gold and decorated with precious stones.
These and others came with the blessing of the churches in their incessant
prayer for his health.
After this dreadful experience in Poland, Alexei was like something that
had been lost but was now found. We could not do enough for him, but in
spite of the attention we gave him, he was not spoiled. He was only an
average boy and there was no reason for him to be different because he had
been born to a royal family. There was a magnetism about the little fellow
which no one could resist, yet Mother and Father tried to be firm with him.
We all knew Alexei was the most important thing in Mother’s life; in fact,
he was in all of ours. His condition meant misery or happiness to the whole
family. Our first question every morning was, “How is Alexei?” We really
did not need to ask because when Mother was happy, obviously he was all
right.
Later we heard all kinds of atrocious stories spread about the illness of this
innocent little boy. How could any human being think of anything so cruel
and untrue is beyond my imagination.
Alexei was very sensitive and sometimes when Mother rebuked him he
would run to Olga for sympathy. He adored Olga and said he was going to
marry her. He was even jealous of her in a way, because he did not want her
to pay attention to strangers when he was present. He had a talent for
making us forget to scold him when he had done something wrong by
distracting our attention. We all knew his strategy but it was hard to punish
him when we saw him perched on a chair like a little sparrow, wondering
what he would say to get our minds off the coming reprimand.
Late in the fall a few weeks before Christmas when the snow had buried the
ground, Alexei was well enough to be moved to Tsarskoe Selo and there he

made further recovery from his recent attack. This illness damaged the
nerve and caused his left leg to become shorter. It required painful
treatments and a special pad was placed in his shoe to build up the heel, so
that he limped only slightly.
Mother had put so much of herself into the agonizing condition that it was
hard for her to be herself again. For weeks she lay prostrate from her
nursing and emotional strain but blissfully conscious of victory. She was
disappointed not to be able to go to church to give fitting thanks for
Alexei’s recovery, but the priest came to the house and conducted a special
service in the palace chapel. When she felt well enough to be up and around
again, Dr. Botkin found her heart again in a weakened condition and
confined her to her room.
During these periods of rest, following the exhausting care of Alexei,
Mother devoted herself to intensive religious study. The sparing of Alexei
was God’s answer to her prayers; her gratitude was so consuming she lived
in a realm of religious dedication. She had a rare collection of Bibles, which
were brought to her from St. Petersburg and Moscow; these she studied,
making comparisons of the various editions. She would then discuss what
she had learned with Father who was no less interested but who did not
have the time he would have liked to devote to the subject.
In our library we had some rare scrolls and texts. They had come from
Egypt, Persia, Palestine, Sinai, and elsewhere. One of these was the famous
Codex Sinaiticus, dating from the fourth century A.D., which was first
discovered by the German scholar Tischendorff in a monastery on the Sinai
peninsula. Great-grandfather, Alexander II, had acquired the manuscript;
later, in 1862, he had it published. There were also very early Russian texts.
All these were under lock and key but we could see them in the glass case.
Father knew the history of each of these texts and versions. The children’s
library was separate. On its shelves were Russian fables and stories, and
there were translations from the Danish. We had some originals signed by
Hans Christian Andersen.
Mother was reared and educated in England and Germany and
distinguished herself in her studies. She, herself, was a philosopher and
often discussed philosophy with her friends. She saw things the others

could not see and sometimes connected religion with the writings of the
great philosophers.
However, she was not a fanatic as many described her, but she could see
and understand things the others did not. She was well informed on various
subjects. She understood and reasoned the value and depth of her religion.
Her and Father’s knowledge of history surpassed that of many historians
and their vocabulary was powerfully rich.
When Mother was strong enough, we children joined her at luncheon or tea.
In the winter she selected a sunny room where a folding table was used for
the occasion. One of Mother’s rooms was decorated in her favorite color,
mauve, and was cosy with matching brocades, curtains and upholstery. One
wall was covered with a collection of icons which were gifts from different
people. These were continually lighted by two lamps, one blue and one
pink. Some of these icons were the most beautiful that Byzantine art could
produce, others were very simple, but all were symbols to Mother and a
means of remembering the donors. Mother loved every one of them, and
was most appreciative when people presented her one of these religious
treasures. Some of them she carried with her from Tsarskoe Selo to
Alexandria and Livadia palaces and later to Tobolsk and Ekaterinburg. She
wanted to have the most meaningful in her room. Others hung in one of the
small rooms of the chapel together with some of her Bibles and a panagia.
She also had some icons of great historic importance.
Icons of these types were made only by the Greeks, Russians, Serbians,
Bulgarians, and Rumanians. No statues were permitted in our churches,
since we discarded the pagan idols at the time of the adoption of the Greek
orthodox religion. A lot of the best treasures in the country were looted
during the revolution. Other gifts were hung in the long hall which ran the
whole length of the palace including all kinds of plates and other objects of
historical value which we had received during many trips in Russia and
abroad.
We were shocked to see how frail Mother looked when she finally emerged
from her convalescence. It was an effort for her to walk the length of the
hall and she was wheeled to the lift which took her to Alexei’s room. She
permitted him to come down to the music room and lie on the sofa, or to
amuse himself in the library with his electric trains. He built villages,

fountains, churches out of blocks. We girls read to him or engaged him in
games to keep him occupied. I can still see my brother in the blue nightshirt
which he wore after his bath when he came down every evening before
retiring. Mother took his emaciated hand and they went upstairs to hear his
prayers. She had a tendency to overdo, hoping no one would suspect how
much these illnesses of Alexei took out of her. It is true that bulletins had
been issued telling of the serious condition of the Tsarevich but the nature
of the illness had never been revealed to the people—that would be
admitting hopelessness. When Alexei and Mother were well enough to
travel we went down to the Crimea where the change and rest were always
refreshing to both.
These attacks of Alexei were hard on us. For one thing our education was
disrupted. It was difficult for us to concentrate on anything other than our
brother’s health. The shared sorrow welded us into a closer family and the
realization of this brought a change in my life. Thoughts of self seemed
empty; childish pleasures began to lose their charm. My life was now so
bound up with the family that I could no longer be lighthearted and free as
before.
Reluctantly I realized I was taming down, through sorrow, not discipline.
My childhood pastime of painting took a more serious turn. I even
attempted to write imaginary stories about animals. Mother was so pleased
with my efforts she sent one of these stories to Aunt Irene saying, “See what
our little Nastia has done.” I now took a greater interest in music and hoped
that by working hard I might sing as well as Mother or play like Olga. I
loved Olga for her true kinship and often kissed her hand for her
understanding of us younger sisters.
A week or two was a long time for me to stick to anything. Again and again
I would revert to my childhood spirit but each time with less of my former
zest. My reputation of being a problem child persisted. People often asked,
“Where does the little one, small in size, store so much, much energy? She
has an endless supply of jokes and pranks.” Some enjoyed my humor as I
could tell from the expression on their faces, and some did not.
Marie and I had all kinds of “properties” with which to carry out our
practical jokes. We had a set of stuffed animals which we called our “Circus
Kingdom.” We had a mechanical mouse, a yellow iridescent snake with a

moving head and a red, sharp tongue, a snapping turtle which might tangle
in a victim’s dress. Frightened, our victim would jump up on a sofa or chair
while Marie and I pretended to be equally scared and put on an act with
wide-open mouths.
Often, new attendants were warned to watch out for me and my pranks, but
in the end they suffered. In all these activities I was the leader and most of
the time in disgrace. Once Alexei sprinkled water over me saying, “You
must have been born in a dry summer, your jokes have outgrown you.”
Perhaps my most effective toy for playing pranks was a large doll with
brown phosphorescent eyes that shone in the dark. This mechanical doll,
when wound, would open and close its eyes, making life-like, blinking
motions. On one occasion, I wound my doll while Marie was watching at
the bedroom door and, when we heard our victim coming, I left the doll on
the floor facing the door. We then jumped into our beds and pretended we
were asleep. The attendant, who had come to see if we were all right, saw
this awful thing on the floor in the dark with its blinking eyes. Terrified she
ran screaming into the hall and awakened everyone on the whole floor.
After this a sign was put up on our playroom door which read, “Enter only
by permission of Olga and Tatiana.” This was designed to prevent Marie,
Alexei, and myself from entering the room at will.
In the face of recent family heartaches I was less and less proud of my
reputation as a prankster.

VI
JUBILEE: 1913

The spring of 1913 marked the three hundredth anniversary of the
Romanov dynasty. Celebrations began with a great jubilee in St. Petersburg.
We arrived from Tsarskoe Selo a few days ahead of the festivities and took
up our residence in the Winter Palace. On the first day we drove in open
carriages through streets lined with troops to the Cathedral of Our Lady of
Kazan where a picturesque ceremony was held. It was a gray, cold and
rainy day, in contrast to the brilliance that awaited us inside the Cathedral.
According to custom the Tsar entered first, followed by the Heir to the
Crown. When Alexei appeared, it was not a strapping, healthy Tsarevich to
whom all the Grand Dukes and dignitaries bowed, but a frail little boy of
nine, carried in the arms of a Cossack. This was a sad moment for us. We
had hoped Alexei would at least be well enough to walk but he had not
recovered sufficiently from his recent illness. We stood under a canopy in
the middle of the great church. Alexei sat in a chair. Mother worried about
Alexei. She asked us to watch him also. Dr. Derevenko stood nearby. We
sisters were dressed in white, as was Mother. She wore the blue ribbon of
St. Andrew, the order studded with diamonds and rubies. We had the red
ribbon of the order of St. Catherine with its dazzling star. Grandmother
Marie stood with us, trim and regal as always, blazing with diamonds,
rubies and emeralds. The elite of St. Petersburg were assembled here, a
magnificent sight, with the high clergy in golden robes and elaborate mitres,
and the high military dignitaries in uniforms embroidered in gold.
During the service a dove flew into the Cathedral and circled above our
canopy. Afterwards friends told us they were afraid it would fly into the
lighted candles and start a fire, but fortunately it flew out of the church
through a door. Since the dove is an important symbol of peace in our
religion, a representation of the Holy Ghost, we all wondered if this event
had a special significance. (It is worthwhile mentioning that also during the
coronation, Father said, “A pigeon flew during the ceremonies.” Later, in
Ekaterinburg on the day of tragedy, while we were having our last walk in
the yard, a pigeon flew over us three times and then dashed repeatedly
against the window.) After the ceremony, in the afternoon, we were attired

in national costumes, as were our guests. Mother was especially beautiful,
in her high kokoshnik, with her white robe exquisitely embroidered in silver
and long veil. In the evening she wore a tiara of Catherine II and a necklace
of diamonds. It was valued at several million rubles. It was so heavy that
she used it in all only a few times. Olga and Tatiana were attired in soft pink
tulle gowns, Marie and I in white silk and lace.
Some evenings later a ball was held in the Winter Palace. It was the first
official appearance for us two younger sisters, the first time we participated
in such a grand affair. I remember how excitedly we looked forward to that
occasion. Mother was indisposed that evening and, after a short while,
suggested that we leave early and go to our rooms. Grandmother, however,
took our side and asked Mother to let us stay longer, and promised that she
would personally look after us. Mother burst into tears and said: “These
women of St. Petersburg might talk about the girls, and Anastasia’s jokes
might be misinterpreted.”
I was very unhappy that evening for fear that every move I might make or
every word I might speak would be used against me. All the innocent joy
was taken from me that gala night for fear of those women’s sharp tongues.
From St. Petersburg we proceeded by train to Moscow where the Jubilee
continued. On this occasion Mother wore the crown jewels. She never cared
for them after the unfortunate incident which occurred during her early
married life. At that time Granny felt that she still was entitled to wear the
crown jewels instead of the young Empress. In the underground vaults in
the Winter Palace there was a section where Mother kept some of her
personal jewels. Any time she wished to have them, she notified the court
chamberlain, Count Benckendorff, who sent several responsible persons
with papers to fetch the desired pieces which were then brought under
guard to Mother.
After the anniversary festivities we never spent another night at the Winter
Palace, our childhood home. But during the war my sisters often stopped in
the rooms for a glass of tea, after various charitable meetings. It is sad to
think what became of the treasures stored in those vaults and elsewhere for
generations, belonging not only to the Imperial family but to the Russian
people as well. These treasures, worth billions of rubles, were held until the
leaders of the revolution, Lenin, Trotsky (Bronstein), Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld

and others got their clutches upon them. It was rumored that much of it was
divided among their relatives who came to our country for that purpose and
to kill and loot. These people and their successors have been exporting our
Russian national treasures, so long guarded by the Imperial family, and
selling them to foreign countries.
From Moscow we went to Vladimir, then to Nizhni Novgorod and to
Yaroslavl. The latter—an old historic city with a view of the wide river—
was a charming sight. I cannot even begin to describe the enthusiastic
reception. Throngs of children, cadets, the nobility and the townspeople
lined the streets right down to the dock. What a rich sight from the river—
this beautiful city on a little hill! The bells were still ringing until we could
no longer hear them. We passed an expanse of meadows, shimmering fields,
and the breeze was sweeping like a soft veil over that heavenly country.
In every city there were similar festivities, and dinners with many guests
who had been especially selected to honor my Father and my Mother.
Father’s guests at dinner were mostly men, and Mother entertained ladies in
separate drawing rooms. The famous Plevitskaya sang again and bowed
gracefully before the appreciative audience. There were many outstanding
entertainments at which we made many new friends.
We were so tired at the end of our trip that Tatiana, in this mood, said:
“People and more people—I am tired of them!” Mother, overhearing her
say this, reprimanded her.
On our way to Kostroma we sailed on the Volga. People lined the shores,
some even wading into the water up to their waists. When our boat
developed some trouble and while the repairs were being made, the people
thronged the shores and sang “God Save the Tsar.” The Imperial party was
delayed in reaching Kostroma. It was in this terraced city overlooking the
Volga River that the Romanov dynasty had its official beginning, and now a
special ceremony was to be held to celebrate the three hundredth
anniversary of the Romanov reign.
At last we reached the city and proceeded to the monument of Susanin. This
was a column on which rested a bronze bust of the first Romanov Tsar,
Michael Feodorovich. This column was supported by the peasant, Susanin.
The latter was the Russian patriot who deliberately misled the Polish army
which had invaded Russia and asked Susanin to lead the way to the

whereabouts of the newly elected Tsar, who was in hiding. As a result of
Susanin’s false directions, the Polish army was destroyed and was driven
out. The plot of the famous opera, “A Life for the Tsar” by Glinka, was
drawn from this heroic incident. This opera was one of my Father’s
favorites. From the time of Feodor Romanov, a number of the brides of the
Grand Dukes upon marriage adopted Saint Feodor and took the name of
Feodorovna as a patronymic.
From the monument, the procession continued to the Ipatiev Monastery,
where the first Romanov was sheltered in 1613. In the monastery courtyard
was the beautiful Cathedral of the Holy Trinity and within it stood the
iconostasis and the throne of Tsar Michael Feodorovich. This monastery
had been built by a Tartar prince who was the founder of the Godunov
family and who was the first to be baptized there.
While in the Cathedral we visited the dark rooms in which Michael once
had lived. We sat on the chairs with the beautifully embroidered double
eagles on their backs, and drank tea from the original containers at the same
table once used by Tsar Alexei. In one of the rooms was a portrait of
Michael and Alexei Romanov. Both looked a little like my Father. The
legend tells us that Alexei was born on St. Job’s day, and so was my Father.
And their experiences were sad, but those of Alexei were not as tragic as
those of my Father.
Also, we went to the cemetery and laid an exquisite wreath made of silver
in the form of the cap of Monomakh and decorated with jewels on the grave
of Michael.
Parenthetically speaking, it was a strange coincidence that, in Ekaterinburg
in 1918, in the Ipatiev House, the last Emperor of Russia, Nicholas II came
to his tragic end. The Romanov dynasty was born in the Ipatiev Monastery
in Kostroma in 1613 and died in the Ipatiev House in Ekaterinburg, three
hundred and five years later. History tells us that, at the election of Michael
Feodorovich Romanov, a crippled beggar woman who claimed to be a
wandering saint had predicted that the Romanov dynasty was born with
Michael and would die with another Michael. And so it happened. When
Father abdicated, his brother Michael succeeded him to the throne but soon
abdicated.

Another strange incident was that a three hundred year old tree of immense
diameter, said to have been planted by Michael, had been cut down just
before we arrived in Kostroma. We saw it mounted on huge wooden blocks
to be preserved as an object of historical interest.
One of the members of our party on this trip was Prince Dolgorukov, a
direct descendant of the family that built the city of Kostroma and also the
first church in the Kremlin in Moscow. Prince Dolgorukov, faithful friend
of our family, followed us to Tobolsk and later to Ekaterinburg where he,
too, came to a tragic end.
The year 1913 also marked two hundred years since the seat of government
moved from Moscow to St. Petersburg in 1713.
During this entire trip we received many gifts and pictures, and our albums
were filled with photographs of historic events. On our way home we
stopped at the Nicholas Palace in Moscow. At the functions there, Mother
wore the old Slavonic robe and the crown jewels. These jewels she never
wore again after the Jubilee celebrations ended. This was a year of many
anniversaries and festivities. Several regiments celebrated their hundredth
anniversary. The Naval Cathedral at Kronstadt was reconsecrated in
celebration of its hundredth anniversary. We attended all these functions.
Soon we were back in Tsarskoe Selo resuming our daily routine. During
this busy year Baroness Iza Buxhoeveden became lady in waiting, replacing
the young Princess Elizabeth (Lili) Obolensky whose health had become
impaired. Lili had taken several trips with us, including the one to England.
We had known Baroness Buxhoeveden previously. She had already
assumed some responsibilities in the palace. All the ladies in waiting were
required to be single and to come from titled families. Mother did not
believe in all the old court etiquette with its traditions and restrictions. To
her it did not matter whether these young ladies were princesses or
baronesses. She selected them on the basis of the best possible ability,
education and culture. Baroness Buxhoeveden came from a Baltic family
which had produced several ambassadors. Her father had been an
ambassador to Denmark.
The position of lady in waiting was an honorary one to which many young
ladies looked forward. To distinguish their rank from the other staff, they
received badges studded with diamonds, with Mother’s initial and a crown

on its top. Some were in silver and some in gold according to their length of
service. The ladies in waiting were not permitted to discuss political affairs
at any time and all the happenings were to be kept in strict secrecy. They
were not allowed to enjoy the company of the officers and aides in the
palace.
Their duty was to accept telephone calls for Mother and for us girls, make
notations of the calls, note incoming and outgoing telegrams, filing them by
date, and make a memorandum of all telegrams and letters. They also were
to chaperon us on drives or at any other function. Maids, a footman and a
carriage were provided for their comfort. Extra ladies were called to the
palace for the day if needed. Later during our arrest in Tsarskoe Selo, our
letters and telegrams did not escape from being read. Iza shared our
deprivations and followed us later to Tobolsk, Siberia, but was not
permitted entry into the governor’s house.

PART II
The First World War
VII
EVE OF THE WAR: 1914

Early in the spring of 1914 we went to Livadia. Full days of school work
were continued here. M. Pierre Gilliard and our Russian tutor, M. Peter
Vasilievich Petrov, accompanied us as usual. Sometimes our tutors were
invited to lunch with us and afterwards joined us in our hikes when the sun
was bright and warm, or in some other recreational pastime. Our hikes took
us through the park or along the shore to Yalta or to the Church of
Alexander Nevsky on the opposite hill. Dinner was the focal point of the
day with friends and relatives as guests. We children, especially, enjoyed
Prince Igor Constantinovich and the Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich. Aunt
Ella, Mother’s older sister, the widow of the Grand Duke Serge, brother of
Alexander III, was another cherished guest. She and Mother had similar
religious views, having inherited this mysticism from their mother, Princess
Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, daughter of Queen Victoria of England.
Grandmother Alice, I was told, was a student of religious history and
movements, having been inspired by her tutor, a theologian who was a close
friend of the Hesse family. He also had a direct influence on Mother. This
theologian imbedded into her thoughts the terrible fear of sin. For years we
children watched her struggle, trying to leave this deeply-buried mysticism
and return to reality. However, due to the thoughtless criticism by my other
grandmother, Father’s mother, Marie Feodorovna, and also the
unsympathetic attitude of the Russian court, she sought comfort in this
mysticism and her whole soul once more overflowed with it. Then with the
misfortune of her son’s illness, she reverted to it all the more. At the same
time she pretended not to notice the criticism and tried to hide her pride; but
her sensitive heart suffered and the words which she should have spoken
hardened in her soul. Courtiers took her for a heartless, cold and eccentric

woman. She, having been raised by her austere grandmother, tried to carry
on in an efficient English manner. Even though her humble faith grew
stronger, her English upbringing never left her and she never became a true
Russian in manners, but in her heart and soul she was a better Russian than
most native-born Russians.
We boarded our yacht, the “Standard”, which had been brought to the
Crimean waters from the Baltic Sea via the North Sea. We went on several
short cruises on the Black Sea. Once we crossed to Constantsa on the
Rumanian coast to return a visit of King Carol and Queen Elizabeth
(Carmen Sylva) of Rumania. They had come to see us with their
grandnephew, the future King Carol II. It was an overnight trip to
Constantsa. Carmen Sylva at her late age was still beautiful, as also was
Princess Marie (Missy), wife of Prince Ferdinand; later they became
sovereigns of Rumania. During this visit Princess Marie and my sister Olga
developed a close friendship. The strained relationship between Mother and
Missy’s sister Victoria, who was divorced from Mother’s brother Ernest,
was improved; all was forgotten now. We had luncheon in a pavilion which
seemed to rise right out of the sea. From this vantage point we could see
many yachts and smaller boats cruising back and forth for a closer look at
the “Standard”.
In the afternoon, tea was served on board the “Standard” for the members
of the two families. After tea a great many dignitaries joined us on board
ship.

1906

1913—JUBILEE YEAR

THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA

COMMUNICATION. DATED
JUNE 14TH, 1901 (OLD
STYLE), FROM THE EMPEROR
NICHOLAS II TO THE
PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED
STATES ANNOUNCING THE
BIRTH ON JUNE 5TH (OLD
STYLE) OF THE GRAND
DUCHESS ANASTASIA

CONTINUATION OF
COMMUNICATION
ANNOUNCING THE BIRTH OF
ANASTASIA, SIGNED BY
NICHOLAS II AND
COUNTERSIGNED BY COUNT
LAMSDORF, MINISTER OF
FOREIGN AFFAIRS

Courtesy The P.B. Corporation
ca. 1896
THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA
FEODOROVNA

Courtesy The P.B. Corporation
PETERHOF—1901
THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA
FEODOROVNA

THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA, THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI
NICHOLAEVICH, AND THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS II ON A TENDER
APPROACHING THE “STANDARD”—ca. 1908

Courtesy The P. B. Corporation
THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI,
THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA,
AND THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS
II—ca. 1908

THE RUSSIAN IMPERIAL FAMILY ON VISIT TO BRITISH ROYAL
FAMILY—ENGLAND—1909
seated on the ground (l. to r.): the tsesarevich alexei and the grand
duchess anastasia. seated on chairs (l. to r.): mary, princess of wales
(later queen mary); nicholas ii; king edward vii; the empress alexandra;
george, prince of wales (later king george v); and the grand duchess
marie nicholaevna. standing (l. to r.): prince edward david (later prince of
wales and king edward viii, now the duke of windsor); queen alexandra;
princess mary, now the princess royal, dowager countess of harewood;
princess victoria; the grand duchess olga nicholaevna; and the grand
duchess tatiana nicholaevna.

the grand duke alexander mikhailovich and the grand duchess xenia
alexandrovna and their children (l. to r.): the prince nikita, the princess
irina, and the princes andrei, dimitri, vasili, feodor, and rostislav—ca.
1909

Courtesy E. L. Packer
ALEXANDER PALACE, TSARSKOE SELO—ca. 1912

Courtesy E. L. Packer
THE NEW PALACE, LIVADIA—ca. 1912

Courtesy E. L. Packer
NICHOLAS II—ca. 1914

Courtesy E. L. Packer
THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA—ca.
1910

THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI—ca.
1913

Courtesy The P. B. Corporation
THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI
TESTING FOOD OF RUSSIAN
TROOPS—1911

Courtesy E. L. Packer
NICHOLAS II AND THE EMPRESS
ALEXANDRA—ca. 1914

THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA—TSARSKOE SELO—1914

THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE, TATIANA, ANASTASIA AND
OLGA—ca. 1913

THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA WITH HER DAUGHTERS, THE
GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA, TATIANA, ANASTASIA AND MARIE—
ca. 1913

NICHOLAS II AND THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA AND THEIR
CHILDREN, THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE, TATIANA, OLGA
AND ANASTASIA AND THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI—ca. 1913

nicholas ii and the empress alexandra and their children (l. to r.) the
grand duchesses olga, marie and anastasia, the tsesarevich alexei and
the grand duchess tatiana—ca. 1913

Courtesy The P.B. Corporation
THE GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA AND
TATIANA—ca. 1914

Courtesy The P.B. Corporation
THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE AND
ANASTASIA—ca. 1914

THE GRAND DUCHESSES ANASTASIA, OLGA, TATIANA AND
MARIE ON BOARD THE “STANDARD”—1914

Photograph by the late Colonel N. Koishevski
NICHOLAS II

Photograph by the late Colonel N. Koishevski
(l. to r.) the grand duchess anastasia, the empress alexandra and
president poincaré

STATE VISIT OF FRENCH PRESIDENT RAYMOND POINCARÉ TO
RUSSIA—1914
That night a grand banquet was held in the beautifully decorated pavilion
overlooking the sea. The lights reflected on the water as various craft sailed
by, and the sound of music spread over the sea like a cloud. It was a gala
occasion with many garlands and flags flying. I could not help watching
Olga intently for I had overheard someone say that this trip was planned
with a view to her possible marriage into the Rumanian royal family. At the
dinner table Olga and Prince Carol sat side by side, apparently having a
good time. The table was decorated with tricolors: red, white and blue, and
small gifts were exchanged. Olga received a Rumanian national costume
which was beautifully embroidered; the skirt was in a dark color woven in a
pattern of gold and silver thread, and the blouse daintily embroidered in
white. Princess Marie did not hesitate to admit that she herself was a beauty,

especially her blue eyes. She was the eldest daughter of Prince Alfred, Duke
of Edinburgh, and the Grand Duchess Marie Alexandrovna of Russia. She
was named Marie Alexandra Victoria, after both her grandmothers, the
Russian Empress Marie Alexandrovna and Queen Victoria of England. As
already mentioned, her younger sister Victoria Melita (Ducky) was the
divorced wife of Mother’s brother Ernest of Hesse; she was now married to
the Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich. Another sister, Alexandra (Sandra),
married Prince Ernest of Hohenlohe-Langenburg. A third sister was
Beatrice (Baby B.), wife of the Infante Alfonso of Spain, first cousin of
Alfonso XIII.
I was filled with a compelling interest I had never before experienced. But
when we sailed away that night, I learned it had been decided Olga was too
young to marry. Later she told us that she would rather stay single than
marry outside of Russia. We sisters were so happy we could not help
teasing her about losing a husband. It was a good thing that Alexei did not
know about Olga; he would have been sick with worry that she might leave
Russia. Later I wished Olga had married at that time, she might be alive
today.
During the war Prince Carol came to Russia several times and stayed with
us for a few days. Once he was accompanied by Prime Minister Bratianu.
However, even this time, Olga was not given an opportunity of being left
with him alone for one single minute, entirely apart from others. There were
always ladies in waiting and we the younger ones excitedly were in and out
of the room. She had no chance to hold his hand and less of being kissed.
Nor was any one else given an opportunity to be with Olga unchaperoned.
It was in Tobolsk that Mother first realized her mistake in not giving more
independence to her older daughters.
Olga was named after my Aunt Olga. She was tall, slender, blonde with a
lovely fresh complexion. Her eyes were a lustrous blue, her nose was
slightly turned up. She often jokingly referred to it as “the little stub”. When
she smiled she displayed beautiful white teeth. As I look back, I am more
and more appreciative of her fine character. She was an omnivorous reader
and wrote some stories which she sent to Aunt Missy, Queen Marie of
Rumania, who in turn sent Olga stories she had written. Olga’s poetry was
destroyed by herself at the time of the revolution. She had a deep religious

faith and often sat beside a patient at the hospital praying that God might
spare the life of the young soldiers. Her touch on the piano was excellent
and was able to master the most difficult compositions of Tchaikovsky,
Wagner, Mozart, and Beethoven. Mother and Olga often played duets on
the piano. Her talent for composing and writing was inherited from her
Danish and Romanov sides which boasted a long line of artists, poets,
sculptors and musicians. She was a mezzo soprano; she memorized musical
compositions very easily. Mr. Konrad was her musical instructor, as well as
ours. Father’s favorite was Tchaikovsky’s “Chanson Sans Paroles”. When
she played it for him, his face lighted up with pleasure. She loved Father
tenderly. Often, when Father was troubled, he talked over his problems with
Olga and permitted no other member of the family to be present. She loved
children and sponsored several who were confined to the hospital. She even
provided for their education by setting aside money from her allowance.
Going back to our Rumanian cruise, we arrived in Odessa at night, where
the Imperial train was ready to take us to Kishinev for the unveiling of the
monument to Alexander I. I remember the trip especially because Alexei
misbehaved. No doubt this was due to fatigue brought on by the heat on the
train. In Kishinev we were the guests of the Governor, an old friend, who
wore the longest beard I have ever seen, reaching almost to his waist.
At the tea which followed, champagne was served. At an opportune
moment, Alexei took a glass of champagne and drank it down before
anyone could stop him. Soon this champagne took effect and he became
very gay so that all the ladies, old and young surrounded him. I never
realized he possessed such a sense of humor. Youngster that he was, he did
not realize what the champagne had done to him. Of course the family was
terrified at this display. In the evening back on the train when the effect had
worn off, Father gave him a scolding and he was put to bed.
We children now realized that Alexei’s illness and the Jubilee had brought
our studies to a virtual halt. Alexei and I used to have our French lessons
together, but now he was far ahead of me. French was much easier for him
than for me. I was really bored with all my studies. When I entered the
classroom, my face grew long, but when school hours were over, I shot out
of the detested place like a bullet. As a result my tutors were not fond of me
and I felt their disapproval.

We had been home a short while when the world was shocked at the news
of the assassination of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria and his
wife on the streets of Sarajevo, on June 28th, 1914. After that date Father
spent very little time with us. He was constantly busy with his ministers,
diplomats and the Grand Dukes. The President of France, M. Poincaré,
spent four or five days with us at Alexandria Cottage in Peterhof. He was as
complaisant as President Fallières whom he had recently replaced. Father
felt drawn to him from the start, admiring his diplomacy and friendly
manner. Several dinners were given in his honor with the Imperial family
attending. Everyone looked grave and alarmed, and I gathered matters must
be serious. Why should the assassination of an Austrian be so threatening to
Russia? I was told that Russia had an agreement which might implicate us
all unless the affair could be settled amicably. The hour the President
departed, the Austrian ultimatum was served at once on Russia and on
Serbia.
Out of this puzzling dilemma which hung over Russia, two things were
clear to me: the quiet paleness of Father and Mother’s tearful entreaties
imploring that Russia be kept out of war. Mother kept repeating, “The
country is not recovered from one war before it is in another.” She was
thinking of the Japanese war, whose horrors were still fresh in her mind.
Mother’s agonized face vividly foreshadowed the tragedy ahead.
Every summer there was a review of regimental maneuvers at Krasnoe Selo
(near Tsarskoe Selo). This time they were held in honor of King Frederick
Augustus III of Saxony. We sisters enjoyed horses and each had a favorite
horse of her own. Tatiana especially knew a great deal about them, since
she had been taught riding by a competent riding master, but so did we all.
The two older sisters were unusually graceful on horseback, more so than
Marie and I.
Cossack horses were especially fascinating to me, since they seemed to
understand one’s very thoughts. Tatiana described to me how the Cossack
and his horse grow up together. Training begins when the young Cossack is
given a horse, a progeny of a Cossack horse, trained to the requirements of
the Cossack regiment. From then on boy and horse are one, inseparable,
each learning to understand the other: the boy is the head and the horse is
the body. When the responses are mutual, they are ready to enter actively

the Cossack regiment. I often wished I were a boy so that I might be a
Cossack with a noble horse and wear a stunning uniform.
We drove speedily past the cheering crowds. To see these maneuvers was
most interesting and exciting as we watched from the Imperial pavilion. In
one performance a large unit trotted in perfect formation, then suddenly all
the riders jumped off their horses in unison, then jumped back on their
saddles without a single horse breaking its gait or changing its speed. In
another exercise each horseman threw his black cape around his own
shoulders and over his horse, so skilfully that the cape covered both horse
and rider. There were many stunts and jumps over wide trenches filled with
water; no one fell into them. During the luncheon, which was served under
tents following the exercise, a message came stating that Austria-Hungary
had declared war on Serbia (August 1st, 1914). At once we left for home.
I remember previous years when I was taken to see the review of the troops
annually in May. All the society of St. Petersburg felt it was a privilege to
pay hundreds of rubles for a box seat at these maneuvers. The proceeds
from the sale of tickets went to charities. I still carry in my mind that upon
our approach a signal was given and cheers spread along the quays.
Our carriages were drawn each by two pairs of pure white horses. Father
always rode to the left side of Mother’s and Grandmother’s equipage,
accompanied by the staff. We sisters followed swiftly in our carriage
between the lines of troops until we reached the Imperial box under a green
tent. Father reviewed his troops. First to march were the men of his own
Preobrazhensky regiment, then the Hussars, the Pavlovsky regiment, the
Lancers, the cuirassiers and the others.
Father did not think that the Emperor Francis Joseph would wage war on
Serbia on account of the killing of the Archduke and his wife. Father
thought so because of the remark the old Emperor had made, in the
presence of Father and persons about him, that the Archduke was good for
nothing, that not a bone in his body was worth saving, and that he was not
fit to carry the Crown.
During the latter part of the war several captured, high-ranking Austrian
officers told the Court Chamberlain, General Tatishchev, that the old
Emperor was directly responsible for the Sarajevo incident and that the
Archduke was purposely sent there, where he was hated and murdered by

oppressed Bosnians of the Dual Monarchy. The officers thought it was a
deliberate excuse to provoke war and the aim was to destroy the little
Kingdom of Serbia and take it under control as had happened earlier with
Bosnia and Herzegovina. They knew that this little country would not be
able to resist the two powers, Austria-Hungary and Germany. But those
millions of suppressed plucky Serbs had already endured deprivation of
freedom and arrests and confiscation of their property under the Dual
Monarchy. They were determined to defend what was left of their country
from being dismembered again, and all were willing to die for the right to
live in their own land.
Father sent a telegram to Kaiser Wilhelm asking that the Austro-Hungarian-
Serbian dispute be tried by the International Arbitration Court at The
Hague. He also sent word to King Carol of Rumania to wire the Kaiser that
Russia did not want war. But all was in vain. They took the killing of this
good-for-nothing Archduke as a deliberate excuse, even though the murder
was committed by their own citizens who resented the Dual Monarchy. It
was common knowledge that Russian mobilization which was under way
was directed against Austria, not Germany.

VIII
NO CHOICE BUT WAR

Events moved rapidly. Austria and Germany declared war on Serbia. More
than ever Father was shut away from us, doing all in his power to keep
Russia out of the conflict. But Russia was an ally of Serbia. There was no
choice. German and Austrian troops were already mobilized and were
conducting maneuvers near our border, and soon we, too, were in war.
Mother wept copiously. “Why,” she asked, “should millions of Russians
lose their lives because one man is killed? Wilhelm has brought this on. I
never trusted him. I never forgave him the humiliation and indignities
toward our Granny (Queen Victoria).” My thoughts flew back to the visit in
Germany when the Kaiser was my friend. Only two years ago we had
exchanged jokes. Now he was Russia’s enemy, Mother’s enemy, and mine.
Wilhelm, Mother’s own cousin.
Before we knew it the Austrian troops were threatening the old Russian
fortification of Bendery. I was filled with forebodings. Being a believer in
dreams, I tried to interpret a dream I had had the night before this news
arrived. I dreamed that the forest on the Russian western border was ablaze.
I could hear the crackling of the timber and could see fierce fire raging high
into the sky.
A few years later, during my escape, I crossed these same forests and
remembered my dream. Then the trees were not on fire but lay with their
huge roots pulled out of the ground—witnesses of the terrific suffering and
tragedy that had occurred there.
At Tsarskoe Selo that evening, after the news of the German advance, we
prayed to the Almighty, hoping that disaster could still be averted and peace
could be maintained. We realized how much Father was suffering when he
appeared late for dinner. His face was pale, his bearing indicated anguish.
He said, “Russia has no choice but war, when the armies of Germany and
Austria are already on Russian soil.” Mother burst into tears, and so did we
all. Supper was not finished that night. We left the table. That same evening,
Foreign Minister Sazonov and the British Ambassador, Sir George
Buchanan, spent half of the night conferring with Father. The next day

Father was at his desk at five in the morning, working until breakfast.
Alexei, who was ill, did not know about the war until the next morning.
In the afternoon we all went to St. Petersburg, except Alexei. As we were
entering the Winter Palace, people gathered in the square and surrounded us
as they cheered. After an old Russian tradition they kissed Father’s
shoulders and Mother’s skirt. This display of loyalty brought tears to
Mother’s eyes. Father went directly to a meeting at the huge Nicholas
Concert Hall with the ministers and generals. Then the Te Deum was sung.
When Father appeared on the balcony of the Winter Palace to read the
Manifesto declaring war, all of us children and other relatives stood behind
him. At once the voices died down and all was quiet as though the whole
world had suddenly fallen asleep. The thousands of people who had
assembled in the square knelt down, their garments making a rustling
sound, and in unison sang “God Save the Tsar.” At this time Father took an
oath that he would never make peace so long as one enemy remained on
Russian soil. Then he promised his people that he would defend all the
Slavs, even if he would have to shed his own blood. It was a painful
moment to announce to the people that war was an actuality.
We returned to Alexandria and several days later we all left for Moscow. We
were greeted with the same enthusiasm there. The church bells rang
continually as we passed from the station to the Kremlin. People were
everywhere, on roof tops, balconies and trees. The Russian national anthem
was heard repeatedly along the way. Alexei was ill, and had to be carried to
the Cathedral of the Assumption to hear the Te Deum. The patriotic
demonstrations lasted three days. “Ura” (hurrah) resounded everywhere.
From Moscow we went near by to Sergievo to pray at the celebrated
Troitsko-Sergievskaya Lavra. Practically every living person in the area
lined the streets to the monastery, the richest and most important monastery
in Russia. It covered a large territory and was surrounded by a lofty, thick
wall with many towers. It contained some dozen of churches and many
historical treasures, some dating from ancient days. Many pages of Russian
history had been devoted to this monastery, about the heroic defense by the
monks in 1608 against the Poles. Here were the tombs of Tsar Boris
Godunov and his family. Here Father received an icon to carry with him
through the battles. This icon was sent to the field chapel at General
Headquarters and remained there to the last.

With war an actuality, all Russia seemed to unite in a determination to win a
quick victory. Whenever Father travelled, the people greeted him
enthusiastically; sometimes the whole family went with him and heard him
deliver his war messages. During these trips the air was full of unity and the
family never felt closer to the people. Many letters were received from
students who begged to be allowed to go to war. “A beautiful patriotism,”
Father said. “But how little they understand what war is.”
During the first days of the war, all factions drew together in a great
patriotic surge. We saw some of our own relatives return to Russia to take
part in the war. We sisters hardly knew some of these relations. All helped
in the war effort; even our frail Grandmother did her bit in hospital work.
Later she spent a great deal of time in Kiev, with her younger daughter
Olga, our aunt, who worked in her own hospital there as a Sister of Mercy.
Being so near the front, she received the most critical cases.
Life in the palace quickened. For days on end Mother could not think of
anything but the hospitals. Were they adequate for the most certain strain
ahead? She was not ignorant of the heavy task. In her younger days, before
her marriage, she had taken up medicine for a while, knowing that the
dreaded haemophilia might be in her genes. She wanted to be prepared to
take personal care of any children she might have in the event they should
inherit it. Later on, through the long illness of Alexei and during the war,
her previous knowledge of this affliction helped enormously in her work.
Mother also had a medical library on the second floor in Tsarskoe Selo,
where in addition to texts, all kinds of anatomical diagrams and other
materials could be found. Even before the war she was an excellent
organizer of hospitals and charitable institutions, being particularly
interested in orphanages. In addition to her medical training, Mother had
studied philosophy in one of the German universities. In fact I recall the
very drawer in the desk in a room on the balcony where she kept her
documents and other papers of this nature. Most of all, I was always sure,
Mother was determined to meet with courage any problems she had to face.
So now, a nurses’ course was arranged for Mother, Olga and Tatiana, so that
they might serve the wounded more effectively.
Alexei no longer played at soldiering. He was now in serious military
training. In Father’s study there was always a chair for Alexei, where he sat
on certain days listening to various reports brought by the Ministers. He

was not allowed to make any comments at these conferences, although,
after the Ministers left, he could ask questions about anything that puzzled
him.
“If Alexei could take part in things, why not I?” Mother said, “During a war
there are first duties. Yours is to continue your education in order to be
useful later on.” How disappointing. Yet the war-electrified patriotism
compelled me to dig in at my school work and to pursue my formal
education. Stirring sounds of bands and marching feet often disturbed my
good intentions. I learned the meaning of discipline and self-sacrifice from
the men under arms.
My newly awakened conscientiousness would not let me waste a minute.
Besides working on my lessons, I joined a group of young women in
hemming children’s dresses for various charities. Later under Marie’s
supervision we worked in the palace workroom on garments and often we
called officers of Father’s own regiment on duty in the palace to turn the
wheels of the sewing machines and sort the garments.
We had learned sewing at an early age because Mother had always stressed
its importance in any woman’s life. She, herself, was expert at sewing and
during the early years of her marriage made some of the layettes for us
infants. Many of her embroideries sold at benefits and some handmade
blouses in silk or linen, beautifully tucked and embroidered, went as gifts to
our relatives in England and in Germany.
Grandmother, too, was clever at hand work. She could repair her own
exquisite handkerchiefs so perfectly one would never know they had been
mended. Grandmother could knit well, too; during the war she made fine
woolen gloves for the soldiers and sent some to Father. Marie and I
concentrated on socks, gloves, and caps, and received our war news while
we were knitting in the evening. War and our mutual problems became the
greatest teachers of responsibility. When I became the honorary chief of a
regiment, the 148th Caspian Infantry, the monthly reports I received of my
regiment brought to me news of the losses in dead and wounded. These
reports were frightening and I ran to Olga to find what could be done to
ease the situation. She said; “Hundreds of wounded are coming every day
and it is horrible the way they suffer.” I heard that the German losses were
even greater.

Once again I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up. Soon after this, Mother
allowed Marie and me to visit our own hospital more often. As we entered
the building they were carrying a wounded man with bloody bandages. He
was taken directly to the operating room; a moment later they carried him
right out again. The doctors had found he was already dead when he was
brought to the operating room. I had a dizzy spell. I was ill. No, I never
could be a doctor. The sight of that poor boy could never be erased from my
mind. For weeks I could smell blood. Red became a haunting color with its
reminder of the horror of that picture. Even red medicine made me ill all
over again.
Day after day Olga and Tatiana worked beside Mother at the hospital. They
got up at seven, attended lectures, and then again resumed their hospital
work. In the evening, they read while knitting. I could not understand how
they endured it all. It was comforting, however, to learn that Olga, like me,
could not bear to see suffering. Tatiana was like Mother in her ability to see
beyond the suffering to the relief she was able to give. Doctors were scarce,
and Mother assisted in many operations. Each day before going to the
hospital she stopped at the Znamensky Sobor, the little church she had
restored, to pray that her hands might be blessed with the power to do
things right. She felt so obligated to each wounded soldier, she wanted to
nurse him with her own hands to relieve his suffering. At the sight of each
new patient she prayed anew for the war to end. She spent all day at the
hospital and came home exhausted and would lie on her sofa for a short
rest.
With tragedy on all sides Father ordered strict economy. Every possible
kopeck must be saved to benefit the soldiers. Mother reduced our staff of
servants. Our meals became simpler. Father insisted that the Court, without
exception, must observe all the restrictions. These economies were not too
difficult for us children, since we had not been brought up to expect
extravagant luxuries. Mother had always preached to us against
wastefulness, and against idleness. These ideals were now more necessary.
We accepted whatever we received with appreciation. We had very few
dresses. I wore the ones handed down from my sisters. Being much smaller
than they, the fit was not perfect and required alterations. A few tucks here
and there made me happy in them. When we did get a new dress we were so

careful with it that we could hardly bear to sit down. Each of us had definite
duties to perform.
Olga and Tatiana continued their studies and carried on with their hospital
work and also made out schedules for us younger sisters for the next day. In
addition they checked supplies for the hospitals, attended meetings for
charitable organizations, and supervised the raising of money through
concerts and plays. Many of the leading artists donated their services and
large sums were raised for the expanding hospitals and other charities. Our
friend Madame Plevitskaya proved most helpful by generously donating her
time and her talent to the war effort. Mother eagerly awaited reports
showing the financial account of these benefits.
Marie and I selected gramophone records to be sent to the convalescent
wards, also books which the soldiers might like to read. We ordered fruit,
candies, cakes, games, stationery, soap and pencils. Box after box was taken
to the hospitals. Sometimes we played dominoes with the men, or watched
those who could play croquet, or wrote letters to their families.
Our playrooms were now deserted. Alexei’s electric automobile had been
stored under the slide. His special duties kept him occupied, as did his class
work. When he did go for a ride, with a friend or with one of his cousins, he
made it appear as if they were engaged in an important war project.
With the beginning of war most gaiety ceased. Benefits became the social
functions; anyone not helping was out of fashion. Everyone worked
together to make each benefit a successful affair. To raise money,
photographs of the Imperial family were sold. There were name days set
aside when one member of the family was played up throughout Russia; the
newspapers helped in the competition. It was exciting to see whose
photographs sold best. Tatiana proved a great favorite with the people.
Many relatives and friends turned their homes into hospitals, often paying
the expenses themselves. In addition, they devoted all their time to the
wounded. Some had as many as seventy patients in their residences. Olga
designed an attractive calendar, each page gave the historical event of that
day. It became a favorite and was ordered by the thousand. Aunt Olga,
Father’s sister, made drawings and paintings which brought large sums to
charities. Moreover there were outright gifts in large amounts. A banker
named Yaroshinsky donated over a quarter of a million rubles. Yaroshinsky

was assistant manager of Mother’s own hospital train. He reappears later in
my memories of Tobolsk and Ekaterinburg.
In 1915, before Father took over the Supreme Command of the Russian
Armies in the Field, there were occasional officers’ balls. Father and
Mother attended these affairs but stayed only long enough to show their
interest in them, always having in mind that it might be their last gaiety.
Marie and I were too young to attend any of these functions at this time, but
Olga and Tatiana went. When they were dressed to leave they came to show
themselves to Marie and me that we might have a little touch of festivity.
Their joy in being gowned in evening clothes instead of the customary
nurse’s uniform made them radiantly happy.
Their eyes sparkled and their cheeks were flushed, making them look more
beautiful, so that I was sure each might meet her Prince. Mother always
wanted her daughters to be poised and act natural in the company of men. It
was all so romantic, I could hardly wait until I, too, could go to such affairs.
My sisters looked every bit the princesses they were, soft and graceful in
manner, stately and tall, and we younger sisters had to be told about these
parties over and over again in every detail.
Aunt Olga, Father’s sister, from the kindness of her heart realized, while the
young men were at the front, the young ladies at home were more than ever
appreciative of a little gaiety. She, too, planned several parties at her home
in Petrograd (the new name for St. Petersburg). These usually came on
Sunday when we met a great many young people. At other times, we were
asked to see stage plays at Countess Sheremetieva’s. The Countess was a
close friend of our Aunt Olga. We had a wonderful time at these parties.
Aunt Olga was very close to us girls, more like a sister than an aunt, only
thirteen years older than my sister Olga. She understood the art of living;
she was full of life and gaiety; her visits brought joy to our lives. When she
left, it seemed all the fun went with her. She loved sports; besides tennis she
liked skating and skiing; she played a good game of billiards, often with her
mother; also croquet and many other games. She was an excellent painter.
Her religious art was appreciated by many churches. She was a woman of
deep faith and loved her religion. Mother and Aunt Olga often talked about
religion. The latter had a good voice and played several instruments. An

excellent linguist she spoke at that time Russian, English, French and had
some command of both Danish and German.
Her love for peasants was great. She disliked formality, and was happy to
by-pass the rules of etiquette, which were forced upon the royal families.
She considered them old-fashioned. She loved to dress like a peasant.
Because of her liberal views she became a target of cheap gossip. Her
husband, Prince Peter of Oldenburg, was chronically ill. Uncle Peter was
tremendously rich, but all his wealth could not give her the child she so
longed for. For this marriage my Grandmother was responsible. Finally and
after fifteen years of marriage the Grand Duchess obtained an annulment,
against my Father’s wishes, and married Colonel Nicholai Koulikovsky, a
tall handsome officer, who was her former husband’s aide-de-camp and the
head of her hospital in Kiev. For this she was criticized by gossiping
women, but Aunt Olga felt it was her own affair and not that of the women
who did nothing good in their lifetime but interfered with the lives of
others. Prince Peter indeed was nice but companionship alone was not
enough to make their marriage completely successful. This condition
caused a strained family relationship, and she was eventually to be exiled.
But while we were in Tobolsk even Father wrote to her.
While Grandmother was in Petrograd, even for a short visit, she utilized her
time folding bandages with her companions. Olga and Tatiana after their
meetings in the Winter Palace often drove to the Anichkov Palace to take
tea with Granny. They brought us news of her. When she was not well,
Mother sent us children to see her. We took along some delicacies as a
present. For some reason I felt uncomfortable and self-conscious in
Grandmother’s presence. I could not help but admire her; she carried herself
in such a stately manner in her pretty clothes, mostly black.
During the early part of the war, Mother took us to Moscow to see our Aunt
Ella (Elizabeth), whose husband, the Grand Duke Serge, was murdered by a
bomb. I did not remember Aunt Ella in any other way than in a nun’s
costume with its finely draped habit covering her hair entirely. Her features
were beautiful and symmetrical. Many highly titled men would have given
anything if she would but consider a second marriage; some even made
suggestions to Mother who, knowing her sister, realized it was useless.

I learned a great deal of history from her. She told us that when she first
came to Russia as the bride of Serge Alexandrovich, she studied the Greek
Orthodox religion with the court priest for several years before she felt
sufficiently versed in it to join the Church. The night before Uncle Serge’s
name day, she said to him, “I have a gift for your name day.” “A piece of
jewelry?” “No, my dear, something more precious to you.” At breakfast
next morning she said, “My gift to you today is my embracing the Greek
Orthodox religion.” Uncle Serge replied: “This is the happiest day of my
life since our marriage.”
In 1914 when Aunt Ella was with us in the Crimea, she told us sisters that
during the Japanese war Uncle Serge offered to take command of the army,
confident that he would win and prevent a civil war. But Count Witte, the
Prime Minister, opposed it. A controversy ensued and the two men became
enemies. After the signing of the peace treaty, which was encouraged by the
President of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt, Uncle Serge and Count
Witte fought over it.
Soon after this someone threw a bomb at Uncle Serge as he was leaving the
Kremlin in a sleigh. Aunt Ella heard the explosion and she knew it was
intended for her husband. This occurred just outside the gate. She and her
lady in waiting ran out to find only the remnants of his body which the two
gathered with their bare hands for burial. They also gathered the pieces of
his torn uniform which Aunt Ella enclosed in a holder in the shape of a
cross and later kept in her convent cell. It was after his death that Aunt Ella
went into the convent of Martha and Mary. From then on she wore a habit
of her order in soft pale gray, which was artistically draped around her head.
She thought Count Witte was behind the man who killed her husband. Yet
she forgave them. She even sent food, cigarettes, and clothing to the
prisoners who had murdered her husband and frequently went to visit them
in prison in spite of Father’s objections.
Many sufferings and much unrest took place while Count Witte was Prime
Minister (1905-6). Madame Narishkina often spoke to us children about the
opening of the Duma in 1906. She said that at the time Mother,
Grandmother and many others cried when during a reception people
marched to the Tauride Palace singing the revolutionary song. She said,
“Witte gave all the power to the Duma, and because of the character of this
power the Duma was dissolved in 1906.” But it left the most damaging

results, and these effects germinated and were ripe at the opening of the
Fourth Duma in 1912. Witte was still living at that time. Even during the
war the Duma so jeopardized the life of the nation that finally it collapsed.
The news from the front was for a time encouraging; there was talk of a
short war. People seemed to work harder than ever. At this time Father was
often summoned to the telephone which he did not want to have on his desk
in his study. Even while Father was on his daily short walks, frequently an
officer on a velocipede was dispatched to fetch him on an urgent matter.

IX
FAMILY HEARTACHES

The news from the front was bad. There were serious reverses. Father was
staggered. The people and the army were dissatisfied with Grand Duke
Nicholai Nicholaevich, who was in command of the Russian armies at the
front. A change had become imperative.
My father now decided to take over the Supreme Command of the Russian
Armies in the Field. He realized that a tragic hour was at hand. The Army
already had begun to show disunity, under the Grand Duke Nicholai
Nicholaevich who continually complained about Father, not only to
Grandmother and our Aunts but also to the officers of the high command.
Father thought that this older giant who was at least 6′ 4′′, would be better
off in the warmer climate of the Persian front as he suffered from
rheumatism. But the Grand Duke claimed that Father was jealous of his
position.
Father’s decision meant going to General Headquarters and entrusting the
government to others in his absence, hoping for the wholehearted support of
the Duma. It also meant separation from the family. Mother believed
completely that this was the correct decision, but never from that moment
on was she free from constant worry.
Before his departure Mother drove with Father to the Cathedral of Sts. Peter
and Paul, then to Our Lady of Kazan to pray for guidance in his undertaking
and to dedicate all, even life itself, to the task. Then they crossed the
Troitsky bridge over the Neva, which was built as a memorial to the silver
wedding anniversary of Alexander III and Marie Feodorovna.
At this time Mother believed she saw the sign of a cross in the sky. This
saddened her, for she became worried that Father by taking command
would encounter personal danger. She dreaded lest he become the victim of
some fanatic assassin, as was his grandfather, Alexander II.
We realized this risk when we went to the Alexander Station to see Father
entrain for Mogilev. The waiting room was filled with guards and secret
police. No one was admitted except by special permit. Even ministers and
relatives could not enter except by invitation. When the big, blue, Imperial

train, with its double eagle crest, pulled out of the station, we saw Father
standing at the wide window of his sitting room.
It was a comfort to know that each hundred feet of track was guarded by a
soldier against accidents or bombs. No one knew in which car Father rode.
All the church bells rang until the train was no longer in sight. The Nicholas
railway on which they travelled provided a direct line to General
Headquarters. Several days before the trip, roads were searched and guards
were posted. As a further precaution, railroad tracks crossing the Nicholas
line were removed until Father’s train passed. Once he said, “I have known
from my early years that I will fall a victim for my country.” Nevertheless,
Father disliked all the fuss.
With Father speeding away from us, we knew he would carry on efficiently
and with determination. Of course he would miss his family, but we were
going to send him letters daily and an occasional package containing
needed articles. We often sent him fruit and books and occasionally flowers
received from Livadia. I can still hear Mother say, as she examined the
flowers while placing them in the box, “When one sees these heavenly
blossoms, how can one be reconciled to this terrible war?” Whatever went
into each package was lovingly and tenderly packed; and Father knew it.
Mother often packed everything with her own hands and made a list of what
she included. A jaeger (messenger), an aide-de-camp, or a relative waited
until it was ready. Mother sometimes handed the package to him personally
and he departed to the undisclosed destination where Father was. There was
always a letter in the package, describing our activities, sometimes only a
note from Mother, containing a language just the two of them could
understand, words that made her love sing in Father’s heart.
In going to General Headquarters, Father discarded all conventionality. He
went behind the lines to fight with his men in arms. He took it as a matter of
faith that it was his duty to sacrifice everything in order to save Russia. He
promised to do so the day he took the Crown. He said, “I shall not allow my
people to be insulted and to be trampled upon by the enemy.”
His cheerful disposition gave great inspiration and happiness to the Army
whom he loved more than his family; here he found happiness among his
men in arms.

We heard of victories. Surely the war would soon end especially since
reports from the front showed that prisoners were captured by tens of
thousands at a time. “A supreme success,” Father wrote home. No wonder a
few months later the Kaiser wanted to sign a peace.
Spring, 1916. Father sent word it would be impossible for him to be with us
at Easter. This was his first absence from home at this important holiday,
which in the Greek Orthodox religion is celebrated more fervently than
Christmas. Instead he sent Mother a gift from G.H.Q., a most beautiful
Easter egg, which he himself had designed. It was indeed a rare gift, made
by Fabergé himself because his many workers were at the front and some of
them had been killed. M. Fabergé delivered it in person, and, in our
presence, Mother opened the beautifully wrapped package and exclaimed,
“It is exquisite. How can human hands make such a beautiful work of art?”
Then, when she opened the egg itself, five dainty miniatures of us children
unfolded in a row. Father had remembered Mother’s expressed wish to own
a miniature of us children. M. Fabergé beamed with pleasure, as did Mother
and we children. That Easter the service was held by Father Vassiliev at the
Feodorovsky Sobor and we all took Communion.
Easter afternoon was the customary time to distribute gifts to the hospital
patients. These consisted of china eggs and real eggs and some sweets. We
“tied” hundreds of the special china eggs. They had been decorated with the
gold-crested double eagle with Mother’s initials on one side and the Red
Cross emblem on the other. Usually they had the hole lengthwise from one
end to the other so that a ribbon could be pulled through to be suspended
below an icon under which there was a burning lamp (lampadka). Also,
special Easter eggs were made by Fabergé, and Father distributed them to
the Allied Mission as well as to deserving men. Mother, too, sent some of
these to Petrograd to the English Hospital for Lady Sybil Grey so that she
might give them to her patients. Mother also sent a beautifully hand-painted
one to Lady Sybil herself in appreciation for her excellent work at the
hospital, also to Lady Buchanan. Our household maids received gold
enamel bijou trinkets; many girls wore a necklace of them for six weeks
preceding Ascension Day.
This particular Easter afternoon, a little family argument ensued between
Mother and Olga, who wanted to wear a pretty dress for this occasion.
Mother insisted that Olga and Tatiana wear their nurse’s uniforms as usual.

There were pleadings, opinions, and disagreements, but Mother stood her
ground. We all went to the hospital to which we were assigned and we
sisters agreed among ourselves that Mother was wrong and unfair to deny a
change for the two young girls, who would have found pleasure in
appearing before the patients in a different dress. In the evening, Alexei
came running into our bedroom. He was excited and upset. He informed us
that “Olga was crying.” He ran to his tutor’s room and returned. We rushed
into her bedroom and tried to comfort her, assuring her that we felt Mother
had been unjust. Olga soon forgot the whole thing and Mother never knew
of our indignation.
Mother worried about Father’s loneliness, in the midst of responsibilities
and without the comforts of home and family. However, Mother was quite
surprised when Father wrote that he had no time to be lonely, and that, on
his next trip home, he would take Alexei with him to G.H.Q. M. Gilliard,
his Swiss tutor, and others would accompany Alexei, so that his studies
need not be neglected. Dina Derevenko and Nagorny would watch over
him. Dr. Fedorov was already at G.H.Q. as Father’s physician and also as
lecturer to the Headquarters hospital staff.
The more Mother thought on this subject the more reasonable it seemed to
her. Alexei would learn military science first hand. He would get acquainted
with officers and men, and learn about war in general and foreign
representatives in particular. Above all, he would be the best possible
company for his Father. So Alexei left home—in tears. It was the first time
he had been separated from Mother. While Alexei was away, Mother would
slip into his room every day and pray on her knees beside his empty bed.
His absence was a heartrending experience for her. We tried hard to comfort
and console her by showing how much we, too, missed the little fellow.
So Alexei joined his Papa, but now Mother’s worries began to increase. She
telephoned almost every day, asking about Father’s and Alexei’s health. She
wondered whether Alexei was getting the proper food, having enough sleep.
Was he careful, or was Father too busy to pay attention to Alexei? In spite
of these worries she was proud to hear that they were together, sharing the
same room.
While Mother worried, Alexei was proud of his association with Father. We
discovered it when we arrived in Mogilev. With great pride Alexei showed

us his bed beside Father’s, then added, “We say our prayers together, too.
But sometimes, when I am tired and forget, Papa says them for both of us.”
He could not wait to show us photographs of himself standing beside Father
reviewing troops and partaking of the soldiers’ rations. Father was proud to
show Russia what a real Tsarevich she had in Alexei and the tender
relationship between Father and son and the country. This made Mother
proud enough to endure the heartache of the little boy’s absence from home.
Alexei remained at General Headquarters.
Mother talked constantly about her “boys” at the hospitals. They were all
her boys. On her trips to nursing centers to visit the wounded, Olga and
Tatiana accompanied her when she made her rounds. When the sickrooms
were on the second floor, she had to be carried upstairs in a wheel chair. She
was their symbol of courage, representing home and loved ones, and they
died in peace. When the day was done she was exhausted, but it seemed to
mean so much to the men that the Empress herself cared so deeply for their
welfare. She could never face death philosophically. She considered each
death as that of her own son, each death a fresh cause to despair at the
futility of war and the greed of Wilhelm.
She was a very good Christian and followed the religious teaching, but
towards the Kaiser she disregarded all the teachings of Christianity and her
hatred for him was beyond description.
Mother, seeing all the young on the verge of death, suffered vicariously
with them, and spent many sleepless nights pacing the floor. Often in the
darkness of the night, she ordered her chauffeur to drive her to the
cemetery. From grave to grave this tall shadow went and said a prayer in
this quiet place for the young men. She knew them all and grieved over the
loss of the lives they gave to their country. She often sent us sisters to plant
flowers on the graves of these men; they were all her children.
I cannot describe more deeply nor find words that could give a better
understanding and do justice to this much misunderstood woman. She
insisted upon being present at the most gruesome operations. Carefully she
handed the instruments to the surgeon, while one of my sisters stood by
with the freshly threaded needles ready for use. Mother, looking upon these
heartrending scenes, tried to give her very inner self to these sons and
husbands and brothers of Russia. So did the nurses who worked heroically

in our hospitals or public institutions, practically all of them volunteers.
Mother never postponed taking care of important matters. She checked the
reports on supplies for the hospitals to see if they were sufficient.
Mother had at first considered the question of the duration of Alexei’s stay
at G.H.Q. Now she planned a hospital inspection tour in the area, so that
she would be able to bring him home. But Father and General Hanbury-
Williams asked Mother to let the little boy stay at G.H.Q. We left for home
without Alexei.
When Father was absent for any reason, General Alexeiev was in complete
command. All military matters were discussed between them; they worked
together congenially. A number of times Father took Alexei with him to
inspect the troops of Generals Ivanov and Brussilov and to decorate all
those involved in heroic action with crosses. The soldiers were quite
impressed with Alexei. In the uniform of a private, he stood proudly beside
Father during military reviews. By the erectness of his posture and the
tenseness of his expression, it was obvious he felt deeply responsible. They
returned to G.H.Q. from the front, which was within the range of German
guns. Fortunately the Kaiser did not know this. Father insisted that his food
come from the field kitchen—the same that the soldiers had.
My sisters continued working; when they were tired they rested on little
stools at a bedside reading, praying for the sick, or writing letters if the
patients were unable to do so. Olga was deliberate in her decisions and very
exact in all her work. She was responsible and successful in raising a great
deal of money by her carefully planned programs of entertainment, which
were always carried out successfully. Tatiana who was physically stronger
was prone to take the lead in their hospital work. We heard from doctors
that she was unusually gifted in this type of work, took everything calmly
and systematically and with a clear head. Mother always counted on her to
carry out the most pressing work with accuracy, and she never failed.
Mother also used to sit with the sick men for hours and when the officers
were returning to the front, Mother was introduced to each as he passed her
and gave him a prayer book. Standing next to Mother, Madame Narishkina
gave each one a package containing a set of underwear, made out of silk in
the “Marie-Anastasia Workshop.” It was to protect them from body lice,
mainly at the front.

Alexei, when home, visited the wounded often at our hospital. He enjoyed
listening to the men of war speak of their experiences at the front, never
tired of hearing stories. Often he told them jokes to make them laugh. He
felt indignant when the time came to leave, when the merriment might only
have begun.
As to our trips no one knew the date of our departure or return. Count
Fredericks, Minister of the Court, made all the arrangements. In the fall we
left for an inspection of different military hospitals, stopping on our way in
Mogilev. We made our headquarters on the train which stood on the track in
a deep forest, some distance from the station. A few days later, Father and
Alexei returned home with us. The many dangerous trips to the front, the
sight of the wounded in the hospitals, and the feeling of responsibility made
a deep impression on Alexei, causing him to be nervous.
While at home, Father had a long talk with Olga, and asked her to see that
Mother kept all those hated people out of our house. But Mother, thinking
they were helping her, continued to have them. Olga disliked Rasputin,
never wanting his name brought up in her presence. When our company
mentioned his name she changed the conversation. Once I heard her say to
Mother, “Why do you listen to some of these women? Their minds and
upbringing are so different from yours. Why do they come to you with all
kinds of gossip? In their position, they should not be permitted to interfere
with things that do not concern them.”
Mother answered, “But, my dear, every ruler must have contact with the
people outside. That is the only way to get at the truth. Granny (Queen
Victoria) had confidential informers, and consequently knew everything
that was going on.”
Olga replied, “That is all right, Mother, but these people were not constantly
in Granny’s company. Especially we like to have a visit with Father when
he is home for a short period. You must keep your public and private lives
separate.”
These unworthy, capricious people irritated Olga when they became
involved in matters about which they knew nothing. Their careless words
later ignited a devastating flame. Marie often was reprimanded because of
friction with one of them who was a constant friend of Mother’s.

Soon Father and Alexei left for an inspection at the front; they went as far
as Chernovitsy, Bukovina, where I spent some time after my escape. Could
Father ever have dreamed that a child of his would ask shelter near this
battered city? He was also in Warsaw, and described the battle in that area
to us. He brought back many pictures, showing, as I recall, on one side of a
road thousands of crosses on the graves of Russian soldiers and on the other
side the enemy’s graves. We prayed God that our men would be able to
defend our country.
My parents visited the Red Cross units and ambulance trains for the
evacuation of the wounded village people and went to the field hospitals to
say a few encouraging words to the wounded. Mother and we sisters carried
envelopes containing writing paper, handkerchiefs, sweets, fruit and other
articles for distribution. Father depended on us sisters for these supplies.
Ambulance trains were named after us children and the train was met by
that person whose name it bore. Often these trains arrived simply packed
with the wounded who in some cases were even lying on the floors which
were covered with straw and blankets. Frequently infections set in, when
flesh was torn and bones were shattered. German bullets usually made a
jagged hole, tearing the flesh. Russian bullets made a clean cut. Infections
were especially prevalent during springtime when the snow had melted and
the trenches were filled with polluted water which made it impossible for
the men to lie down. It was difficult to move the wounded along roads cut
up by the heavy artillery. Instead muddy fields had to be used for their
transportation to the nearest hospital or the train; often the mobile hospital
got stuck in the field and the rescue work had to be done in the dark. It was
heartbreaking.
Every possible space was used. Even the Catherine Palace in Tsarskoe Selo
had to be utilized. Mother also had built many new hospitals with Father’s
and her own money; she appointed Madame Zizi Narishkina as the head of
the hospitals. Mother also established refugee homes for the unfortunates
whose farms were plundered and laid waste by artillery. For the evacuated
village people, shelters and orphanages, hospitals and convalescent homes
were constructed. She had built about ninety military hospitals from
Petrograd down into the Ukraine.
Many men released from the hospital were unable to return to the front.
Some of them were sent to farms and trades. Others learned to paint and

their pictures were bought and sold at different bazaars; some were taught
to weave rugs; others did wood carving; still others took up sculpture,
photography, printing or bookkeeping. All this was made possible through
the organized efforts of my family.
Grandmother and other members of the Imperial family did the same. She
even built camps in Germany to house Russian prisoners of war there. But a
Red Cross doctor and a nurse returned from Germany with a report of the
terrible conditions, the mistreatment of prisoners, and the lack of heat and
sanitation. They said that many wounded were infected with sores and no
nurses were permitted to help them. Officers were insulted and beaten,
because they refused to give the Germans information as to the situation at
the front. One of the Kaiser’s sons was present and saw all these conditions
and indignities. Over the Russian prisoners the Germans put Russian Jews,
who had run away to avoid serving in the army. The mistreatment of the
prisoners was unbelievable.
Through the Red Cross, Mother sent supplies to these camps in Germany
including Bibles, books, bandages and other necessities. She also helped to
organize camps near the railroad stations in Siberia for German and
Austrian prisoners of war; many such prisoners were sent to work on farms.
These camps were well regulated as she was eager to demonstrate that
Russia could lead in the humane treatment of prisoners. For this she was
deeply criticized on the ground that she was saving the lives of our enemy.
Maybe later the same men were the killers of her own family.
Often my sisters came with a story of some unusual occurrences. One
young patient coming out of anesthesia sang and moved his arms as if
conducting an orchestra. When he was told later what he had done and that
Mother was present, he apologized, fearing he might have used some vulgar
words. Another said that he had received a letter from his girl friend. He
kept on repeating all the sweet words only a bride-to-be can write to her
fiancé.
We looked forward to the evening when we could snuggle around Mother in
her room. Usually there was a letter from Father. These arrived by special
messenger and were delivered to Mother by Mother’s ladies in waiting or
maids. Mother read parts to us and afterwards seemed more contented. She
preferred to open her own personal mail. Mother eyed her other letters with

suspicion, turning them over. When she read a line or two, her face grew
dark, her eyes flashed anger; she tore them to bits and threw them in the
wastebasket. With all the misery in the world, many found time to criticize
her and were too cowardly to sign their name. God forgive them for the
unpleasant hours they caused Mother, not to mention the injury to our war
effort. She said the Germans used the same method of propaganda as did
the Japanese in 1905.
Father never allowed us girls to discuss these unpleasant matters. Once
when Father was absent, I mimicked one of the suspected trouble-makers. I
was promptly reprimanded, then everyone burst out in laughter. My
technique worked. The next morning Mother’s eyes were red and swollen.
She said she had read late and her eyes hurt. It was obvious to us that she
had cried herself to sleep. We four sisters got off a letter to Father begging
him to come home for a day or two. Father and Alexei arrived. Now Mother
was a new person. She gave all her heart and soul to Father, and Alexei’s
entertaining chatter lifted her spirits. Her eyes were no longer red and
swollen; instead they glistened. Evenings found the whole family gathered
together in Mother’s boudoir. If one had looked in, he would have been
impressed by the harmony in that room.
Mother expressed her wish to have a little house, away from everybody,
where she could have peace and quiet. We wished so, too. Mother’s and
Father’s love for each other would have made a home out of any humble
dwelling.
All too soon Father had to leave. Alexei was so diverting, we wished we
could keep him home, but the little fellow was too proud of his association
with Father even to listen to such a suggestion. Good-byes were hard on
Mother, and we often wondered whether we had been wise in asking Father
to come from G.H.Q. After he left, Mother prayed daily for his safe return;
she was proud of his service to the country.
Almost on the very day of Father’s departure, the anonymous letters began
to come in greater numbers. Mother almost dreaded reading the numerous
letters because of their venomous content. One of the letters was signed by
Princess Vasilchikova. She accused Mother of many things and claimed to
be speaking for the women of Petrograd. She suggested that Mother leave
Russia and go back to Germany where she had come from. How little she

knew that Mother came from the little province of Hesse and had no
connection with Prussia. I wondered what this woman thought the Empress’
children would do? Obviously this and other letters were inspired by those
who wanted to overthrow the Imperial family and its government in order
to gain control of the country, as they eventually did.
Mother even was accused of sitting behind a curtain at the top of the
stairway of her maple sitting room which let into Father’s study, listening to
all the reports given Father on the progress on the war. These reports she
was supposed to transmit to Kaiser Wilhelm. This ridiculous gossip was not
only believed by many in Russia but was even circulated in foreign
countries. The story was so impossible it hardly needs refuting. To reach the
spot, Mother would have had to climb some dozen steps to the top of the
balcony room, which she could not have done because of her heart
condition. Besides, Mother never was left alone. She always had a personal
attendant with her on duty, day and night. In a room next to Mother’s
bedchamber, a bell was connected with the maid’s room in which there was
a narrow bed and a comfortable armchair; also a small table on which were
magazines and books for the maid’s relaxation. The other personnel were
dismissed at 11:00 P.M. Most of her help had been with Mother since her
marriage; we parted with some, when we left for Tobolsk. Her loyalty to her
adopted country was unquestionable and her personal dislike for the Kaiser
and his government was almost an obsession with her.
Another rumor, freely circulated, was to the effect that Mother had been
visited secretly by the German General Ludendorff. This and many other
similar rumors were part of the propaganda to destroy Russia by attacking
the heart of the Russian government. Mother was depressed and exhausted
as these accusations multiplied. Some of the writers demanded the
discharge of all officials with foreign names. This would have meant
dismissing people like faithful Trina Schneider whose loyalty was beyond
suspicion. In the end she, too, was killed outside of Perm. She had taught
both Mother and Aunt Ella the Russian language. Now she served as a
reader and a governess to Marie and myself. Some of the people had
German names but were Scandinavian; others were descendants of people
brought to Russia during the reign of Catherine the Great.
With Father at G.H.Q., there was much he could not follow first hand.
Mother felt she must report to him everything that came to her notice. All

the praise, criticism, advice, countless suggestions of many individuals
were brought to her that she might pass them on to Father. Sometimes these
were important messages, sometimes they were petty and trivial in
comparison with the momentous questions that confronted the nation.
Mother was eager for advice but unfortunately most of the suggestions
came from those she had the least reason to trust, persons who were
suspected of being the real instigators of the propaganda against her. More
and more she felt that most of those who volunteered to advise her were
serving their own self-interest.
Reports often brought depressing information: that Father’s orders, his
telegrams, were purposely sabotaged, and often were replaced by others.
Inefficiency and betrayals were noticeable. Father was frequently imposed
upon as a result of his kindness and generosity. Mother said, “He must
make his will felt, inspire wholesome fear through firmness and discipline.
To inspire love is not enough.” With her own background Mother often
wished that Russia had some of the efficiency of the Germans. She thought
Russia needed more ingenuity and greater economic independence. She felt
the need of more railroads for the transportation of troops and supplies,
though one Siberian line had just been completed during the war (in 1915).
Petrograd was full of crosscurrents. One said this, another said that. Mother
did not know whom she should believe. In spite of slanders that were
heaped on her, she still wanted to find out the truth to pass on to Father. The
people were tired, tired of everything, especially of war. Whatever the
reason, they were in a careless mood in their attitude toward their country.
No one had brought proof to back up their accusations of Anna and
Rasputin. These two, in Mother’s opinion, were continually persecuted.
Had not Anna given every kopeck of her compensation for injury in a
terrible train wreck to establish a hospital for convalescent soldiers so that
they might receive training in some trade? The hospital was so successful
that before the Revolution hundreds of invalids had been trained and she
had purchased the land on which to build an additional building. What
greater proof of her loyalty was needed? Could anyone know better than
Mother the power of Rasputin’s prayers? Had she not witnessed his miracle
on Alexei? Now all she wanted for Father was divine guidance to see things
straight and to bring Russia safely through this ordeal. Had not Rasputin
used his foreknowledge which made him see what others could not? He had

foretold several events which later came true. Once he predicted that our
death would follow his death and that in the event of a member of the
family surviving, he or she would meet with disaster in 1960.
Another accusation was that Mother was hiding Uncle Ernest in the palace.
Uncle Ernie had been in Russia with his family in 1912. It was at the new
palace in the Crimea. That was the last time he visited Russia. During the
war, the Kaiser made it so disagreeable for Uncle Ernest that, in 1918, he
abdicated. He and his father had worked so hard to make their country
economically sound. We had a few letters from Aunt Victoria, Mother’s
sister in England. Prince Louis of Battenberg, her husband, was the First
Sea Lord of the British Admiralty. Pressure was brought against him also
during the war hysteria so that he was forced to resign his commission, in
spite of his loyalty to his adopted country, Great Britain.
When the war broke out, the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich and
his wife were in Germany. They were subjected to considerable
mistreatment so that, a year after, he died. Father was furious when he
received the report of the abuses from the Grand Duke himself.
Grandmother also was passing through Germany at the outbreak of the war,
and she, too, was subjected to the same indignities. The death of the Grand
Duke Constantine was a great loss, not only to the family, but to all Russia.
The Grand Duke was a most brilliant scholar, poet and patron of music and
drama. He wrote plays, essays, poems, using a pseudonym. He translated
Hamlet into Russian. He wrote a play entitled King of Judea. It was a
magnificent production, in which he took part. Even when his health was
failing, he continued to promote the arts. The last production in which I saw
him on the stage was Hamlet. He played the leading role of the Danish
Prince himself. Some of his children had parts in it. During the last
performance my family was present. Alexei sat with Mother in the front
row and excitedly called out, “Mother, Mother, do you know that is Uncle
Constantine! And that there is an officer of the Guards?” Uncle Constantine
sponsored a number of young people in music and drama. He had a theatre
of his own and designed his own stage settings.
He was deeply religious and brought up his family in the best Christian
tradition. Despite his good life he suffered great misfortune. Shortly before
he died, his son-in-law was killed in the war. Earlier, one of his sons, Prince
Oleg, had been a battle casualty. While the Germans were retreating Oleg

followed them on his horse when a wounded German officer played dead
and shot him; he soon died in the hospital. The names of his children were
all taken from early history. During the revolution, three more sons were
brutally murdered, together with Aunt Ella, near Alapaevsk.
I remember Aunt Mavra, Constantine’s wife, and one of her daughters
having tea with us for the last time, shortly before the revolution. Always
deeply religious, they crossed themselves for safe driving before they
entered their car. Whoever could have known that we would never see one
another again? Still Aunt Mavra lived through all the tragedy that befell her
innocent family.
Mother seldom came to the dinner table these days. She was served in one
of her rooms and we joined her after the meal. At that time Father’s letters
were read and reread. Usually there was a clever one from Alexei, too. His
note was always so cheering to Mother that we hoped she could retain the
mood till bedtime. To break the monotony, I planned on entertaining them,
even though it made me feel sad rather than lighthearted, but, once I started,
everybody began to laugh and we were soon all in the midst of great
merriment.
Watching Mother carefully, when she looked troubled, I sprang a new joke
or some lighthearted remark to cheer her up again. In this self-appointed
task I had a helper. I found a book of funny stories, which I kept in one of
the drawers in the round table in the music room, and in privacy I delved
through it. It contained many jokes which I did not understand, but,
believing they must be funny, I put my own interpretation upon these and
tried them out on the family in the evening.
On Father’s last trip to the capital, his appearance before the Duma was a
great success. In his speech he urged unity and warned that only unity
would bring victory—the victory he reminded them was so near. Hearing
his inspiring message, everyone was optimistic. There was country-wide
rejoicing, especially when shortly afterward the news came that Erzerum,
which had been stubbornly held by the Turks for so long, had fallen.
Father said that he was willing to grant liberal concessions but he feared
that this was not the time for great, radical changes. They would have too
damaging an effect during wartime.

Sir John Hanbury-Williams was in Petrograd for several days and saw Olga
and Tatiana at this presentation of Father’s at the Tauride Palace (Duma).
He afterwards said to Olga: “Knowing your Imperial Father the way I do, I
am most sorry for His Majesty; so is all the High Command, for there is not
one single word of truth in all the propaganda circulating. He assuredly
does not deserve such malicious criticism.” Hanbury-Williams thought that
Father’s address was most enthusiastically accepted and would bring good
results. However, it created apprehension among the enemy who seemed to
be losing hope of winning the war. Nevertheless, it provoked more
damaging propaganda. Father repeated that he would not yield to Germany.
More than ever, Wilhelm made Father his target. He aimed at him with
traitors who spread their lies insidiously underground like the roots of a
tree. There were attacks on Father from all directions—a whispering
campaign spread to injure his reputation before his people. Of course
Mother already had come in for her share of this terrible barrage of
falsehood; in her case the slander centered around Anna and Rasputin. But
that only made Mother stubborn, and she closed her ears and no longer
would believe anyone around her. She had felt for a long time that she was
doomed to death from the day she set her foot on Russian soil.

X
MOGILEV

The year 1916, the date May 6th. It was Father’s forty-eighth birthday. The
day before, we went to G.H.Q. at Mogilev to be with him. As usual we
stayed on our train. On this occasion the Russian and all the Allied High
Command, as well as some of our relatives, came to extend to Father their
congratulations.
Mother, shy and reserved by nature, came with us even though she dreaded
meeting the members of the Allied Military Missions, some of whom she
had not yet met. We knew many of the officers quite well. I particularly
remember our friend General Keller, Generals Ivanov, Lechitsky,
Dieterichs, Yanin, Resin, Kornilov, Brussilov, Father’s Chief of Staff,
General Alexeiev, General Dubensky, the military historian attached to
G.H.Q., and Captain Nilov. I recall, too, the traitor, General Ruzsky, who
left such a bad impression in the Baltic.
In the morning we went to the garrison church services nearby, under the
thick pine trees. There were many high ranking men and titled guests in
attendance.
Mother had ordered flowers from the Crimea to be used as decorations for
the occasion. We sisters made two flower arrangements for Father’s study
and his bedroom. One of these was placed on the table in his bedroom in
front of an icon of Saint Nicholas. On the piano in the big hall were large
branches of white orchids artistically arranged.
Dinner was served to about fifty guests. All the members of foreign
missions and the Russian generals and their wives who happened to be
there attended, as well as a number of the Grand Dukes who came to
Mogilev especially for this occasion.
We assembled in the large hall and stood in line with Father to receive the
congratulations of the guests. We girls wore white dresses and white hats
trimmed with ostrich feathers. Uncle Serge Mikhailovich, who was in
command of the Russian artillery, was present. Others were the Grand Duke
Cyril and his brother the Grand Duke Boris Vladimirovich; they could not

disguise their bitter hatred for the family, especially for Mother, when their
turn came to take our hands.
At the dinner Mother sat next to Father and at her side was our handsome,
lively brother Alexei. Opposite them was Olga, Hanbury-Williams and the
others. In the evening we took in a movie. Prince Igor Constantinovich was
there and accompanied us next morning on a walk in the forest, where
spring flowers were abundant.
From Mogilev we went to Sevastopol, Crimea, making several stops on the
way to inspect military hospitals. At the Tsarskaya Pristan (dock) in
Sevastopol we were greeted with cheers by sailors from Navy vessels.
Everywhere we went, we were met with a great deal of friendliness by the
people who came forth with flowers, fruits, and gifts of money for the
hospitals. We also made a surprise visit to the Romanov Institute of
Physical Therapy. In Evpatoria we met Admiral Kolchak, who later played
an important role in fighting the Communists in 1918 in order to capture
Ekaterinburg and rescue us. Unfortunately he was betrayed by the Czech
troops. We had tea with Anna, who had been sent there by Mother on a
special mission some weeks earlier. Father and Alexei went back to
Mogilev and we left for Tsarskoe Selo. Anna accompanied us for several
stations, and then returned to the Crimea.
About this time the people began to show unrest as a result of a rumor,
which an investigation showed had been spread by German agents, to the
effect that Mother and Aunt Ella were hiding Uncle Ernest. It upset my
Mother so much that she had a heart attack.
When demonstrations began to take place in Moscow, because of this false
propaganda, Mother was told that Kerensky, who up to now was biding his
time, urged Guchkov to start a revolution, while the situation was still hot.
Mother said he should be hanged for it. While Kerensky was plotting
against my family, Father was at the front making every effort to bring
Kaiser Wilhelm to his knees, despite the offers for the separate treaty which
were made by the Kaiser who stressed that an alliance with Germany would
be more beneficial to Russia than one with England. But all the proposals
were ignored. Father knew the German position in the war was the lack of
physical strength, particularly after Father’s Chamberlain, General
Tatishchev had interviewed German officer prisoners and was told by them

that the Kaiser had lost all his power which now rested in the hands of the
High Command.
Mother went to Mogilev again and this time she took Anna with her. It
caused a great deal of trouble and more hatred sprang from it. Even our own
cousin, the Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich, spread the most unjust lies: that
some drink was given to Father by Anna and that he was under hypnosis.
How shameful that this young man in return for love gave disloyalty to the
man who had given him kindness and affection as if he were his own father.
Another ridiculous rumor was that gold had been shipped over the border to
Germany in the coffins in which supposedly were bodies of German
soldiers killed in the war.
Mother became resentful toward these rumors and stubborn in her reaction
to them. Now she and Father would defend any innocent friend who was
brought under false suspicion or accusation. How could anyone believe
such falsehoods, especially against my Father, which were found in the end
not to be true. Madame Narishkina once said to us that Mother’s friends
brought her nothing but misfortune. It is true, but for this misfortune many
others also were responsible. Anybody could have believed anything under
the prevailing chaotic conditions of rumor and deceit For example, some
years before the war, while the family was in the Crimea, every day a
bouquet of fresh flowers was sent to Father for his desk in his study, and the
card in them bore the signature “Ania.” This naturally aroused great
consternation. Upon investigation, it was found that Ania Vyrubova at that
very time had been with her family in the small village of Terijoki on the
Gulf of Finland and so could not possibly have sent the flowers. Later
Princess Sonia Orbeliani, once Mother’s lady in waiting, a bitter enemy of
Anna’s, in a fit of anger revenged herself on Anna by saying that Anna had
hired a gardener to send the flowers.
Another rumor related that Rasputin came to the palace by way of the back
porch and visited the children’s quarters. In the first place, there was no
back porch. On one occasion, he did come upstairs to see Alexei in his
sickbed, using the private spiral stairway from Mother’s apartments, but
subsequently, whenever Rasputin came, Alexei was carried downstairs.
Moreover, Rasputin was accompanied by Father Vassiliev and almost
always the Emperor was present. Father had traced this rumor to its source,
and everyone connected with the story admitted that they had not seen

Rasputin enter the palace, but that they were told to say so by a certain
person. In fact, I never saw the peasant in any of our private quarters. These
were always guarded at the foot of each stairway. We were so surrounded
with people that he could not have avoided being detected by many.
This false rumor grew stronger and more outrageous stories were added to
it. Those spreading these cruel gossips which injured Mother’s reputation
were those who never had an opportunity even to see any member of the
Imperial family, people whose feet never had trodden the grounds of
Tsarskoe Selo. For every person living in this village was known to the
police and any stranger coming into the area was always picked up and
investigated. Anyone entering there had to carry his credentials. Those who
spread such propaganda lived to regret it, but their remorse came much too
late. Tragic as it was, these paid agents schemed to take Father away from
the front because they knew his presence was all-important.
Alexander Park was enclosed by an iron fence, which was topped with three
rows of barbed wire. Inside and outside were sentries at regular intervals.
Every day these grounds were searched to be sure that no one was hiding
there. Not a single person could enter the palace without a great deal of red
tape. There were four entrances to the palace. The peasant was not allowed
to use the main gate. In retrospect, this was probably a mistake as it gave an
air of mystery to his rare visits. Accompanied by Father Vassiliev, he
entered through the side or garden gate (across from the Znamensky
Cathedral) which was accessible to only a few. The procedure here was
simpler but any such entry was recorded, as was the case at the main gate.
These authentic official entries were available since the time of Peter the
Great, but many were destroyed by the invading Communists.
The visitor had to present proper credentials as to whom he was to see and
for what purpose. His name was written several times; also the time of his
arrival to the very minute. Halfway up the driveway to the palace the door
of the car or the carriage was opened and the vehicle checked; also again a
note was made of the identity of the visitor. In the meantime, the sentry at
the gate had already telephoned the palace guard, announcing the arrival of
the person. At the palace entrance, the guard on duty opened a square,
barred window, and the visitor was ushered into a room where he presented
his card to the officer on duty. The latter checked and compared the name
and description of the visitor with names and photographs in a book, copies

of which were found on tables in various parts of the palace. Then the
visitor was directed to the reception room, where Mother received him. This
was the procedure for all.
At each end of the corridor, and at the foot of every stairway, there was
always an officer on duty who kept a record to the minute of everyone
going up and down the stairs, no matter how many times a day.
Upon departure of a visitor, the same accuracy as to time was maintained,
and a record of his stay was handed to the palace police. There were also a
number of runners and about thirty-five guards on duty in the corridors and
stairways alone; not all were armed. That same strict rule applied to all the
palace staff, including the well-known Mistress of the Robes, Madame
Narishkina, and the ladies in waiting. In fact when any one of us, even
Father, arrived, the carriage was always inspected. We were never left
unattended and we did not know what privacy was, being always
surrounded by our teachers, ladies in waiting, governesses, nurses and
chambermaids who frequently entered our rooms.
Secret police continually checked every activity of everyone. It would have
been impossible to enter or leave in secrecy. No doubt there was a file on
Rasputin with a complete record of his visits to the minute, showing how
long he had been there and whom he had seen; and the names of the officers
on duty had to appear in the record, especially after it was rumored that
Rasputin was a spy. The secret police were watching him; according to
some it was only for his own protection. But, at the same time, his activities
were being carefully scrutinized. One slip on his part would have sent him
to his death. The palace chief of police kept a copy of such records; another
copy was delivered to the chief of police in Petrograd. In fact, during our
arrest, these records were checked on Rasputin and on every member of our
family to the very morning of our departure from the palace. The Ministers
were responsible for many troubles, because they gathered around Rasputin
and that gave him more confidence.
As for Mother’s supposed pro-German leanings, how often I wished Kaiser
Wilhelm could have been in our household to hear the uncomplimentary
remarks attached to his name. Alexei and I used to stuff pillows and take
shots with toy guns at Uncle Wilhelm. The name Wilhelm aroused such
invectives we were ordered not to use the word.

Olga Constantinovna, wife of King George I of Greece, sister of the Grand
Duke Constantine Constantinovich, spoke to Mother about the peasant. She
had become very upset about the gossip and because of it and the hot
summer of 1916, she had suffered a heart attack. Later Father’s friend,
Prince Volkonsky, came to see Father to warn him about the peasant. At that
time, Aunt Ella became so upset by these rumors that she sent Count
Sheremetiev, a friend and distant relative of ours, to deliver the message
that Rasputin had been using our family name for his personal advantage
while under the influence of liquor in Moscow. Mother and Father even
now refused to believe the tale. It left Father very distressed. He could not
understand how this highly educated man could have allowed anyone to
recount such tales to him. This good family raised a great deal of money for
hospitals; in their huge villa in Petrograd they sponsored a hospital for
officers and paid for the upkeep from their own pockets. Besides, two of
their sons were at the front.
Shortly afterwards, Aunt Ella herself appeared at Tsarskoe Selo. First, she
talked to Mother alone about the peasant, but Mother said, “Sister, you do
not believe all that do you?” Ella said, “I do not, but the people do.” Mother
asked, “And who are those people? Please do not speak, as the others do.
There is not one word of truth in what your friends are telling you.”
Mother was especially furious and could never forgive her sister when she
said that God might punish Mother by taking her son away from her. That
was a most painful remark for my Mother. The following morning, Aunt
Ella pleaded on her knees before my parents. Even then they refused to
believe the story. Instead Father turned to his aide-de-camp saying, “Have a
train ready for the Grand Duchess’ departure.” Father at once left for
G.H.Q. very upset. When Aunt Ella entered the room where we had bid
good-bye to Father, her eyes were wet with tears and she was wiping them
with her handkerchief. This was a sorrowful parting for both sisters as well
as for the whole family. We kissed her for the last time, never to see her
again. When she was leaving the rooms she lifted a hand, saying,
“Remember the fate of the other Empresses.” Mother and both older sisters
accompanied Aunt Ella to the station. We were told that Aunt Ella knew
then that Rasputin would be killed.
Mother often asked why people had not opened their eyes to see something
else besides an inclination for harm, which springs from stupidity and

ignorance. Why were they not able to judge us, and see the good we had
done? Even now she did not see that one could be capable of falsehood.
Mother had such a love for Russia that often she said, “I would rather die
than see Germany win the war!” She was English in every way. She had
spent most of her time with Granny (Queen Victoria), and from her earliest
childhood had taken a dislike for her cousin Wilhelm, largely because of his
lack of consideration toward their Granny.
During this time, Mother’s mail was more voluminous than ever. One of the
letters she received called her attention to the illustrated magazine Niva, in
which was an article with a photograph of a dog undergoing vivisection.
Among the magazines usually to be found on the table in the room next to
Mother’s room, I could not find this issue. Because we were not allowed to
remove books or magazine from the shelves, Mother immediately requested
Mr. Shcheglov, our librarian, to bring this magazine to her. She asked me to
find the page showing this needless cruelty. I opened the periodical; it fell
open at that page. Strapped to a table, the unfortunate animal was being
operated on without anaesthesia. This horrifying picture made an enormous
impression on us. Mother without wasting time took steps to prevent such
laboratory work being done without the animals being anaesthetized.
At once she became unpopular with many technicians and medical men. We
all were always sympathetic towards animals, especially Alexei who
frequently took home many homeless animals; he fed them and never
feared being harmed by them. This good child repeatedly said, “Some time
I shall have a large place for all the animals who have no home. I will feed
them and care for them myself.” Many unfortunate animals were made
homeless by war. He brought dozens of cats and dogs and sent them to our
farms. Proudly he once said, “I am positive there is not a mouse left here.”
The farmer agreed with him there was none.
There were always appeals to Mother for help. If a son was missing, she
was asked to help trace him. Any injustice which came to her attention she
tried to resolve by appealing to the proper authorities. When the burdens
became too heavy, Mother rushed to the Church. To her, religion was more
than worship, it was life. She loved the rituals, candles, chanting and
prayers. Through the unburdening of her heart, through supplication for
guidance, she was strengthened and helped to think more clearly, to
understand more deeply and accept God’s will with greater humility. But

dishonesty, insincerity, friction and perfidious gossip were continually
clouding her sense of God’s will. At such a time disunity was high treason
to Church and State. She wanted a new regime so that Alexei would not
have to struggle with the old autocracy handed down by his Grandfather.
Father had taken an oath in his war manifesto that he would never make
peace so long as one enemy soldier remained on Russian soil. The enemy
knew that only a revolution could defeat the Russian armies, so they spread
a network of lies to poison the Russian mind. Their central theme held that
Mother was redoubling her pro-German activities. In the Duma attacks
were made on Father in an effort to discredit him. Many friends no longer
participated at the meetings of the Duma; they could not stand to hear the
slander of their Emperor.
These words are painful for me to put in writing, and I shall not further
denounce these slanderers, as it would be against my Christian belief.
Word was brought from General Headquarters that Alexei had caught cold
on the train during a trip to the front. He had sneezed and burst a blood
vessel in his nose. When Dr. Fedorov was unable to stop the bleeding, also
fearing that his cold might get worse, he suggested that Father return Alexei
to Tsarskoe Selo. He had almost died on his way home because of the
jolting and jarring and it had been necessary to stop the train several times
at night in order to change Alexei’s dressings. He collapsed into
unconsciousness several times and seemed to be on the verge of death. All
night Nagorny had to support his head.
Meanwhile in Tsarskoe Selo, we were receiving wires posting us on his
condition. Some arrived late in the evening so that Mother sat up all night,
fearing that the end had come. At six in the morning Anna called Rasputin
and requested him to pray for Alexei. Rasputin replied that Alexei would be
better, not to worry, and that the bleeding would stop. Strange as it may
seem, the bleeding did stop shortly thereafter. Later we were told that Anna
informed the peasant that Alexei was better. Mother went to the station to
meet the train and when Alexei was carried down the platform, he smiled at
her. She was thankfully relieved. His bleeding stopped. Mother kissed him
and he drew her hand to his lips. Father left again for G.H.Q. and Alexei
remained at home recovering from his illness.

In spite of my brother’s poor health, our parents insisted that, as soon as his
condition improved and the weather permitted, he must return to Mogilev. It
was felt necessary that he prepare himself for his future responsibilities,
even though his health had been impaired. Father said that Alexei was not
to be shielded behind the scenes as he himself had been during the reign of
Alexander III. As soon as the war should be over, Alexei, accompanied by
his tutors, was to go to England to receive special training. My little brother
became nervous under the strain, and we all felt sorry for him. Once, at two
o’clock in the morning, Alexei awakened Olga in her room and said, “I
cannot sleep; I am worried.”
The fact that I had been asked to share the responsibility with Olga and
Tatiana deeply stirred me. They suggested that Mother should not be left
alone in her bedroom at night while Father was away even though a maid
was in the room next to Mother’s. We sisters decided to take turns spending
the nights with Mother, as well as time after school hours. Alexei was hurt,
because he was not asked to share this loving trust. He protested: “Am I not
a member of the family? I am tired of taking humiliations from you. You
seem to enjoy giving me orders.” I explained that he could do his share by
sleeping in Father’s bedroom when he returned to G.H.Q. This satisfied
him.
I shadowed Mother, amused her, and did everything in my power to make
her happy. I did many things by which I hoped to spare her needless steps. I
accepted my responsibility seriously and was a little hurt at Mother’s
amused surprise at my obvious attentiveness. It pleased me to have Mother
call me her little helper, because I saved her many steps. Often Alexei called
Mother on the telephone and, while she was talking to him, I would run up
and warn him not to call Mother again. I felt responsible for her and at the
same time I was filled with a sense of importance while on duty at her side.
For some time we thought Mother’s health was deteriorating under the
strain of worry and sorrow. Now her heart became worse and she no longer
was able to give actual care to the wounded at the hospital.
While Father was home, he had several stories about Rasputin investigated.
One report declared that Rasputin had boasted in a restaurant, in public, that
the embroidered upper blouse which he wore that evening had been
presented to him by the Empress. Father sent for this man, whom he had
disliked for so long. He questioned him about his claim. The peasant

appeared to be surprised and frightened, but had finally admitted that he had
made the remark. “How dare you?” Father looked straight into his eyes.
Then, Father pointed to the door and Rasputin was shown out by an aide-
de-camp. Olga remarked later to us sisters that the only regret she had was
that the peasant had not been thrown out long before this.
Father never liked nor believed in the Starets and neither did we girls. Even
Alexei was doubtful about the peasant’s honesty. In our presence, Rasputin
was always respectful and unobtrusive. Mother, however, was convinced
that Alexei’s life during his most severe attacks was saved by Rasputin’s
prayers. Mother was impressed by the man’s simple common sense. He had
such a saintly approach that Mother believed that he was a man sent by
God. Most of the messages from Rasputin had come to Mother through
Anna. It was at Anna’s house that Mother saw this wandering monk and
their conversation was always about religion. There was little doubt that he
was a healer of a sort which some Christian Churches have always known
and recognized. However, many discounted Rasputin’s healing claims by
explaining that he always came into the picture when Alexei was already on
the way to recovery. When Alexei was previously ill, because some one
inserted into his lower body some kind of serum which caused him untold
suffering and many sleepless nights, Rasputin was blamed for it. It was
Rasputin who made all the nurses and maids go to confess at the church as a
result of which it was found that someone close to the family was
responsible for this illness.
The attacks Alexei suffered had become fewer and less serious. My parents
were hopeful Alexei would eventually outgrow his trouble. Alexei was
often puzzled about Rasputin, whom he considered to be a healer. One day
he asked, “Tell me, Mommy, why is it that God listens to the peasant’s
prayers, but not to mine.” Mother honestly believed that Rasputin was sent
to save her son. Under similar circumstances any mother would have felt
the same.
On another occasion we had Father Vassiliev as our guest. Alexei was just
getting over a bad cold. He asked why people said that the peasant was a
saint. Papa replied that he would rather have Father Vassiliev explain this to
Alexei. The clergyman answered that anyone who does good and lives
according to the Holy Scriptures could be a saint. “Then what shall I do that
God will listen to my prayers?” asked Alexei.

Father Vassiliev of the Feodorovsky Sobor taught Alexei religion. Alexei
was deeply attached to his instructor, who was very religious, had a kind
heart, loved people, made friends easily and was loyal and defended them
when they were in trouble. Alexei was bright, lively, had a quick mind,
delicate features, a white, clear complexion and coppery, auburn hair. In
secret among the family he was called “Ruchka” (the hand). This he knew,
although we did not at first know it.

XI
OUR LAST AUTUMN IN TSARSKOE SELO

The fall of 1916 was a beautiful one, with the brilliant flames of orange
oak and russet beech trees, elms and avenues of lime trees all fused
harmoniously as in a painting. It was our last autumn in Tsarskoe Selo.
Again, Alexei joined his Father at G.H.Q. and both went to review the
troops at the front. As usual, Father inspected the field kitchens and tasted
the food to be sure that it was kept up to the prescribed standards. Then they
visited the hospitals in Kiev, at the same time spending several days with
Granny who had been living there in the palace near the beautiful Dnieper
river for the duration of the war, in order to be near her daughter Olga.
Upon their return to G.H.Q., Alexei sent a note home to say that Father was
distressed after having had a talk with Granny; she had changed. Alexei,
although a child, was conscious of the fact that this disquieting conversation
stemmed from Ruchka’s illness and the peasant. Granny did not know that
Alexei knew that in secret he was called “Ruchka”. There were other
relatives present at this discussion, one of them being Uncle Sandro
(Alexander Mikhailovich). He was the head of military aviation and was
stationed in Kiev.
During this conversation, Aunt Olga defended Alicky (Mother) whereas
Granny blamed everything on her. Grandmother openly predicted then that
all would end in disaster. Alexei promised Mother that he would never
cause Father trouble, and would be careful of his own health. He told us
later that he had cried on the train while Father was in his study, and that he
no longer loved his Granny as he used to. At this time Aunt Olga was
happily remarried. Her husband was the handsome officer of the Guard
whom she had known for a long time, Colonel Nicholai Koulikovsky.
Soon Mother and we sisters went on another tour to the hospitals and were
greeted enthusiastically everywhere. We received big donations for the
hospitals. During this tour we stopped for a several days’ visit with Father.
This was to be our last trip to G.H.Q. We knew right away that something
connected with Rasputin was troubling Father, as a result of his last visit to
Kiev.

Now Father asked Granny to leave for the Crimea in order to end the
gossip, which without Granny’s encouragement would never have taken
place. Later even Olga wrote her asking for God’s sake to leave for the
Crimea. But all was in vain.
At this time Uncle Sandro, the husband of Aunt Xenia, proposed to Father
that he should promulgate the constitution on his name day, December 6th,
but Father said it was impossible because at the coronation he had sworn on
the Bible to uphold the autocracy.
Now we already knew of the plan to assassinate Mother, Father and many
of his aides, especially Prince Dolgorukov, Captain Nilov, A.D.C.
Mordvinov, Count Fredericks and others. It was organized in Kiev by
Guchkov. Granny and the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich in Caucasia
supported the idea, but Granny confessed to Father, during her last
conversation with him, that she did not know that the Guchkov plan was to
assassinate Father and the others. She believed that they were working
towards Father’s abdicating the throne to the Grand Duke Nicholai
Nicholaevich.
The former Governor of Mogilev, Mr. Pelts, who let my Father use his
residence, and others also warned Father of the plot and told him that many
officers were approached by Guchkov to carry out the mass murder but they
all refused. The secret police were to close in on Guchkov but Father
wanted to have more proof. On this visit Granny wanted us children to
come to Kiev, but we feared that the murder might be committed while we
were away. After the abdication and before Father left Mogilev, Granny
came on her train to Mogilev. Even then she blamed the abdication on
Mother. Then Father asked her whether she knew of the plan to assassinate
him and Alicky, his wife. She cried that she had not known of the plan to
murder but had encouraged the abdication. With these words they parted
forever. No matter what, Father was condemned from the day of Lenin’s
brother’s execution during the reign of Alexander III, and also from the day
of the execution of Trotsky’s brother who was connected with one of the
most dangerous revolutionary organizations during the Japanese war.
Father occupied a section of one floor in the Governor’s home in Mogilev.
Built on a wooded hill, it enjoyed a magnificent view of the broad Dnieper
River. Father had two large rooms, one being the bedroom he shared with

Alexei. In it, two iron beds stood side by side, separated by a little table on
which was a Bible and an icon. There were also a mahogany dressing table,
a wash stand, a settee, and a bookcase. The windows of this room faced the
river on one side, the garden and the parade grounds on the other. The
adjoining room was Father’s office with windows facing the parade
grounds. It held a large Victorian desk fully equipped, some photographs of
the family, several barometers and a floor lamp; also Alexei’s desk used for
his school work, a settee, and a bookcase. Next to the office was a large
anteroom with two big portraits of Father and Mother, plus a couch, a
piano, and numerous chairs. Next was a large, gloomy dining room. The
entire suite had parquet floors and fine carpets.
Some of the upper and lower floors were occupied by Father’s staff:
General Voyeykov, Count Benckendorff, Prince Vasily Dolgorukov, A.D.C.
Nilov, Dr. Fedorov and Dr. Derevenko, now in charge of Alexei; Prince Igor
Constantinovich often came here. With Father was also General Dubensky,
a friend of the Grand Duke Dimitri, Count Sheremetiev, A.D.C. Drenteln,
and others. Father was accompanied by his rather numerous military escorts
and by his tall bodyguard Dendeniev, a Cossack officer, who almost always
was at his side. This officer could fire at the smallest flying object in the air
without ever missing one shot. Also present was Father’s personal guard,
Polupanov.
In Mogilev, we took some short trips, sometimes driving to the beautiful
Archayerevsky woods; or we walked in the deep snow, while Alexei played
in the park with young cadets.
At some distance from the Governor’s home under the pine trees was the
Army field chapel. The General Staff office was within a short distance of
the house. Due to the shortage of houses, all government buildings and
some private residences were converted into living quarters for the military
staff and hospitals. In the winter Father had his luncheons in the dining
room at the Governor’s house. The General Staff officers and officers on
duty from the front were usually asked to join him at the noon meal. At
these meals no military business was discussed. Discussions of such matters
took place every morning in the Supreme Command office near by. Father
disliked sitting at the table longer than necessary and, as soon as the meal
was over, he rose from the table and his guests followed. During the
summer, the luncheons were held in a large tent on a hill in the pine woods.

In the evening, when we were there, Father tried to be with us on our train.
He poured the tea himself with only the family present. Father’s train stood
on a sidetrack in the woods, his study was at the end and two strong
Cossacks stood always on guard.
On one visit, we saw General Hanbury-Williams. He spoke to us about his
children, especially his two sons who were actively engaged in the war. The
General and Alexei became great friends. He and General Rickel both
spoke to Mother about the boy, saying that his presence made them forget
about the war and that Mother should leave him in Mogilev. My brother
remained at G.H.Q. General Hanbury-Williams was often invited to dinner
with Father and Alexei.
We left Mogilev. When we arrived at Tsarskoe Selo, we found one of
Mother’s ladies in waiting, Princess Sonia Orbeliani, critically ill. This
young friend of ours had suffered some years earlier a back injury caused
by a fall from her horse. Now the spine began to trouble her seriously. In
the end she was totally paralyzed. We had a special nurse for her, and she
continued to stay in our house. Her room adjoined our rooms, and Mother
went to see her every night to make sure that she was comfortable. Having
her in our home caused a great deal of jealousy among the other ladies in
waiting and our staff. Sonia, herself, was jealous of Anna Vyrubova, who in
turn quarrelled with her. Poor Sonia was still young when she left the world.
Several times during her illness, before the war, we took her to the Crimea
and we sisters pushed her about in her wheel chair. Fortunately for her she
passed away quietly before the fear of devastation settled over our family.
Father returned home with Alexei just in time to attend Sonia’s funeral.
Father was home for a few days only. He wanted to have a quiet evening
with just the family. Anna invited herself the very first evening. This upset
Mother so much that she said exasperatedly, “I hope Anna can live one day
without seeing me!”
We sisters and brother left Mother’s room early, hoping that Anna would do
the same, but Mother told us the next morning that Anna had continued to
stay until very late. Father told Olga that after the Christmas holidays, he
would keep Alexei at G.H.Q. most of the time in order to avoid having
Rasputin called in the event Alexei should become ill.

While home Father told us of a report that in one of the military hospitals a
wounded soldier who had been decorated for his bravery with the St.
George Cross—one of the highest decorations in the Russian army—had
asked for and received photographs autographed by each member of the
Imperial family. After he was discharged from the hospital, in his bedside
table drawer was found a German code. It was intended to use the pictures
signed by us in propaganda leaflets which were to be dropped in the
Russian trenches. This soldier was identified and he confessed. There were
important names involved in the plot. He was executed, and his Latvian
mother was placed under surveillance.
Meantime Father investigated everything in the palace. To his great dismay
and disappointment, he found disloyalty. German machine guns were found
hidden near Peterhof, and in the outskirts of our farms at Dudendorff near
the Swiss chalet. No one knew how these were smuggled in. Our own
family was now being exposed to danger. The propaganda having failed at
the front, it started to penetrate into homes, schools, hospitals and
elsewhere. One day a folder was found on our library table. The headline
said, “Germans are killing the Russian peasants, confiscating their cattle
and taking everything for themselves.” The article went on to say that
Mother was a spy and was collaborating with German agents. How this
folder came to be placed on the table remained a mystery. Mother’s real
sorrow was that now Russia had begun to believe these unfounded lies. At
this time, King George of England wanted Mother to come to Sandringham
for a rest, but she refused to hear of it. “I shall rest when the war is over,”
she said.
Father also discovered that many peacetime guards had been removed from
duty at the palace and sent to the front without his knowledge, leaving the
palace guard insufficiently manned. Father ordered additional guards to be
sent from the mixed regiments but his orders were disobeyed. Instead,
revolutionists were assigned to guard the palace.
The last time we saw Granny was in Kiev some weeks before Christmas of
1916.
Our last trip to inspect hospitals was shortly before Christmas.
Accompanying us was Anna Vyrubova. More and more we discovered how
much, under a superficial politeness, Anna was hated. She was aware that

her friendship with Mother caused Mother a great deal of suffering. It was
at this time that we went to the old city of Novgorod. At the station we were
met by the Governor with bread and salt and his family presented us with
flowers; greetings came from a squadron of Mother’s own Uhlan Guards.
Both sides of the streets were lined with military men, school children, and
civilians. With cheers and “ura” they threw their caps into the air, waved
their handkerchiefs, and pelted our limousines with flowers. At last we
reached the cathedral where special carpets were stretched and the church
was packed with well-wishers. Princes Igor Constantinovich and Andrei
Alexandrovich came from nearby. At luncheon Igor remarked, “The people
most assuredly displayed great joy and devotion to you.”
In the afternoon we went to the hospital and Mother was touched by the
kind reception. It gave her courage and strength. To everybody’s surprise
she was able to walk to the second floor to see the sick men. Here, too, we
were given money to aid the wounded. At twilight, with music, our
automobiles were escorted to the station. We reached home late that night.
This trip gave Mother a lift and confidence and for days she carried a smile
of contentment, thanks to the people of Novgorod.
The Christmas of 1916 stands out brilliantly in contrast to the Christmas
that followed. None of the secret joy was missing. Before the war, when
still quite young, we children used to be sent on a long drive as the
Christmas Eve dusk gathered. Oh, the thrill of watching the daylight merge
into night’s cocoon, knowing the excitement that would come with
darkness! At last the drive was over and we stood on the very threshold of
the mysterious room where Christmas Eve was to be celebrated. From
somewhere nearby Christmas carols were wafted up to us. As the door
opened, there stood the glittering tree, each year more beautiful than any
before. The room was filled with people: family, friends, and the palace
staff. From the highest to the most humble servant, everyone gathered
around the tree. Each was remembered with a gift, no one was forgotten.
For weeks my sisters, with the help of ladies of the court, had wrapped the
presents, each looking like a gleaming jewel. The day before Christmas,
most Russians take no food, only water, until the first star appears in the
heavens. This year, in the early morning, we went to a service at the
Feodorovsky Sobor, and at dawn the Christmas trees were lighted for us,
the officers and the guard. We sisters had helped to decorate the trees.

The fast was followed by the Christmas Eve dinner of twelve courses,
representing the Twelve Apostles. No meat was served, but there were
many kinds of fish, each course having a symbolic meaning. There were
hors d’oeuvre, soup, mushrooms, fruit and nuts, etc.
We decided to keep our own tree, set up on the second floor, until late after
the New Year. The flames of war and intrigue hissed and sizzled but could
not outshine the glow of Christmas. First of all there were plans for the
hospitals and orphanages, great effort being put into the personal cheer of
each invalid and needy person. There were sparkling trees decorated by
Mother’s own hands, with white and silver ornaments. With the hospitals
full of wounded men and the tense condition at the front, every one made a
special effort to effect a semblance of gaiety. On Christmas day, in the early
afternoon, the tree was lighted for the Guard, the regimental orchestra
played, and the Cossacks danced and sang. Everyone stood around the tree
and Olga, acting for Mother, presented the gifts. Our gifts were usually
simple and useful.
Although that Christmas had the familiar setting, it did not have the
customary joyous spirit. First of all, Father’s duties claimed his time with
heavy responsibilities. I remember that the day before his departure for
Mogilev, he was discouraged and upset. He had a long talk with Olga in his
study before he left. Asking her to persuade Mother in some way that she
should not write him daily long letters, he relied on the help of our oldest
sister. For these letters, telling Father what should be done, were resented
by him. He was especially annoyed when Anna sent along her own naive
suggestions; these he called stupid. “Everyone is issuing orders and I have
to listen to them,” he said. He also asked Mother not to talk with her friends
regarding matters they knew nothing about. That, he pointed out, was the
Ministers’ business and no one else’s. Father himself had asked Mother not
to do this. He was tired and worried about the things she mentioned, long
before she was aware of the fact that Father’s replies to her were short and
concise. Mother felt surprise that he made no comment on what she had
written. Then she decided to go and see Father in Mogilev.
Mother was a great thinker and a reader of scientific books, natural science,
religion and astronomy. She could solve the hardest mathematical problems.
She spent many hours in her small library next to her sitting room, reading
her rare books on Indian philosophy, given her by the Grand Duchess

Anastasia Nicholaevna, the divorced wife of the Duke of Leuchtenberg and
later the wife of the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich, who himself was
also a scholar of Persian and Indian history. Mother never wasted one
minute. Everyday she spent many hours with her secretary on reports. Her
mail was enormous. She wrote beautifully and her letters were sad and
touching. She cared little for wealth. She left behind in Tsarskoe Selo and
Petrograd, Livadia, and Alexandria items of immense value—her platinum,
rock crystal desk set, and a gold one; her dressing table accessories; her
collection of crosses and boxes; the dozen genuine blue sapphire, gold-
rimmed glasses (the work of Bolin) given her one at a time over a period of
years by Father; valuable laces; and over 300 Easter eggs. She took with her
only a few keepsakes; many of the most valuable items were left in
Tsarskoe Selo in the care of Count Benckendorff.
At the end of the holiday week there came a great change. On December
30th, 1916, Olga came to us excitedly and whispered: “Rasputin is
missing!” His daughter had just telephoned Anna that he had not been home
all night. This had alarmed Anna who had seen Rasputin just the previous
evening, in Petrograd—for a few minutes only, in order to avoid further
talk. Anna remembered that Rasputin had told her then that Prince Felix
Youssoupoff was to call for him late in the evening to take him to his home
to meet his wife, Irina. Mother was sure that our pretty cousin, Princess
Irina, was in the Crimea and ill at that time. Irina was the daughter of
Father’s sister, Xenia, and the Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, the
grandson of the Emperor Nicholas I, and Father’s favorite cousin and his
brother-in-law.
Olga and Tatiana left to attend to their work in the hospital as usual, while
Marie and I reluctantly went to the schoolroom. After classes we joined the
family and found, to our horror, that suspicion of Rasputin’s disappearance
pointed not only to Prince Youssoupoff but to our own cousin, the Grand
Duke Dimitri Pavlovich. After a thorough investigation by the police, it was
established that Rasputin had been murdered, his body wrapped in a
military blanket and thrown into the Neva river in Petrograd.
The frozen corpse was found two days later, under the ice. It was assumed
that the body had been carried in a Red Cross car, then thrown into the river
from the bridge. Inasmuch as a Red Cross conveyance had been involved, it
came as a sickening shock to learn that the murder was linked to these two

young men with the knowledge of the Commander of the Red Cross,
Purishkevich, who was a member of the Duma. Several previous
unsuccessful attempts on Rasputin’s life had been made. Once he was
stabbed by a young woman in Siberia and another time deliberately run
over by a carriage. Each time he had escaped serious injury.
It was especially shocking to find Dimitri Pavlovich involved for, ever since
he had been a young man, he had had a room in our home in Tsarskoe Selo
and in the Crimea. His sister, Marie, had also spent many happy days with
us. Aunt Ella had brought him up as her own son after his widowed father
married a second time and left Russia for a while. Dimitri was considered a
member of our family and we all were extremely fond of him. It was almost
impossible for us to believe that he could be implicated in the murder of
this much despised man. Later we heard that his role in the affair was very
minor.
Suddenly the news came that General Hanbury-Williams’ son had gone
down with Lord Kitchener on the torpedoed “Hampshire” in the North Sea.
It was such a blow to our family that we all cried on hearing the tragic
news. Mother sent some orchids to the General with our profound
sympathy. Later, Alexei told us that, when the General appeared that
evening for dinner, and when they greeted each other, the General threw his
arms around Alexei in tears. Alexei said: “My heart went out to him.” After
dinner, they kissed each other, the General calling Alexei the most loving
child as he departed for his quarters. The next day General Hanbury-
Williams once more joined Father and Alexei at dinner.
In the meantime, Father had received a telegram announcing that Rasputin
had been killed. Father and Alexei left for Tsarskoe Selo, and Alexei never
saw the General again. Painfully Alexei described to us the last evening he
had with the General. Alexei, sympathetic and sensitive, suffered with him
and felt he, himself, should return to G.H.Q. as the unfortunate General
needed someone to comfort him. The General later sustained another sad
blow, upon learning that his second son had been wounded. We all felt his
tragedies as though they were our personal loss.
Father posed for a moment only for a family picture beside the tree. Then
he read the report of the Rasputin murder. His reaction was: “To think that a
member of the Imperial family could commit such a crime as to kill the

Starets. I am ashamed to face the peasants who are fighting valiantly for
Russia, and many of whom have died. And yet these boys find time for
murder, as though there is not enough crime in the world.”
Those who committed the murder should have been at the front. How unjust
to kill a man without a trial and without an opportunity to defend himself. It
may be these young men imagined themselves to be patriots in killing one
who had repeatedly prophesied future reverses for the Empire. If this
despised man was undermining the foundation of Russia by promoting a
dishonorable peace with the enemy, then he deserved even a greater
punishment. But there was no proof. Father did not come home because
Rasputin was killed but because our two relatives were involved in the
crime, and the punishment had to come from him only.
Because of Rasputin’s death, a great rejoicing had swept over Petrograd.
There were telegrams of congratulation for the illustrious deed, toasts with
the touching of glasses filled with champagne. No one could foresee that
these toasts, with glasses “bottoms up”, were for their own funeral.
Father struggled with the problem of how to punish the young men. He
ordered Felix to be exiled to one of his estates in the province of Kursk. It
was during my escape in 1918, when I set foot there, that the whole picture
seemed to come into focus before me: Mother, Dimitri, Felix. It must have
been a great shock to the quiet, beautiful, young wife, Irina, who was
deeply in love with her husband, Felix. Most of the people thought of this
Oxford graduate as a fascinating handsome man, having a great deal of
humor, one who could never do such a terrible thing. But he believed that
this was the solution to save Russia. Dimitri was sent to the General Staff
on the Persian border, where the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was.
Luckily Dimitri escaped the fate of his father, his half-brother, his cousins,
and other relatives who were killed in 1918-1919. Immediately, his relatives
tried to intercede, as had been done at the time of the coronation disaster,
which it was claimed, was the result of the negligence of the Grand Duke
Serge Alexandrovich.
It was a blow to Father himself, since we all were so fond of Dimitri.
Besides he was Father’s ward and like a brother to us. On account of
Dimitri’s poor health, after having spent several months at the front early in
the war, he was sent back to Petrograd and, since then, he had spent his time

there without occupation and so had become involved in this crime. His
own father, the Grand Duke Paul, expressed dissatisfaction. Even though
the punishment was light, still the relatives resented it and expressed
coolness towards us. The Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, Father’s
brother-in-law, came to see Father but to no avail. Father said forcefully:
“No matter whether it was a Grand Duke or a peasant, the law is the same
for all.”
Almost the whole Romanov family, led by the Grand Duke Cyril, his
mother, Marie Pavlovna, and his brothers, Andrew and Boris, signed a
petition in which they asked for the release of the two young heroes. My
father was so angered by this, he said: “They would never have dared ask
such a favor from my austere father, Alexander III” and “No one has the
right to commit a murder, especially in time of war and within my realm.”
The Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna (née Duchess of Mecklenburg-
Schwerin) being successful in turning almost all the relatives, as well as
many influential friends, against my family hoped by this division of the
family to bring the crown to her son. She invited to her parties some mutual
friends and continued her slander against my family. Among these courted
guests was Rodzianko, President of the Duma. Some of these could no
longer tolerate her scheming and, to her amazement, they asked to be
excused and left in the midst of the conversation. The most damaging
effect, due to this division of the Imperial family, was the plot organized by
the Grand Duke Cyril to kill Mother and Father. The planning had taken
place at the Imperial Yacht Club in Petrograd, of which my Father and all
the relatives were members. Many friends also belonged to it.
They were given a warning to discontinue making trouble while other men
were dying in the trenches. Father gave orders to separate them, and they
were to go to their various estates. This blow was more than they could
bear. No matter what the cost, they were determined to uproot this man who
was a thorn in their side.
After the sad parting of the two sisters in Tsarskoe Selo, Aunt Ella’s
bitterness toward my Mother increased. I was told that she knew then that
there was to be an attempt on the life of Rasputin, yet she did not
discourage Dimitri from taking part in it; instead, she spent her time in a
convent where she met one of her friends, and prayed on her knees in this

convent while the murder in Petrograd was being committed. I wonder now
whether she was praying for her own soul. To my sorrow her life also ended
very painfully in 1918.

XII
REVOLUTION

Mother once thought that, if Alexei could not be spared, Dimitri might
marry one of her daughters in order to carry on the Romanov line. Now she
had to take Rasputin’s death philosophically. At the same time, she grieved
over the mistake of the young men, especially the one whom she had loved
as her own son. Unfortunately, the Emperor Paul (1796-1801) had decreed
that no female be allowed to succeed to the Russian throne. I think that, in
case of political turmoil, the decree could have been set aside. Olga would
have made a wonderful Empress. She was intelligent, well-read, had a kind
disposition, was popular among her friends, and understood human nature.
She was a true Russian in heart and soul. She could not have been easily
deceived. I am sure that she would have ruled wisely in the interest of her
people. Father had inherited from his father, Alexander III, the autocratic
form of government which contributed in part to the downfall of Russia.
Father stayed on but we hardly saw him, except at mealtime. He left the
table hurriedly and buried himself in state papers and military problems. It
was a great comfort, nevertheless, to have him with us.
The Germans reasoned that Rasputin’s death would remove one of the most
fruitful subjects of their propaganda. Consequently they hastened to push
forward another subject. German agents dropped leaflets into the Russian
trenches stating that the Tsar was about to sign a separate peace treaty with
Germany. It was also said that Mother, while she visited Father in Mogilev,
had entertained Generals Ludendorff and Hindenburg at night and received
letters from her brother, Uncle Ernest. Another rumor had it that the Russian
officers of the General Staff and the Grand Dukes were gambling and
wasting their time in cabarets while Russian soldiers were dying in the
trenches.
The patriotic army was not taken in by this propaganda, because they had
seen Father’s devotion to the cause of Russia. But General Ludendorff and
the Kaiser intensified this propaganda because they knew it was impossible
to defeat the brave Russian army without the connivance of a revolution
behind the lines. The idea was to divide, conquer, poison the mind of the

Russian people and weaken loyalty to the Emperor. Mutiny was feared at
the front since Father was away in Tsarskoe Selo, not because our troops
were inadequately fed, clothed and supplied with arms. On the contrary the
troops, Father said, were never so strong and well-fed, and our military
strength was now greater than at the beginning of the war. But the supplies
were deliberately delayed by the merchants who received bribes from
German agents while Father was away. So the goods were withheld from
the markets by the merchants. Ten million rubles were spent to overthrow
Russia by revolution. It was this money that originally had been intended to
be used to improve the conditions of the Russian prisoners of war in
Germany. Father’s presence was needed at General Headquarters. In spite
of Alexei’s symptoms of measles and the fever that raged in him, Father left
for G.H.Q., promising to return soon. For Mother, always apprehensive of
Alexei, had begged Father to stay home a few days until the boy’s condition
could be better determined. But Father’s plans had been made some months
ahead for a surprise attack on the enemy and could not be changed.
Father had hardly departed before riots and strikes became a common
occurrence in Petrograd. Shortages were reported; there was plenty of
bread, even though it was not available in the stores. However, many
merchants—some were foreigners and some were not—hid the products or
raised the prices so high that the poor could not purchase any meat, butter,
or other essential commodities. Train loads of grain stood on the tracks until
the grain became mouldy and unfit for human consumption.
One morning Mother entered her room to find Father’s picture lying on the
floor. The glass covering this picture, taken recently at the trenches, was
broken at the position of Father’s neck in the photograph. Immediately
Mother’s superstitious nature reappeared. There was, she felt, something
wrong with Father. This breakage could have been the work of a hostile
servant but, more likely, the wind had done it. To Mother it was a bad omen.
Again her anxious mind went back to the large cross she saw in the sky as
they crossed the Troitsky bridge a few years before. Did these signs indicate
that Father was to bear a heavy cross in the future?
Then she had a dream which increased her anxiety. In it she saw the Grand
Duke Serge, who had been blamed for the coronation disaster and had been
dead for years, come to visit us; suddenly he began to dance and wave a
chiffon veil. Father sat and watched him. All at once the Grand Duke came

to the end of his little dance, and the veil he was waving caught on the stone
on top of the crown on Father’s head. A quick move of the Grand Duke and
the crown was off Father’s head and dashed to the floor. Seven of the large
stones seemed to disappear, only one being left. Soon that, too, began to
evaporate slowly until it became a tiny pebble and finally vanished. The
dream haunted her. Did it mean that the crown would be lost? The little
stone that vanished—did that indicate that Alexei might be taken away from
us?
Another bad omen! The chain which held the cross and the ruby ring
(actually it was a red diamond) which Father had given to Mother and
which she lately had been wearing around her neck, had broken. These she
had always considered her good luck charms. She often placed her ruby
ring on the chain with the cross and now, when the chain broke, the ring
rolled one way and the cross another. Did this have a meaning in relation to
Father’s safety or did it indicate a rift between Father and the Church? Later
this same ring was taken from Mother by Voykov several weeks before the
tragic night at Ekaterinburg; he wore this red diamond on his little finger.
Mother and I, myself, were great believers in dreams; I still believe in
mysticism.
Mother had not heard of Father’s safe arrival at G.H.Q. Finally we received
the news that he had reached his destination. Serious disorders in the streets
of Petrograd began two days later and lasted for about ten days. While the
air was thick with suspicion, strikes, riots, and accusations, we children
were seized with measles. Alexei had been ill before Father left; next Olga
was stricken; then Tatiana; and, at last, I caught the disease. Marie helped
Mother to care for us, but not for long because she, too, fell ill. Then both
she and I contracted pneumonia and had to be placed in oxygen tents.
Early in March, we heard through General von Grooten, assistant to
General Voyeykov, Commandant of the Palaces, and at that time with
Father at G.H.Q., of the conversation he had had with the military
commandant in Petrograd, General Belyayev. He had, himself, been able,
through General Voyeykov, to speak to Father and tell him of the true state
of affairs. Rodzianko had wired His Majesty that everything was quiet. The
General had acted on his own initiative because he could see the critical
conditions in Petrograd and in Tsarskoe Selo. Father was relieved to hear
that we were alive. Through General Belyayev, Father sent word that we

should do nothing until he returned home. But we must be ready to go away
at a moment’s notice. He had also been informed that we all were ill, but he
hoped that, when he arrived home, we would be well enough to leave. He
did not know that Marie and I and several others at the palace had
pneumonia.
At this time Rodzianko called the palace to say that Father was well but we
were in great danger and should go at once to Gatchina Palace, about thirty
miles southwest of Petrograd. Uncle Michael also had his residence there,
and many other relatives of the Imperial family maintained villas in the
park. Had we gone there, we would have had more freedom. Two parallel
wings, connected by a third, were almost completely enclosed. Each wing
had more than several hundred rooms, and the grounds held a fair-sized
lake in the middle. The estate included thousands of acres of gardens, forest
and ravines. We might more easily have escaped from there abroad.
There were rumors that Uncle Ernest was hiding in a tunnel. People
probably confused a tunnel at Alexander Palace in Tsarskoe Selo with a
natural passage at Gatchina. This natural passage could be entered from the
stairway of the palace into a dark narrow hall, the exit of which led to the
bank of Silver Lake adjoining the Baltic Sea. This spooky tunnel was cold,
damp, and had a mournful echo. All these gruesome things came to my
mind. I could see the statue of Paul I in front of the palace. His clothes,
which were brought into his room after his assassination, remained there
undisturbed as on the day he left the palace. There was a belief that Paul’s
ghost walked at night about the vast rooms, corridors, and terraces. Others
even claimed that they had heard him calling in the tunnel, and some
servants were afraid to leave their rooms when the clock struck twelve
midnight. This palace was my Grandfather’s favorite residence.
In Tsarskoe Selo there was a tunnel or passage through one of the park
entrances. This entrance, with a stone structure over the gate, was carefully
watched, and was used by the workers—delivery men, repair men, cooks,
maids, gardeners and others. No one could enter this passage without
showing his or her pass and the picture on the pass had to correspond with
the one in the book which was at the disposal of the guard. When these
workers reached the inner end of the tunnel, they were in the English
basement of the palace where there were a number of rooms set aside for
their use. These included a lounge, dining rooms, etc. In another section of

the basement were rooms for the officers, including a dining room which
was below Mother’s bedroom. Five or six hundred workers used this tunnel
daily. It was one of the busiest and most widely used entrances. Practically
all these people using this gate had been known to the guards, inasmuch as
they had used this entrance for many years.
We heard that the soldiers were breaking into stores, getting drunk, and
even becoming intoxicated on wood alcohol. As a result, some were
poisoned and died. These deaths were blamed on the palace guard.
Mother was on duty with us children all night for several nights. Although
she made frequent changes, she appeared constantly in her nurse’s
uniforms. She rested on the sofa in order to be near us. The trials my
Mother endured during these turbulent days are beyond description. One of
the first things Mother did as a prisoner was to go through her personal
letters. She burned some of the intimate ones she had received from Father
during their courtship. Other letters which she destroyed were those from
her Granny, Queen Victoria. When Mother was a young bride, expecting
her first child, her Granny gave her useful advice. All letters written by the
Imperial family were almost always numbered and dated so that it was easy
to know whether any were missing. When the palace was searched by the
commissars appointed by the Provisional Government, they noticed the
paper ashes in the fireplace. They accused Mother of having burned
important evidence. She could not change their suspicion that she had
burned more than personal letters of sentiment. When she was through
burning them, she said; “All is dead—but not my memories. No one can
take them from me.” Then she buried her face in her hands, resting her arms
on the mantel of the fireplace where she had burned her Granny’s own
handwritten, cherished letters. She wept bitterly over the flame that carried
Queen Victoria’s precious words into smoke.
The authorities now read all the remaining letters of my Father and my
Mother. When they were unable to find anything detrimental with which
they could accuse them, they fabricated all kinds of lies in order to deceive
the general public. They even forged Mother’s handwriting and signature
and published all sorts of atrocious lies against my parents. Several of those
“letters” we saw later in Ekaterinburg; the handwriting was very much like
Mother’s. Mother was accused of pro-German sympathies and actually of
being a spy. What would it have mattered to the traitors if Mother had been

a spy? But she was not. It was purposely done with a view to putting the
blame on someone who would have produced the most damaging results to
the country. It was all a part of the traitors’ pattern of intrigue to wreck the
country and to weaken the Russian government, if necessary by revolution.
All these accusations were a betrayal and deceit. They sprang from the
rumor that Mother, with the help of her brother, was seeking a separate
peace with Germany. Mother was falsely accused, had absolutely nothing to
do with it. It was caused by the actions of Princess Maria Vasilchikova, of
whom I have written before, who also knew Uncle Ernest. She came from a
Russian family who were also friends of Aunt Ella. She had known Mother
for some ten years. She was a friend of the Imperial families of Austria and
Germany, and, just before the outbreak of war in 1914, she was in Austria.
Sometime in 1916, she had been persuaded by the Austrian and German
Governments to write letters to Mother in which she stressed that both
Governments had always been friendly with Russia, that they wished to
renew this friendship, but that they did not put much faith in the alliance
with England. Three or four such letters came to my family. These letters
were known to all the High Command, the secret police and to the Minister
of War. Father did not answer them. Both Governments, he said, should
have known better. Instead, they waged war rather than take Serbia to the
tribunal at the Hague.
Father was angered when he heard that Maria had been to see the Russian
prisoners of war in Germany, expecting that they would put pressure on
Father to agree to a truce. He had received information that these prisoners
were well cared for, but the subsequent report from the Red Cross proved
that was not true. In one of her letters Maria stated that, if the treaty were
not considered, all Russia would be endangered. Evidently Maria well knew
the aim of the enemy: fostering revolution. She also went to see Uncle
Ernest, and subsequently a letter came from her and Uncle Ernest,
addressed to Mother, sent by way of Sweden.
Mother was very angry and terribly upset about Maria and Uncle Ernest,
particularly that he would even think that Father might conclude such a
treaty. She said that she never wanted to see her brother again. She
answered this letter herself and emphasized that no separate peace treaty
would be signed with Germany. Because Mother sent this letter without
Father’s consent, he was greatly upset.

Then a letter from Wilhelm II came to Count Benckendorff asking him to
encourage Father to sign a separate treaty. Father said, let him write such
letters to all my Allies, but a separate German treaty with Russia only, will
never take place.
Still later a letter came from Petrograd from that same Maria, enclosing a
note from Uncle Ernest. She begged for an audience with my Mother, who
refused to grant her request but, instead, referred Maria’s letter to the proper
authorities. Her appearance in Petrograd stirred up considerable trouble
because it made people believe that she had been to see Mother. Then she
wrote to Aunt Ella and, when Aunt Ella did not answer, she went to see
Minister Sazonov. He, too, angrily said: “There will be no separate peace
with Germany.” All the letters were turned over to the secret police who
were especially furious at her saying that her estate in Austria would be
confiscated. At this, Mother remarked: “Why should Russia be held
responsible because Maria’s estate will be confiscated?” Father ordered that
Maria be sent to her sister’s estate. Father was very angry, saying “Wilhelm
must be mad.” How could anyone forget the actions of the German and
Austrian Emperors which brought on the war and resulted in the loss of
thousands of Russian lives, widespread suffering and enormous destruction
of property, especially in the Ukraine.
How absurd for anyone to think that Mother would spy for Germany. For
she had waited so long for a son to fulfill the need of the country when
Father’s time was to come. How could she betray anyone she loved dearly,
her husband, her son, or her adopted Mother Country! Anyone believing
such illogical and unintelligent propaganda was not a healthy thinker.
One day the commissars, in searching the palace again, discovered a secret
panel cupboard. No one knew how they discovered the secret door as it was
so well concealed in the wall. This secret closet contained a number of
Mother’s treasures of various kinds. There was a keepsake of no value, an
accordion-pleated fan which had upon it pictures of Mother and Father
when they were young. It had been presented to them on one of their visits
to France. From one angle, when you looked at it, there appeared a picture
of Mother; from another angle, it showed a picture of Father. At this time,
some others of Mother’s keepsakes were removed. One, especially
beautiful, was a fan with a tortoise shell handle, jewelled with emeralds; the

pleated lace was studded with tiny, double eagle, gold sequins. There were
many other items of great value.
As we lay in our darkened rooms trying to recuperate, we kept asking why
Father did not come. Five invalids at once! When Madame Lili Dehn, the
wife of Charles Dehn, the captain on our yacht and a friend since our
childhood, received the news of our illness, she left her little boy with a
nurse and rushed to help us, but the day of her arrival she became a prisoner
in the palace with the others. She brought us the news that shops had been
plundered, and that serious clashes had arisen between rebels and police.
Dr. Derevenko brought news that the Liteiny Arsenal in Petrograd was in
the hands of the rebels, that explosions in factories were taking place and
that soldiers had been deserting their posts in panic.
Princess Obolensky, Olga Butsova and Princess Dundakova, once ladies in
waiting, and the brother of Captain Charles Dehn likewise offered their
assistance, but were denied entry to the palace. Mother had so wished that
they could be with us, because they had always been faithful to us.
Countess Anastasia (Nastinka) Hendrikova, a lady in waiting, heard of our
illness and she left the Caucasus and came to Tsarskoe Selo to offer her
assistance.
To Mother’s distress she found that many of her servants had contracted the
flu as the epidemic swept the palace and some had run away in fear,
including Derevenko, the sailor, Alexei’s servant. He told the other
employees that he might prefer to serve the new regime; he was finally
arrested by order of the Provisional Government, which had found stolen
property on him.
We could hear the clashing of the mutineers, the screams and the shouts and
some shooting near the palace gate. Mother was shocked to find there were
so few soldiers on duty. She hurried to the phone to speak with the officer at
the main gate, but there was no answer. She phoned the other entrance and
the officer on duty informed her that many guards had deserted their posts,
only a few being left to guard the palace.
A cannon was brought into the courtyard in readiness, but Mother begged
the guards not to fire even one single bullet into the crowds. No matter what
the consequences, she wished no blood shed on account of her family.

Mother heard noises in the officers’ room below her bedroom. She went
down personally with Marie. She requested one of the officers to
accompany her to the section where the guards came in to warm
themselves. Mother ordered that hot tea should be served to them as often
as they came in, because the temperature had dropped to 18° below zero.
Dr. Botkin was announced and when he entered our rooms he looked pale
and distressed. He told Mother of a rumor that Father had been shot. But
Mother refused to believe this. With the world collapsing around her, she
crept back to her children. This good man, who was Mother’s personal
physician, offered to care for the five invalids. Because of the emergency he
even helped to change our garments, although there was a rule that no man
could render such assistance.
Some time after the New Year, the Grand Duke Paul, in spite of his failing
health, took command of the regiments in Tsarskoe Selo. This was most
encouraging to us. All became quiet for a short period. The Grand Duke
came to the palace and talked with Mother at some length. Marie heard
raised voices in the next room. The conversation was mostly about Anna
Vyrubova. The public objected to her staying in the palace. At this time her
parents, the Taneevs, came from Terijoki on the Gulf of Finland to be with
their daughter during her illness, as she demanded so much attention.
Everyone thought that Anna with her measles required more care than all
five of us put together. So her parents continued to stay with us until Anna
had recovered. This increased the public’s resentment.
We had known for a long time that an attempt had been made on Anna’s
life, in her own home, so, in order to prevent another crime, she had been
asked to stay with us. Mother became resentful toward the Grand Duke
Paul, who warned her that the palace would be stormed and that Anna
would be carried away dead. Mother indignantly said that it was no one’s
business whom she had in her home and that she had the right to keep
anybody she wished in the palace. Mother and the Grand Duke parted in hot
anger. It went on and on, so that this talk left Mother in an agitated mood.
Anna was told by the others of the unpleasantness Mother had on her
account with the Grand Duke Paul. Mother had suffered many such
experiences before, just because of her strong will; she always defended
this friend from jealous creatures. Several servants, because they so

despised Anna, later reported to the Provisional Government everything that
took place in the palace; they even told about the letters that Anna
suggested be burned. They were dismissed and, before their departure, they
asked to speak with Count Benckendorff. But this was denied them.
However, no one could convince Mother that Anna’s presence in our home
caused a great deal of trouble and, at the same time, endangered our lives.
Even after she had recovered from her illness, Anna continued to stay with
us.
When we were little girls, Mother resented Anna’s intrusions, but when
Anna confided in Mother that her parents were harsh to her, Mother felt
sorry and took the girl under her wing. Mother told Madame Zizi
Narishkina that she remembered how unpleasant her own life had been
when her own brother, Ernest, was first married. At the time, she could not
even speak to her brother and, in order to avoid conflict, with her new
sister-in-law, she spent her days in her rooms. Subsequently, Granny took
her to England.
Anna continued to come to the house on the pretense that her husband was
away. At the same time she was telling her husband that she was being
called for duty at the palace. When Mother found out that Anna
misrepresented the facts, she became so upset that it caused her first heart
attack. At the same time, Mother’s personal physician resigned his post
because he felt that the heart attacks would continue as long as Anna was
present. Mother never told us children about this, but we learned about it
from Madame Narishkina. However, to my Mother, no one could say one
word against Anna and many felt that she had some undue influence over
the Empress.
We sisters became aware of the general feeling of the greater danger we
were facing. So we displayed coolness toward Anna. That again displeased
Mother, and she insisted that we be friendlier to Anna. She reprimanded us
in spite of our weakened condition. She became angry with Olga and Marie,
and said, “I will not allow anyone to criticize my friend.” Olga however
said; “Anna, with her petty talks has made herself indispensable to you.”
This, though true, so agitated Mother that we were sorry Olga ever brought
the matter up. Even Dr. Botkin felt that, for the sake of the children, Anna
should be sent back to Terijoki in Finland.

Now all who entered the palace were searched, the women by a woman,
and the men by a guard.

XIII
ABDICATION

At Mogilev, Captain Nilov, Major General Prince Vasily Dolgorukov and
others with whom Father discussed the matter agreed that he should leave
immediately for the capital. He was then ready to grant the Constitution.
Mother also wired him to this effect. Soon afterwards a telegram was
received informing Father that the revolution in Petrograd had been
crushed. The news displeased General Ruzsky, who at that time was the
Commanding General of the Northern Front. He and others were afraid that
people would accuse the Duma and himself of treason, so they made one
last attempt to damage the standing of my Father. At the same time they
knew that our troops were strong, were well provided for, and eager for the
spring offensive, for the last surprise attack, which was to bring a complete
victory to our armies within three months.
Ruzsky disliked General Alexeiev and his son, and openly displayed hatred
for them both. He did everything to separate Father and General Alexeiev,
whom Father had known for some time and found most capable. General
Ruzsky also had an animosity toward Count Fredericks because he knew
that the old Count was suspicious of him. General Ruzsky wanted Father to
relieve the Baltic Baron from his post as Court Minister, saying that the
people resented anyone with a German name in a high position. When
Father took the Supreme Command of the Armies in the Field, the Count
had warned him that Ruzsky was a dangerous man and would inevitably
weaken Father’s position among the people. Granny too tried to discourage
Father and felt that Alicky (Mother) was responsible for this appointment.
But Father was determined to correct the inefficiency and raise the morale
of his army.
It had been reported the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was inclined to
favor one officer over another with resulting injustices. General Krymov
told Prince Dolgorukov at the time Father took the Supreme Command that
there was great rejoicing among the officers and soldiers. They knew that
from now on there would be no favoritism shown in the army. The effect of
this new spirit was shown in the victories that followed when thousands of
German and Austrian soldiers were captured, together with vast quantities

of ammunition. Every night thousands of the enemy soldiers escaped across
the border and sought sanctuary in Russia. The German High Command
indeed had a good reason for ordering Princess Vasilchikova to write
numerous letters suggesting a separate peace treaty.
Going back to General Ruzsky, the officers became suspicious of the old
General. Knowing that Father disliked gossip and accusations, they were so
secretly enraged with Ruzsky that they were ready to kill him. Later, Prince
Dolgorukov told us that Captain Nilov, at the time of Father’s abdication,
became so furious at Ruzsky’s attitude that he angrily struck the table with
his fist and declared; “His Majesty must not abdicate! He has the Army and
the peasants with him. Ruzsky will destroy the Empire and the Emperor, but
I will have the pleasure of killing him with my own hand.” However, the
rapid progress of the revolution deprived him of this privilege, and the
General’s life was spared by a narrow margin. Whoever would suspect that
this near-sighted man with thick glasses, this short, insignificant, old man
with a wrinkled face whose gray hair stood up like the bristle of a stiff
brush was capable of spying? Even his epaulets, his sloping shoulders, were
not commensurate with the military bearing one expected of a general. He
was well aware of the rapidly changing conditions in Petrograd. This was
the man of whom Father said; “I can never forgive Ruzsky because, as a
Russian general, he committed the most terrible crime against his country.”
During one of our visits to Mogilev, General Ruzsky was there. He acted
strangely toward Mother, trying to avoid her eyes. His nervousness
indicated that his conscience was bothering him.
About this time Father received a telegram from the Caucasus from the
Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich suggesting that Father abdicate. This
was a disheartening blow to Father. He knew however it was a deliberate
gesture of revenge, because Father had found it necessary to relieve the
Grand Duke from his supreme command in the field. At the same time,
Father had relieved Prince Orlov (Fat Orlov), who had held the position of
Director of Chancery, and had sent him to the Caucasus with the Grand
Duke. While Nicholai Nicholaevich was in Tiflis, he made a great
impression on the people with his enormous height and his thunderous
voice. His great physical strength and enthusiastic manner, as well as his
skilled horsemanship, added to his personal popularity.

Meanwhile General Ewers and General Ivanov were ready to send troops to
Petrograd to crush the riots. But Ruzsky wired Rodzianko, asking him to
take no action. (Rodzianko was related to Prince Youssoupoff by marriage.)
Still another blow Father received was that the Litovsky and Volinsky
regiments, constituted of recruits, had capitulated to the revolutionists. On
top of this, Father was misinformed that Mother had been killed and that the
children who had been ill were in grave danger!
About this time, Father still at G.H.Q., felt that there was still time to avert
the revolution if he could get support from the people of Petrograd who
would recognize that the coming spring offensive would defeat Germany.
He discussed this with his Chief of Staff, General Alexeiev, who had
confidence in the strength and loyalty of the Army. They decided that
Father should leave for the capital where he was to grant the Constitution.
But Ruzsky, Shulgin, and Guchkov prevented Father’s reaching the city on
time. Purposely, by direction of the Duma, the train was shunted back and
forth until the revolution had taken a stronger root and the abdication,
which Father had so stubbornly resisted all night long, was finally forced
upon him.
Before Father left G.H.Q., he wired to General Khabalov in Petrograd that
riots during the war were not tolerable, and must be crushed at once. But
the General wired back that it was all too late; that his barracks were
already deserted, and that the two companies of Life Guards, commanded
by my paternal cousin, the Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich, had marched
through the city, led by the Grand Duke himself with a red band on his arm
and a rosette on his chest. This act alone gave untold encouragement to the
revolutionists. Cyril thought that this was the opportune moment for him,
with the help of various members of the Imperial family, to seize the
Crown.
At this time the Grand Duke Michael (Uncle Misha) who was being held at
the Tauride Palace (the Duma), knew what Cyril was trying to do and
refused to see him. Uncle Misha had been called from Gatchina to discuss
the possibility of becoming Regent. The problem was complicated by the
poor physical condition of the Tsarevich who, Uncle Michael felt, could not
assume the heavy burden of rule in view of the condition the country was in
and in view of his lack of experience.

Meanwhile Cyril Vladimirovich was seeking to establish good relations
with the newly-formed government. But, even now, Rodzianko had begun
to doubt the Vladimir family. All this was told to Mother by the Grand
Duke Paul Alexandrovich himself.
Cyril proceeded to the Duma and handed over the troops under his
command to the new regime. This was a deliberate revenge against my
Mother. Previous to this, Cyril and his German mother, Marie Pavlovna, the
elder (née Duchess of Mecklenburg), the widow of the Grand Duke
Vladimir, Father’s deceased uncle, had often spoken admiringly of
Bismarck, who had once been German Ambassador to Russia. They had
also praised Kaiser Wilhelm, in spite of the fact that the countries were at
war. The Grand Duchess had made no secret of her sympathies. She and her
son had given huge parties to which they had asked many influential
friends. We heard that among them were General Ruzsky, Princess
Radziwill and Sir George Buchanan, the British Ambassador. We heard also
that they also entertained many revolutionists and German agents who no
doubt gained much valuable information as they mingled with other guests.
Father received this report after our arrest in Tsarskoe Selo. The invitations
to these parties were most extravagant. The double eagle and the crown
were embossed in different shades of green, yellow, and blue with real gold
sheets or red and blue enamel, pressed into the finest grade of paper.
This attractive plotter, Marie Pavlovna (the elder) was a charming
personality and an excellent conversationalist. She did everything in her
power to tarnish the names of my Father and Mother. Her son Cyril had
married the Princess Victoria Melita of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha,
granddaughter of Queen Victoria and divorced wife of Mother’s only
brother, the Grand Duke Ernest of Hesse, who was a grandson of Queen
Victoria.
Mother had had a sad experience when Victoria became Ernest’s wife,
because of Victoria’s jealous disposition. At the time Mother had had no
choice but to live in the same home with the unhappy couple. Fortunately,
the benevolent Granny, Queen Victoria, soon took Mother to England.
Then, when there was no sister-in-law to pick at, Victoria made Uncle
Ernest’s life miserable, and their marriage ended in divorce several years
later. Subsequently, Victoria married Cyril, and they were banished from
Russia, but had returned just before the outbreak of World War I. Cyril

expressed malicious joy when four daughters in succession were born to the
Imperial couple; and later, when it became known that the new heir to the
throne, Alexei, was afflicted with haemophilia—which might kill him early
in life—Cyril had felt that the throne was already within his grasp. This was
especially true when Uncle Michael was banished from Russia, after having
married a divorcée. Now Cyril’s hopes for the Crown were redoubled and
his mother held, practically, a court of her own. But these relatives of ours
lived long enough to see the catastrophe in which they plunged their
country.
When the secret of Alexei’s haemophilia had been learned by Cyril’s
mother, she suddenly, after more than thirty years of indecision, decided to
adopt the Russian orthodox religion in order to strengthen her son’s
potentials for eligibility for the throne. Such maneuvering was entirely in
vain, inasmuch as the church would never have accepted, let alone
crowned, as Tsar a man whose wife’s first husband was still alive. This
same factor of marriage to a divorced woman also affected the eligibility of
Uncle Michael to succession.
Now at last Mother agreed to the suggestion of men who had stood by her
during the trying times: General von Grooten, Prince Putiatin, and her
secretary, Count Apraxin, who came by foot from Petrograd in the winter
cold solely to tell Mother that Father was to arrive the next morning; also
Count Adam Zamoyski, A.D.C., and General Dobrovolsky. Their
suggestion was that she visit the troops assembled in the courtyard. Mother
and Marie, accompanied by Count Benckendorff and Count Apraxin,
greeted and thanked them for their kind services. At this time Mother could
see no noticeable difference in the men’s behavior. Count Apraxin was a
devoted friend of my parents and loyal to the end. He was deeply religious,
encouraged culture and the arts, and had a knowledge of conditions in the
country.
Before the abdication, an ukase was signed by Father dismissing the old
Cabinet and appointing Prince George Lvov as Prime Minister. By it the
Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was to resume his former position as
Commander-in-Chief of the Army. In spite of Prince Lvov’s protest, all the
old Ministers were arrested by the Provisional Cabinet, then still under his
direction. The pressure came from Kerensky, Shulgin and Guchkov, the

latter a bitter enemy of Mother’s. He was, it was said, influenced by traitors
from abroad.
There now was an epidemic of measles, flu and pneumonia in the palace.
Twice a day additional doctors were permitted to attend all who were ill,
officers of the guard standing behind them during all examinations. It was
embarrassing to the patients to have these strange men in their bedrooms.
Count Benckendorff spoke to the commissar, asking that the guards remain
in the hall. No extra nurses were permitted to help care for the sick.
We heard that Countess Fredericks had contracted pneumonia and been
taken to the English Hospital, then under supervision of Lady Georgina
Buchanan. But the Ambassador, Sir George Buchanan, ordered that she be
removed at once. He expressed himself as being averse to helping any one
of the old regime, because he believed in the new social order. In the midst
of bitter cold, they carried her out on the street, but a good Samaritan gave
her refuge. Her crippled daughter, Emma, our friend, was taken before the
Duma, where her jewels were confiscated. The rebels wanted to arrest the
old Count but not finding him at home they set his house on fire, destroying
not only his residence but his valuable family art collection as well. Strange
to say, we knew that Sir George liked us personally and also enjoyed his life
and women in Russia. He had known Mother and Uncle Ernest for a long
time. He had been in our house many times enjoying meals with us, and
often came to see the newsreels of the war which were shown in our palace.
This middle aged Ambassador was admired by many women and through
them he gained popularity in Petrograd. It was said that he accepted
hospitality from the highest to the lowest women of all kinds of character
and position. At the end he became hated by the jealous husbands who were
at the war. Later he regretted his mistakes and praised Father’s loyalty to his
Allies.
Father was disturbed when he heard that Sir George said he would not care
if Germany would invade his own country, England. Especially when Sir
George helped to spread untrue stories about Mother, which disturbed
Princess Victoria of Battenberg, Mother’s older sister, who wrote Mother an
upsetting letter. Father requested the Grand Marshal of the Court, Count
Benckendorff to write King George to recall Sir George from his post. At
the same time Father ordered Peter Bark to withdraw all his personal money

from the banks in England; the rapid progress of the revolution made the
withdrawal impossible.
In contrast, Sir George’s wife, Lady Georgina, was most energetic in the
war work, and Father presented her with the Order of St. Catherine. She
supervised a sewing group at the Embassy, also the Anglo-Russian hospital
on the Nevsky Prospect, and was the head of the British convalescent home.
The Provisional Government sent General von Grooten, Commandant of
Tsarskoe Selo, to prison. It also placed under arrest Colonel Girardi, Chief
of Police, General Resin, once the Commandant of the Combined
Regiments, and Prince Putiatin. Mother sent A.D.C. Captain Linevich, one
of Father’s closest friends, to negotiate with Rodzianko but we never saw
him again. He too was arrested. About this time we were told to have our
bags ready to leave Russia at a moment’s notice. Our suitcases and our
trunks were brought from the storerooms and were placed upstairs in two
rooms. Mother, when free from nursing duties, selected the most important
articles to be packed. But everything that went into these trunks later was
checked by the new masters.
We heard that two revolutionary divisions were marching toward Tsarskoe
Selo with tanks and armored cars, to storm the palace, but the harsh wintry
weather prevented them from reaching the village. One night, soon
afterwards, all the lights went out for about twenty minutes. The courtyard,
the park, the gates, everything was dark. Then our water supply was cut off,
but fortunately it was soon restored. Also the lift at the end of the hall was
put out of commission and Mother had to be carried to the second floor. All
these events kept us in a continual state of apprehension, and we became
frightened, thinking that the rebels were trying to get into the grounds.
Later we were told that on this dark night, the rebels had attempted to
remove Rasputin’s body from the grave, by order of the Provisional
Government. Not knowing the exact location, they dug up the body of our
old butler, who had died about the same time as Rasputin, and burned his
remains in the Pergolovo forest. It was this faithful butler who carried my
great-grandfather, Alexander II, into the Winter Palace the day he was
killed. Since then he had continued as a family butler until, years before,
illness overtook him, after which time he was cared for by the family.

The rumor which said that Mother had ordered Rasputin’s body to be buried
in the park in Tsarskoe Selo was not true. She had nothing to do with his
burial, although she had sent a message suggesting that his body should be
shipped to his family in Siberia. It was Anna Vyrubova’s desire to have this
man buried on the property she owned on the other side of the Alexander
Park gate and the Alexandrovka village, near the woods on the high road to
Viborg. Anna believed that he had saved her life and she paid the expenses
of the funeral, which was officiated over by Father Vassiliev. The gossip
continued that we had signed an icon especially to be placed in Rasputin’s
coffin. It was true that shortly before his death we had signed an icon which
was for the coffin of one of our tutor’s sons who had been killed. But as
Father had already sent one for the tutor’s son’s coffin, the other icon that
had been signed was placed in the butler’s coffin.
The first unfounded rumors about Rasputin started a long way back. There
was a foreign representative who antagonized the Christians in Persia. My
Father—defender of Christianity—was informed about this man’s malicious
actions and used his influence to have this instigator removed from his
diplomatic post in Persia. Since then this man was looking for an
opportunity to strike back at the Imperial Family. With the help of a
collaborator he wrote a book most insinuating in its nature and based on
malicious lies. The collaborator demanded $60,000 from my Mother to
prevent the publication of this slanderous book, but Mother ignored this
threat, and refused to be blackmailed, for there was absolutely no truth in
their accusation. During the war the contents of this book was circulated
throughout Russia, thus poisoning the minds of the people against my
Mother. With their first venture a success, they now started a vicious
campaign against Father by picturing him as weak, irresponsible and
incapable of holding the Crown, and by so doing they rendered the
Bolsheviks a most useful service. Yet none of these instigators knew Father
personally for they had never had an opportunity to set foot inside the
village of Tsarskoe Selo.
One afternoon at home the mutineers insisted on seeing Mother and Alexei,
because of a rumor that Alexei had died or escaped. Mother, accompanied
by Count Benckendorff and Marie, went out on the balcony. In a voice,
clear but weak, she said; “I hear you want to see me and my son, but why?
My son is critically ill, and he must not expose himself to cold. To see him

is impossible at this time. For myself I am only a mother who is nursing her
sick children.” They left without a single word. That same unlucky evening,
March 13th, Marie became ill and was taken into the sick room with a high
temperature. With the help of Baroness Buxhoeveden, Madame Dehn, Dr.
Botkin, and several nurses and maids, Mother managed to take care of all
the invalids.
In the midst of this confusion, word reached Mother of Father’s abdication.
Then later in the same afternoon the Grand Duke Paul returned, with a
bulletin announcing Father’s abdication. He expressed sympathy for our
plight and suggested that we leave Russia as soon as possible. Mother burst
into tears saying, “Russia is lost; Russia was betrayed.” Mother could not
bear to convey this news to Alexei, and asked M. Gilliard to do so. Alexei’s
reaction was to say; “How can that be? Father promised Alexander III that
Russia would always remain an autocracy, and Father had to swear to
uphold this type of rule.” It did not occur to him that Father no longer was
the Emperor and that he himself no longer was the Tsarevich. He was
thinking only of the life of Russia. With all his troubles, he never thought
selfishly of himself. To us sisters, Mother with quivering lips gave details of
the recent happenings. Soon afterwards, boxes containing Father’s various
documents, including the abdication papers and the speech he had delivered
to his beloved army, arrived at the palace.
We knew that Mother had been tortured with the thought that Father had
been shot; now we learned that Father too had been tormented with the
rumor that she had been murdered. But soon we heard that Father was on
his way to Petrograd; that when he was about to leave, Shulgin and
Guchkov arrived in Mogilev. Father was surprised when he saw how
Ruzsky received these men with the warmest greetings. Father knew then
that they were bosom friends and that Ruzsky was a spy.
Six men were responsible for the delay which prevented Father’s train from
reaching the capital. The train was delayed by the railway officials on
orders from the Duma, in order to give the revolution a chance to become
solidified. Kerensky worked from Petrograd; Guchkov, Kalenin,
Gribushchin and Shulgin were on the train with Father; and at the other end
was General Ruzsky, Commander of the Northern Front, located in Pskov.
When Mother heard this, she said; “I urged Father to close the Duma long
ago. Before Papa left for G.H.Q., he was discouraged with the Duma and

left a signed order with the Premier, Prince Golitsyn, to dissolve it at once,
but the Premier failed to carry out his orders.”
Immediately after Father’s abdication, two of his close friends came to see
him. One was General Count Keller and the other was General Khan of
Nakhichevan. Both were Generals of the Guard and had known Father for
many years. They asked Father’s permission to send their troops to
Petrograd to suppress the revolution. Father was in favor of this, but since
he was no longer in power, he suggested that they make this proposal to the
Provisional Government. No doubt General Ruzsky received the offer of
these two generals, but purposely tabled their suggestion.
From Pskov Father’s train went back to Mogilev to enable him to take leave
of his beloved Army. Here once more General Count Keller came to see
Father. He kissed his hand, saying; “Your Majesty, I would rather be dead,
before I would serve any other government.” Later, I heard, he shot himself
or was shot.
In Mogilev, General Alexeiev, Father’s trusted friend, now made known
that Father was a prisoner. Present were a number of generals and the
committee of the newly formed government, and several grand dukes,
including Boris Vladimirovich, Cyril’s brother, who wanted to see Father,
but General Voyeykov said that the Emperor could not see him.
Soon after Father’s farewell speech to the Army, the General Staff took the
loyalty pledge to the Provisional Government, which then ordered that
Father’s initials be removed from their epaulets, but these men refused to
remove them, saying that they would kill the traitors before they would do
such a thing. And Father said, “Now, it is too late.”
Prince Dolgorukov later related to us that Father’s tears were streaming
down his face and that he turned away from the window of his study which
was facing the parade ground. He could not see this painful performance
inflicted upon his beloved Army. Before he left G.H.Q., he received the
news that Granny was on her way to Mogilev. He dreaded a meeting with
her, as she usually distressed him so much that he found her harder to
handle than all of his ministers put together. He saw her on the train; she
blessed him and they parted forever.

Later after several days aboard the train, Father finally reached Tsarskoe
Selo, on March 9/22, 1917, at 11:30 A.M. Here at the pavilion (station)
many of Father’s lifelong friends his trusted officers and his favorite aides-
de-camp, who had come on the train with him, departed in an effort to save
their own lives. It was said, though no one ever will know whether this
really was true, that on the train that same morning before they reached
Tsarskoe Selo they were told that if they stayed with Father they would be
shot. “They deserted me in my saddest hour,” said Father. Among those of
whom he spoke were Cyril Narishkin, chief of his mobile secretariat, the
son of our dear Zizi Narishkina, the Mistress of the Robes; and also Count
Grabbe, an A.D.C., whom we had known since our childhood. I remember
when he accompanied us sisters on long walks on the shore in the Crimea
and the time when I, in mischievous play, poured sand down his neck.
Others who deserted Father were a Duke of Leuchtenberg and our friend
A.D.C. Mordvinov whose daughter I knew and liked, and Sablin, whom we
children loved like one of our own, once a lieutenant on the “Standard.” All
of them had been close associates and friends. Captain Drenteln, a most
beloved friend and a member of a battalion of Father’s own Preobrazhensky
regiment, also disappeared.
Father came directly upstairs to Mother. He found Marie and myself
desperately ill; I was only partly conscious. At first I thought that I dreamed
of his being home. A few days later I realized how bad he looked. He was
thin and his eyes were sad. His left shoulder shook nervously, much more
than before. Only later Prince Dolgorukov told us of the unpleasant
experience Father had upon his arrival at Tsarskoe Selo. Father had left the
pavilion (station) and had received a shock upon seeing that his chauffeur
was already dressed in civilian clothes. An even greater shock awaited him:
although all the guards on duty, both at the outside gate and at the Palace
entry, had been informed of the exact hour for the arrival of the Emperor,
they showed their newly-acquired importance by asking the chauffeur over
the phone for the identity of the occupants of the car. Both times the
chauffeur replied, “It’s His Majesty.” With deliberateness, they replied, “Let
Nicholai Alexandrovich pass through.” Father was very angry at this curt
treatment and was surprised to see the antechamber packed with people,
only a few of whom he knew. He passed by without saying a word. When
Mother heard of his arrival, she ran breathlessly down the stairs and the full

length of the long corridor and fell sobbing into his arms. Both of them
came directly upstairs.
We were told that the same afternoon several men from the Provisional
Government appeared to question Father at length.
At this time these terrible men ordered the staff wearing Father’s badges on
their shoulders to have them removed, without Father’s consent, and to
have Father and the family placed under arrest. Now Mordvinov wanted to
come to the palace, but the Government forbade it.
Father brought home copies of his abdication and his farewell speech to the
Army. We were able to learn more about the abdication which had taken
place at 3:00 P.M. on March 2/15, 1917, in the study of his private train at
the railroad station in Pskov. Later after talking with Dr. Fedorov, Alexei’s
physician, Father abdicated also on behalf of the Tsarevich in favor of his
brother Michael, although Father knew that the Holy Synod of the Russian
Church would not recognize Michael as Heir to the Throne. But he did so,
in order to avoid a bloody revolution. We were also told by those who had
been with Father on the train, that General Ruzsky threatened Father, saying
“If the Emperor will not sign it now, I would hate to say what may happen
to his family.” With swimming eyes we read the touching words in which
he asked his people to uphold the Provisional Government and to try to be
loyal to it. Following is my Father’s farewell address.
Leave of the Army
I address you for the last time, soldiers so dear to my heart.
Since I have renounced in my name, and that of my son, the
Throne of Russia, the powers I exercised have been transmitted
to the Provisional Government which has been formed on the
initiative of the Imperial Duma.
May God help it lead Russia on the path of glory and prosperity.
May God bless you also, glorious soldiers, to defend our native
land against a cruel enemy. For two and a half years you have in
every hour undergone the fatigues and strain of a wearing
campaign, much blood has been spilt, great efforts have been
crowned with success, and already the hour is at hand when

Russia with her splendid allies will finally crush by one joint
and daring effort the last resistance of the enemy.
A war such as this, unknown in history, must be continued to the
final and definite victory. Whoever dreams of peace or desires it
—at this moment—is a traitor to his country and yields it to the
enemy.
Carry out your duty, protect our beloved and glorious country,
submit yourselves to the Provisional Government, render
obedience to your chiefs, and remember that any slackness in
your service means a gain to your enemies.
With the firm conviction that the boundless love that you have
for our great country will ever remain in your hearts,
I pray that God may bless you, and that St. George the Great
Martyr may lead you to victory.
(Signed) Nicholas
(Countersigned) Alexeiev, C.G.S.
Father’s speech was a heavy blow to his men; they were stunned from the
shock. One of his personal guards had a heart attack while Father was
speaking. Father urged the troops to continue the war, at any price, until
victory was complete. The hour was at hand, he said, when Russia would
finally crush the last resistance of the enemy. But this resistance did not
materialize, nor, in fact, did the Emperor’s own planned powerful attack.
Some people of the upper classes in Petrograd failed to support him in
regard to this final blow against the enemy, designed to win the war within
three months, as Father had promised in his last speech before the Duma in
Petrograd a short while before. It was not Father’s war, but the war of the
nation. When Uncle Michael came to urge Father to return immediately to
G.H.Q., he found Father on the verge of departure, despite the serious
condition of Alexei.
The current malicious gossip was more important to the political leaders
than was the destiny of their country. These same leaders afterwards
criticized Father, saying that because he loved his family so much, fear of
having his family killed caused him to abdicate. The killing of his family
would not have solved the problem, which would have been solved easily

by the leaders themselves had they not supported the traitors and not spread
unfounded lies, especially about my Father, whose men were shedding their
blood at the front. If I may ask, in what had we children sinned before our
people that we should have to give up our lives—we children who, from the
oldest to the youngest, denied ourselves all amusement and devoted our
energy to the war effort? Should we children have had to pay the penalty of
death? Why did not those busy conspirators take their weapons and go to
fight the common enemy?
They could not say anything against my older sisters, upon whom they had
never had an opportunity to lay their eyes. What they said about me,
because of my innocent jokes and pranks, I have never given a rap about.
When Dr. Botkin read Father’s last addresses, his eyes moistened and he
added, “Only His Imperial Majesty could speak such deep words.” Father
repeated the words of Tsar Nicholas I: “Gde raz podniat Russkii flag, on
uzhe spuskatsia ne dolzhen.” (Where once the Russian flag is raised, it shall
never be lowered.)
Little by little we received more details. At first Father abdicated in favor of
Alexei, with Uncle Michael as Regent. But after consulting Dr. Fedorov
about his son’s delicate health, Father abdicated also for Alexei in favor of
his brother Michael, who was called in from Gatchina to Petrograd, to
accept first the Regency, and then the Throne. To Father’s intense
disappointment Uncle Misha, after accepting, soon abdicated because of
pressure by the Provisional Government, in whose hands the nation’s fate
then rested. This new government placed under arrest many ministers and
high officials, because they refused to sign the loyalty pledge to the
Provisional Government. What was happening in Petrograd at this time
Father did not know until he reached home.
General Ruzsky and others, in order to hide their crime, spread the most
heartless rumor that Father had been drinking wine before his abdication.
However, Father was not alone during this painful ordeal. With him on the
train was his friend, the Minister of the Household of the Court, Prince
Vasily Dolgorukov; Flag Captain Nilov, A.D.C.; General Voyeykov, Chief
of Administration of the Palaces in Tsarskoe Selo; Count Vladimir
Fredericks, Father’s Chamberlain; and the latter’s assistant, General
Mossolov. Others present on the train were A.D.C. Count Grabbe,

Commandant of an Escort; A.D.C. Captain Drenteln; A.D.C. Cyril
Narishkin, head of the Chancery; Colonel Mordvinov and General
Dubensky. The Provisional Government was represented by Kerensky’s
friend, Vershchinin, and others.
Prince Dolgorukov spoke to us of this merciless rumor, saying that Father at
the time drank only tea and paced back and forth in his study. Father’s valet
and his butler, after reading this lie, saw Count Benckendorff and in tears
said that those who spread such a lie had committed a great sin toward their
Emperor. It was also said that during the last night on the train Father sat up
all night in his study. At midnight one of the engineer officers, who
previously had conducted many trips during Father’s travels, asked to see
Father and was received. He sank to his knees, kissed Father’s hand and
tearfully said, “Your Majesty, I will never serve these bandits. It is the end
of my life.” After the train reached the pavilion in Tsarskoe Selo and just as
Father was getting into his automobile and as the standing officers were
saluting Father for the last time, a shot was heard and the engineer officer
fell dead.

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.

THE DOWAGER EMPRESS MARIE FEODOROVNA—1914

THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS II

THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA

THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI—MOGILEV—1916

THE GRAND DUKE MICHAEL ALEXANDROVICH

THE GRAND DUCHESS
ELIZABETH FEODOROVNA

THE GRAND DUCHESSES ANASTASIA,
MARIE AND TATIANA—TSARSKOE SELO—
1917

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

THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI AND HIS SISTERS, THE
GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA, ANASTASIA AND TATIANA
—TSARSKOE SELO—1917

THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE, OLGA, ANASTASIA AND
TATIANA—TSARSKOE SELO—1917

Courtesy The P. B. Corporation
VIEW OF CITY OF TOBOLSK FROM A HILL

Courtesy The P. B. Corporation
VIEW OF CITY OF TOBOLSK

IPATIEV HOUSE, EKATERINBURG—1918

THE DEATH CHAMBER, IPATIEV HOUSE—EKATERINBURG—1918

THE HANDKERCHIEF TAKEN BY THE
GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA FROM
EKATERINBURG TO BUKOVINA

THE
PIECE OF
GLASS
FOUND
IMBEDDE
D IN THE
FLESH
OF THE
GRAND
DUCHESS
ANASTAS
IA
SUBSEQU
ENT TO
THE
TRAGED
Y

MAP OF EKATERINBURG AND
VICINITY—ca. 1918

THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE AND
ANASTASIA—SPALA—1912

THE GRAND DUCHESS
ANASTASIA—
WISCONSIN—WINTER
1934-35

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

THE GRAND
DUCHESS
ANASTASIA—
ILLINOIS—ca. 1960

THE GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA, TATIANA,
ANASTASIA AND MARIE—TSARSKOE SELO—1917

Photograph by Robert E. B.
Speller, Jr.
THE GRAND DUCHESS
ANASTASIA—RHODE ISLAND
—1963

THE GRAND DUCHESS
ANASTASIA—RUMANIA—
ca. 1929

THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA—WISCONSIN—ca. 1934

THE GRAND DUCHESS
ANASTASIA WITH MARJORIE
HANSON, GRANDDAUGHTER OF
MRS. WILLIAM H. EMERY—
WISCONSIN—ca. 1944

Photograph by Robert E. B.
Speller, Jr.
THE GRAND DUCHESS
ANASTASIA—ILLINOIS—
1963
The Alexander house for the poor and other civic institutions were built in
their entirety from funds of Alexander III. Some of our friends had some
industries in these regions, namely Count Vorontsov-Dashkov, Countess
Stenbock-Fermor, General Tatishchev, Prince Dolgorukov, Count Ignatiev,
Prince Demidov, Baroness Meller-Zakomelsky, Count Muraviev-Amursky,
Count Stroganov, and others. All these names were familiar to us. General
Count Tatishchev, who was with us on the train, gave us many historical
facts about Ekaterinburg. His ancestors had built this city in honor of the
Empress Catherine the Great.
Ekaterinburg is the junction of various railroads, connecting the Siberian
main line via Perm with Tiumen and Cheliabinsk and other side lines. On
Father’s wedding date November 14th, 1894, old style, a library and free
reading room was given by him; and every year thereafter, whole sets of
books were sent to Cheliabinsk on this day. He described to us the tea

packaging business at Kiakhta in the Transbaikal, from where many of our
grey horses came.
On the way to Tiumen we saw feeding stations, medical shelters and
railroad car churches and portable schools. They were built for the
convenience of the settlers. Practically in every city was a school or a
hospital built from the funds of my Grandfather.
We kept climbing higher and in the morning we stopped near the town of
Bazhenovo. Some peasants who saw us wanted to come close to us, but
were sent back by the guards. They told the men that the distilleries, which
had been closed during the war, were reopened and the people were
becoming intoxicated on the spirits and wines produced there. They also
said that the emerald mines already had been closed and that the workers
were spending their time in the wine cellars getting drunk.
On the fourth midnight our train arrived in Tiumen where we were to take a
boat to Tobolsk. While our trunks and other heavy boxes were being loaded
on the boat, we walked for several hours through the dimly-lighted street
near the dock in the cool Siberian air and crossed the three railroad tracks to
the boat. In the distance and around the bend of the river we could see the
flickering lights of the city of Tiumen.
We boarded the small, two-decker steamer “Rossia.” Father and his friends
stayed on the deck until morning. We sisters got up early to get a view of
the city in the distance, but the boat was already on its way, escorted by two
smaller vessels, “Kormilets” and “Sibiriak.” We passed many small rivers,
and swamps and lakes, parts of which were covered with reeds and millions
of red flowers. Mother called them saltwort. We saw some red foxes and
white partridges, and on a swamp there was a singing swan. We saw many
beautiful birds, some familiar to us and some not.
Father said Godunov, Volynsky and Prince Bariatinsky contributed a great
deal to the progress of Tiumen. Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich founded Tiumen
in 1664 and visited this frozen land himself. Alexander II constructed
hospitals and later Father sponsored shelters, feeding places and medical
centers for the exiles on their way to the settlements.
Speaking of exiles in Siberia, the first exiles to Tobolsk Government began
at the time of the murder of Tsarevich Dimitri in 1591. Two Romanov

brothers, Ivan and Vasili Nikitich Yuriev-Zakharin, and Prince Beloselsky
were banished in 1601 by Tsar Boris Godunov. Later even Sheremetiev and
Prince Dolgorukov were exiled to Tiumen and Tobolsk. The descendants of
those old families were close friends. Another coincidence: the first
Romanov was to visit Siberia and the last Romanov was to die in Siberia.
The people believed that Ivan the Terrible was responsible for the
establishment of the prisons here. However, vicious propaganda tried to
make the people believe that it was Father who had established these prison
camps. This was nothing more than an unadulterated Bolshevik lie.
In the late afternoon we came to the juncture of the Tobol and the Tura
Rivers. We passed the village of Pokrovskoe where on a high bank
overlooking the Tobol stood Rasputin’s house. Soon the Irtysh River met
the Tobol, and we continued on the Irtysh, which by now had become
wider. On the second day, late in the afternoon we arrived in front of
Tobolsk. This city seemed to be built on two levels of a hill, one above the
other. Near the upper level of the town was a stone wall. We were told that
this wall was a fortress and was built in the 16th century in order to protect
the new colonies from invasion by plundering Kirghiz, Kazak and Kalmuk
tribes. There were lots of people at the wharf; apparently they had heard of
our coming. Dr. Botkin, Colonel Kobylinsky and Commissar Makarov went
to see the Governor’s house, where we were to stay, and they found that the
house was being redecorated and was not yet ready for occupancy, so we
continued to live on the boat for a number of days. They also found that the
furniture was inadequate and the beds were not suitable for our parents.
They took it upon themselves to find beds. Later Makarov purchased even a
piano, using a part of his own money for this purpose.
During the day the steamer made little trips on the river. Several times we
went ashore for a walk and once to the monastery of Abalak, around the
bend where the Irtysh and the Tobol Rivers met.
A carriage from the monastery was provided for Mother’s use, but the rest
of us preferred to walk the narrow road up the hill, under a strong guard.
The monastery stood amidst lovely grounds on a hill not far from the
landing place. There were people on one side at the monastery church, who
began to cry when they saw us. We prayed before the miraculous Image of
the Holy Virgin with her hands raised from her elbows and the Christ Child
resting in the folds of her robe. Her headgear was studded with pearls.

This Image of the Holy Virgin later was brought to Tobolsk. Peace and
contentment we found in our undisturbed prayers, in this Holy sanctuary.
Our hearts were strengthened, and it gave us a new hope and courage. The
iconostas, with many Byzantine icons, was much more beautiful than the
one in Tsarskoe Selo. We had often heard of this monastery and now we had
the opportunity to see it. We were grateful to Colonel Kobylinsky and
Commissar Makarov for allowing us this kind of privilege. We never forgot
this gracious gesture.
At night the boat anchored in the middle of the river in front of Tobolsk.
At last the house was ready. Mother, Alexei and Marie were driven to the
house, while Father and the rest of us walked along the Tulyatskaya street
to the house. I think that was the street leading from the dock. Later, Marie
told us that, when Mother passed near the Lutheran church, her eyes filled
with tears. She said: “It reminds me of the day after your Grandfather’s
death. I was baptised in the old chapel in Oreanda in the Crimea.” It was the
day she was converted to the Russian Orthodox Church and given the name
of Alexandra Feodorovna with the title of Grand Duchess of Russia and the
style of Her Imperial Highness.

PART IV
Tobolsk
XVIII
ORIENTATION
I had pictured the house in the midst of woods, but when I saw it
surrounded by a high wooden fence still being erected, it gave me a feeling
of loneliness and fear. When we crossed the noisy, wornout wooden
sidewalk and the gate closed behind us, we were prisoners. Paradoxically
the name of the street was Svoboda (Freedom).
With us came the following: Our faithful friend General Ilia Tatishchev,
General Valia Dolgorukov, Dr. Eugene Botkin, M. Pierre Gilliard, Countess
Anastasia Hendrikova and Mlle. Ekaterina Schneider; also Miss Alexandra
Tegleva, a nurse and her assistant, Elizabeth Ersberg, and the
chambermaids, Miss Tutelberg and Anna Demidova; Father’s servant,
Terenty Chemodurov; Mother’s servant, Alexei Volkov; and Ivan Sidniev,
the servant of us four sisters. Also there were our brother’s personal
attendants, Trup, Ivanov and Markov, and his male nurse, Klementy
Nagorny; a writer, a hairdresser; several cooks including Kharitonov and his
helper, Leonid Sidniev; and other help. About forty people came with us.
Later came Mr. Sidney Gibbs, our English tutor, and Dr. Derevenko, who
were permitted to join us and resume their duties. Still later Baroness
Buxhoeveden, a lady in waiting, followed, joining us on the boat on the day
we were leaving for Ekaterinburg. This does not include the military
personnel, which numbered about 300-400.
The house itself was quite nice. Our quarters on the second floor were
smaller and more crowded than those we were accustomed to. We occupied
three bedrooms: one for my parents, one for Alexei, and the other for us
four girls. On this floor there was a big hall with a piano and a comfortable
divan, tables and other pieces of furniture. Next to Alexei’s room was a
room for his male nurse. Father’s study was in a corner room at the head of
the stairway. We also had a balcony which we found extremely pleasant

when the sun was out. From it Mother watched us when we went for a walk
in the small yard. Often we went out on the balcony to see the sunset and
the view of the cathedral and the low mountains in the background. It was
beautiful; the sun seemed so much brighter than in Petrograd or Tsarskoe
Selo.
The arrangements of the first floor were the same as on the second. The
rooms opened on both sides of a long corridor which ran from the front to
the back of the house. The closest room to the vestibule was occupied by an
orderly officer on duty. M. Gilliard’s room and the dining room were on this
floor, as were the remaining quarters used by our household. But later the
larger rooms had to be divided by partitions to make two rooms out of one,
in order to accommodate everyone possible. Almost all the rooms had
parquet floors, and on the second floor we had some of our fine Persian
scatter rugs and others, all sent to us from Tsarskoe Selo by Makarov. Most
of the remainder of the staff was housed across the street in the large
residence which belonged to a rich merchant named Kornilov. Extra maids
had accommodations in town.
Our walks were not exciting, because of the limited space, which consisted
of a small garden, where there were some Siberian irises, and a part of the
street and a part of a square joined to the garden by a high wooden fence.
This space was always guarded by a dozen or more soldiers on the outside
and by that many more inside. In the back of the house there were the
temporary barracks built to accommodate the guards. From here they could
observe all our activities. We played ball or tug of war among ourselves;
and occasionally other games with the guards. Father was always present at
these games.
We began to feel almost natural in our prison house. The small quarters
took the form of a home and we settled down into a peaceful routine. From
the absence of shooting and rioting, it was evident the revolution had not
reached this part of the country. In fact, everything was so quiet it was hard
to believe it could be Russia.
One of Father’s complaints was the lack of news. We were completely
isolated. We did receive a locally published newspaper containing mostly
hearsay. No first hand information freshened its pages, nor did it contain
any foreign news.

Now and then Commissar Makarov and the guards inadvertently dropped
some news. Our friends from across the street were at liberty to enter the
governor’s house and resume their duties. They even were permitted to see
the town, but we could not go out. Thanks to Colonel Kobylinsky, our first
two months at Tobolsk were quite pleasant. The house came near to being
the kind of home that Mother had always longed for—one in which we
could be close to each other. No external duties claimed any of us, not even
Father—a situation that made him restless.
There were many guards everywhere, but they, like Colonel Kobylinsky,
had come with us from Tsarskoe Selo and knew us as submissive prisoners.
They became our friends and we chatted with them freely. The colonel was
very kind; Father nicknamed him “our friend.” There was no friction
because we complied with every demand. They trusted us but still they
watched us as they were ordered to do.
Our food was simple but nourishing. Our own chef, Kharitonov, and his
helper cooked to our satisfaction. In living this simple life, Mother became
much stronger. She ceased to fret over the wounded soldiers, whom she
could no longer help, and she found compensation in her writing, painting
and religion and in our close family life. At least, we were all under the
same roof. She had her one wish: the right for us to belong to each other.
Our being together went a long way to soften our captivity.
At first it was very difficult for Mother to adjust herself to the new
experience of housekeeping, managing personally and coming in direct
contact with the attendants. The sudden change from many servants to a
few was very confusing to her. She had not kept house for some years; even
while living with her Granny she had devoted her time to her studies. Since
these servants had to assume duties which were strange to them, we sisters
helped Anna and Tootles in their daily work. Operations were not always
smooth but the servants were willing and adaptable and above all loyal.
After a while Colonel Kobylinsky gave permission for several maids from
Tsarskoe Selo, who were willing to come, to join us. But the sudden
changes in Tobolsk kept them waiting there for weeks and in the end they
never were able to enter the house.
At this time we had a few letters from different friends but nothing from our
relatives in the Crimea. The latter were constantly in our minds and we

wished so much to be near them in that beautiful country, among all those
flowers and near the blue-green sea. Then, as if by mental telepathy,
Colonel Kobylinsky arrived, his pale face beaming with excitement, and
handed a letter to Father from Aunt Xenia in the Crimea. It calmed us, but
at the same time left in our hearts a painful and lonely feeling which stayed
with us incessantly. Later a number of letters came from that distant land.
One such letter took six months to arrive. Father wrote short letters as there
was always the fear of bringing trouble to the recipients.
When shortly our English tutor, Sidney Gibbs, arrived in Tobolsk, he
brought us first hand information on the happenings in the Crimea and the
conditions in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd.
The older men who came with us from Tsarskoe Selo, especially of the First
and the Fourth regiments became our friends. They were kind to us and
could not understand why we were held prisoners. These men loved Alexei,
and to them he still was their Tsarevich. Those good fellows brought him
gifts, which they proudly presented to him with loving smiles and touching
words. I will never forget the time when one of these men spent many
evenings carving a puzzle out of white soft wood. It was chain-like and
every turn made gave it a new design. Another man made for him a set of
wooden Kalmuk toys, from the great-grandfather to the tiniest baby boy.
They fitted into each other so skilfully that when all together they formed
only one big great-grandfather. Alexei was touched by these gifts. We knew
all these men and the families of some of them. Knowing their financial
condition, we felt sorry for them.
The soldiers of the Second regiment, who at first were unpleasant, had by
now become actually insolent. They formed a Soldiers Committee under the
direction of a man called Arnold Goldstein who came to Tobolsk about a
month after our arrival and at once started to poison those men. All other
individuals who came to Tobolsk were at once arrested but this man was
allowed to stay and make trouble. The committee asserted its authority over
the officers whom Kerensky had sent when we first arrived in Tobolsk. The
friendly spirit that prevailed in our prison was reported. Stern orders
bounced back. Our kindly guards had to step aside, and radical ones took
their places. Colonel Kobylinsky tried to resist but, alas, it was a losing
fight.

Shortly after we reached Tobolsk, the young townspeople had a dance on
the street, called “Krugom.” The girls were dressed in handsome
embroidered red babushkas and the boys in high boots and pleated trousers.
The dance starts when one of the girls calls her boy friend by his name,
saying please come. He takes off his fur cap and the couple dance in the
middle of the circle while the balalaika and accordion play and the
participants sing a song—the words of which usually center on water, birds,
the moon, etc., all taken from nature. The boy then kisses this girl, the girl
of his heart, and asks her to dance with him. The girl then calls another man
who in turn invites his own girl. The first couple drops out and the
procedure is repeated.
Father liked the Siberian climate and the fabulous splendors of the sunrise
and sunset over the mountains and the soft clouds hiding the distant hills.
We too found it agreeable and peaceful after the turbulent months we had
just gone through. But these tranquil few weeks came to an end all too
soon. We shortly learned that one of our former ladies in waiting, Mlle. Rita
Khitrovo was in Tobolsk. Her unannounced arrival caused us a great deal of
apprehension. We felt that our Russian teacher, Mlle. Bittner, in whom
Colonel Kobylinsky was interested, might find an opportunity to exaggerate
the reasons for Mlle. Khitrovo’s presence in Tobolsk and thereby create an
incident which would have serious repercussions. Once Mlle. Khitrovo was
seen talking to a member of our staff across the street, and making a cross
with her hand toward the balcony on which we were standing. Immediately
after that she was arrested and sent away. The letters she had brought with
her were seized and were not delivered to their owners until after they had
been censored. Following this incident Kerensky ordered that all persons
coming to Tobolsk must be registered.
As a result of this incident Commissar Makarov who knew of Khitrovo’s
coming was relieved of his post and replaced by Commissar Pankratov and
his deputy, Nikolsky. Pankratov, despite his prison record, was kind to us.
His knowledge of languages and his taste for art and literature betrayed his
cultural background. This middle-aged man often used to tell us sisters
about his experiences in prison. Yet never once did he complain. Instead he
admitted his guilt. He was a man of fifty with dark hair. He made a notation
on every letter received and often delivered our mail, most of which was

addressed to him, saying that he was glad that our friends had not forgotten
us. Once he told Marie that no harm would come to us while he was there.
Nikolsky was a Pole of disreputable background. He was rude and fanatic
and had an uncontrollable temper and hatred. He immediately ordered
everyone to have his picture taken and to carry a card showing the name,
age and day of birth, because he had had to have his picture taken and carry
a card while serving a prison term for killing two men.
Our schedule for the week was made up by Olga and M. Gilliard. Our
friends were the only gleam of light in our daily life. To change the
atmosphere it was decided to stage some plays in which the staff and we
children could take part. A stage was put up in the big hall on the second
floor, which also served us as a school room and later as a chapel. All our
friends from across the street were asked to these performances to share in
this diversion. Olga was in charge of the music, if such was needed. Alexei
was not very keen about taking part in the plays and often begged for
someone else to take his role. There was always an officer present at these
performances. But soon rapidly changing conditions no longer permitted us
these recreations.
Our day began at eight in the morning with breakfast served to us and our
friends in the dining room downstairs. It consisted of tea or weak coffee.
Olga had hers with Father in his study, and Alexei his with Mother. At 9:00
A.M. we younger sisters took our lessons in the big hall, but during the cold
spell, before the house warmed up we started the first lesson in bed with
Mother. We wore in the house our woolen leggings or boots and were
bundled in warm cardigans. Our instructors were M. Gilliard, Mlle.
Hendrikova, Mlle. Bittner, once a teacher at the gymnasium in Tsarskoe
Selo. Father continued with the history and geography lessons. The classes
lasted from 9:00-11:00 A.M. Alexei had his lessons in M. Gilliard’s or his
own room. Afterwards we went out into the yard for a half hour’s exercise
before our luncheon at 1:00 P.M.
Father and Olga ate luncheon with us in the dining room. Mother and
Alexei had theirs upstairs. Our luncheon consisted of soup, meat or fish and
sweets. From two to four we went out again and helped saw wood behind
the greenhouse. Mother seldom went out with us in the morning. Alexei
joined us in the afternoon after his rest and, when the weather permitted,

Mother sat in a chair in the sun, sewing, knitting, writing or painting. When
indisposed she stayed upstairs. Sometimes she played the piano and sang,
mostly religious pieces. From 3:45 to 4:00 there was a short break for tea,
for the family only, during which Mother poured the tea herself. The lessons
started again at 4:00 and lasted until 6:00 or 7:00 P.M. Dinner was served at
eight; the menu was the same as that served at luncheon except that we had
no dessert. Mother always was present at these meals. After dinner, coffee
was served upstairs. While Father poured, all stood up except Mother. We
could not help noticing that usually there were thirteen persons at the dinner
table, seven from the family, and six from the staff. Occasionally Dr.
Derevenko and his son were asked to dinner, also Colonel Kobylinsky and
Mlle. Bittner.
During the first few weeks the food was satisfactory; this did not last long
because many products became scarce and prices went sky high.
It was decided to raise our own food. Within a month we had many
chickens, turkeys, and ducks that enjoyed swimming in their little pond
which we had made by diverting a small portion of a brook which ran
through the garden. The horse stable was used for pigs and even the
greenhouse was converted into a chicken coop.
Soon the people learned of the hour of our walks. They tried to get a better
view of us through the cracks between the boards, and many of them
kneeled down in prayer for us. Even Kalmuks who are Mohammedans
raised their hands and prayed to Allah for us, without being afraid to do so.
To many millions, the Emperor and Empress were still the Father and
Mother of Russia.
In October before navigation on the river stopped for the winter, and after
his enforced return to Tsarskoe Selo, our friend Makarov sent us from there
some warm clothes and rugs, curtains, linens and other needed items as well
as some provisions.
During Kobylinsky’s administration we were permitted to go to church on
Sundays and holidays. The church services were held at 8:00 A.M. when it
was still dark. We assembled in the yard and proceeded to the church
flanked on each side by sentries. The church was a short distance from the
house and in getting there we had to cross the street, pass through a small
park and onto another street. Father went into the church first, followed by

Mother, Alexei and then us sisters. Some of the guards entered the church
and stood behind us while the others remained outside, waiting near the
steps. On our return, after the service and as a mark of honor, the church
bells kept ringing until we entered the house. This procedure however was
changed by Nikolsky who, in a childish show of authority, ordered that the
ringing of the bells be stopped before we reached the gate. Church services
for us were strictly private and the public was not permitted to participate in
the services while we were there. Instead they waited outside, and as we left
the church they kneeled and kissed the ground after we passed as a sign of
their love for the family.
When Dr. Derevenko came to Tobolsk with his son Kolia, it was a joy for
Alexei. The two boys played together, read and wrote little stories. Alexei
was happy to have a friend to play and eat with. But this did not last very
long. One day Nagorny carried a letter from Alexei to his friend Kolia. It
was nothing more than childish play. Nikolsky searched Nagorny and found
the letter. He immediately went to Pankratov with it, saying, “You see how
easily they can smuggle letters out and who knows what else?” Kolia was
forbidden to come into the house, and only occasionally were they
permitted to play outdoors under the watchful eyes of the guards, provided
they kept at a distance from each other.
For weeks Mother had been suffering from neuralgia. Now her teeth caused
her a great deal of pain. Everyday she waited patiently for her dentist, who
was to come all the way from the Crimea. I never knew of anyone who
suffered so much and still had so much patience and never complained. On
the arrival of Dr. Kostritsky, he repaired Mother’s false tooth and one of my
front teeth which had been damaged. He brought us news from Granny and
both our aunts who were in the Crimea. From a previous letter we had
learned that Grandmother was ill and was complaining about the shortage
of food and the fact that her belongings had been taken away from her,
news which distressed us considerably, especially my Father. We had also
received a charming letter concerning Aunt Olga telling us about her baby
son being driven in a carriage drawn by a small donkey. I remembered
when I was a little girl I rode in a small wicker chair strapped on the side of
a pony. The news brought by Dr. Kostritsky was cheerful on the whole.
Finally Dr. Botkin’s children, Tatiana and Gleb, arrived in Tobolsk. We
hoped that they would join us in our class work, but even that was denied us

and we could only see them from the second floor window.
The situation was gradually getting worse. Nikolsky was stirring up more
hatred among the soldiers and poisoning their minds with false doctrines.
Dr. Botkin spent several hours with Father, telling him of the conditions in
Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd. We now had a fairly good idea of the existing
situation in our country. We heard that Pravosudovich, head engineer of the
Imperial personal train, had been shot; also that Kerensky, his relatives and
his friends were splurging at the Catherine Palace, indulging in all kinds of
luxuries, of which we had deprived ourselves at all times, especially during
the war. Kerensky and his friends were driving in our cars and carriages,
and even some servants lay at his feet. Within a short time this man who not
long ago had appeared on our threshold in Tsarskoe Selo, with men whose
past was steeped in crime, was now enjoying all the luxuries of which he
deprived the original owners.
We had several letters from Anna Vyrubova and even some packages. We
gathered from her letters that Anna was having a terrible time, though her
language was cryptic. She was forced to assume her maiden name in order
to avoid persecution. All our mail that came through the regular channels
was censored and the contents were known to Colonel Kobylinsky. Father
tried to discourage the sending or receiving of mail secretly. He even asked
his own relatives to address their letters to Commissar Pankratov, in order
to avoid any misunderstanding. Father wrote only a few letters, primarily to
his mother and to his sister Xenia.
We had news from the English sisters of mercy in Petrograd, and from the
hospitals in Tsarskoe Selo; also we heard from Countess Orlova-Davidova;
from Shura Petrovsky, whose husband was one of Father’s aides-de-camp,
and from Liuba Khitrovo, sister of Rita Khitrovo who had been arrested in
Tobolsk. The news we received indicated untold tragedies. Many officers
were shot after they recovered from the wounds. The Provisional
Government cared little for these helpless men.
We heard that the people wanted their Emperor back and that the Army was
hostile to the new Government, refusing to take orders from the former
convicts, spies and invaders, and that it wanted to get rid of Communist
agitators around the country. Again Kerensky refused to sanction this
proposal, because he wanted to retain all power in his hands, even though it

would mean the destruction of Russia. Father knew then that the country
was lost. We heard all kinds of stories. One concerned a boat caught sailing
in the dark on the Volga River without the permission of the authorities. On
the shore, it was discovered that this boat carried six bullions of gold, each
worth a fortune. When asked where they were taking this loot, the persons
aboard replied that they were taking it to the village of one of the leaders.
Kerensky made many blunders. He prevented the Army from crushing the
revolution at a time when it was ready and willing to do so. The soldiers of
our regiments, who came with us from Tsarskoe Selo, complained to
General Tatishchev that they had not received the allowances that Kerensky
had promised they would receive while they remained with us. As a result
they were discontented. Many of these men had to meet their family needs.
Some of them were able to obtain extra jobs, but those who were not able to
do so became angry, which strengthened their sympathy for Bolshevism.
A few weeks before Christmas came the shocking news that Kerensky’s
Provisional Government had fallen and that the Bolsheviks had taken
control of the country. He was now receiving a dose of his own medicine.
The persecutors were more lenient and less cruel toward him than he was
toward his Emperor and his family. General Tatishchev told us that when
Kerensky was betrayed by his colleagues—the Bolsheviks—he jumped
from the second floor of the Winter Palace in order to save his life and in
his haste to do so left the belt of his tunic behind. It was said that Prince
Volkonsky was an eye witness to this heroic performance. A brave man,
indeed. An Emperor without portfolio, a minister, a lawyer, an orator, and
Napoleon, all in one.
There was talk that if the Ukraine were to go to Germany, Father would be
placed on the throne by German help. Father said, “Never will I or my son
accept the throne with the help of the enemy.”
We learned that the Winter Palace had been plundered and that many of its
treasures were in the hands of foreign bandits from both hemispheres who
came to our country to rob, take and plunder. They pulled down our tricolor
flags—white, blue, and red. White stands for snow, blue for the heavenly
sky and red for the blood spilled in defense of our country. They hoisted
their own flag over the Winter Palace. They removed the double eagles
from the buildings and were burning them on the streets before the eyes of

respectable citizens. They emptied the historical treasures preserved for
generations by our forefathers, the pride and wealth of Russia when she was
in her glory. These treasures were sold abroad. The wine cellars of the
Palace were broken open and the mob drank so much wine that some of
them literally died from it; the rest of the old wines were poured from the
bridge into the Neva River.
The secret police still was working at the time of our arrest. Before our
exile the names appearing below were given to my Father which he
remembered and made us remember. When some of these men found it
necessary to escape from Russia for their lives, they were given sanctuary
by other countries, instead of being tried for their crimes against the
Russian people. These men dared to look into the eyes of Russians knowing
what they had done to them, and how easy the Russian people had forgiven
them all the wounds they had inflicted upon them.
Communism was founded and organized by these men whose real and
assumed names follow.
Original names Changed to
Bronstein Trotsky
Tsederblum changed to Ulianov then to Lenin
Apfelbaum Zinoviev
Rosenfeld Kamenev
Goldenberg Mikhovsky
Krachmann Zagorsky
Hollender Mieshkovsky
Tsederblum II Martov
Himmer Sukhanov
Goldmann Goriev
We were told that Tsederbaum (Tsederblum?), Lenin’s father, was arrested
for murdering a policeman; his sons were very young. One son was brought
up in Simbirsk by a well-to-do half-Kalmuk and half-Christian family by
the name of Ulianov. The other sons were with Lenin’s uncle, Tsederbaum.
While in college both boys met secretly with other boys and inspired them
with revolutionary ideas, such as the derailing of the train in which the

Emperor and his family were riding; as a result many people were killed.
One brother was hanged; the second, Lenin (Ulianov), ran away; and the
third was in hiding in Russia until the revolution when he reappeared. There
were two brothers who are mentioned above in my list which was given
Father while in Tsarskoe Selo. Later in Tobolsk and more so in
Ekaterinburg, additional names were given to us to remember, the names of
men with whom we actually had contact. Unfortunately I can only
remember now the names of about twenty-five out of a total of
approximately one hundred.
One morning Colonel Kobylinsky arrived in Father’s study. With tears in
his eyes he informed Father that a peace treaty was to be signed, but that
prior to the signing the old Russian Army would have to be demobilized.
Father said that this terrible move by the Bolsheviks was dangerous not
only for Russia but also for the world; that this move on the part of the
traitors should now make the Russian people realize that they were being
deceived. I cannot describe the feeling it left on us. Father was a prisoner,
trapped like a lion in a cage, thousands of miles away.
But going back to Kerensky, it is significant that when he was in danger, he
did everything to save his own life. But he never stopped to think that he
was the one who had sent the Imperial family to the distant, frozen North.
Did he give a thought to the fact that the unfortunate victims were trapped
by the traitors and by the bribed convicts, and not by their own people?
Now we could see why he had ordered the arrest of everyone who came to
our aid and who was willing to risk his life, as well as ours, to save us.
Kerensky had given his word of honor to Father that he would protect us.
He knew what these men were like and what they were doing. I often ask
myself the question: did he do it intentionally? Will one ever know?
If Kerensky was sincerely interested in protecting us, he could have ordered
the train in which we were traveling, under the Japanese Red Cross flag, to
proceed to Vladivostok from where we could have gone to Japan whose
Emperor was quite friendly with Father and would have given us the
protection of his country. During the war we had a visit by two young
Japanese Princes who brought beautiful gifts for Mother and us from the
Empress of Japan. They also visited Father in Mogilev.

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

XIX
WINTER

The days passed rapidly as winter approached, the cold was relentless. We
were glad of the warning to bring warm clothes. December was very cold
and it continued through the months of January and February. The house
was unbearably cold and our bedroom was like an ice house; even a glass of
water had frozen solid overnight. Our rooms were large and each had only
one tile stove, providing scant heat against the raw winds that forced
themselves right through cracks in the windows. Even Mother, who always
preferred cool rooms, complained of the cold. The only time the house ever
felt warm to us was on coming in from the icy outdoors.
Mother’s arthritis began to give her serious trouble, her joints and fingers
became swollen. She suffered a great deal of pain and was not able to write
or paint as much as before. Tatiana had a gift for nursing. She knew how to
care and comfort the sick. She massaged Mother’s frostbitten hands in a
bowl of warm water. Mother’s eyesight troubled her, too; her glasses no
longer helped, since she needed new ones. The cork on the bridge of her
frame had broken off and she felt this increased her sinus condition which
bothered her to the very end. After a long debate a doctor came and she at
last had her new glasses. Now she spent a great deal of time in theological
studies and writing in the old Slavonic language.
Father’s joints were swollen also, but my saintly Father never complained
lest he might worry us.
We all were supposed to keep our diaries. Alexei made only occasional
entries. Whenever he was encouraged to think of something, he wrote “The
same old thing.” I too lost interest, for fear that writing what took place in
our daily lives might cause us trouble. Olga and Tatiana wrote a great deal,
but right after our parents left, General Tatishchev suggested that they burn
all unnecessary papers. Olga’s poems and Mother’s poems and paintings all
went up in smoke.
Our dogs always went with us on our walks. They were our constant
diversion; they saved these outings from complete boredom. We envied
their retrieving sticks we threw and jumping happily, since we ourselves felt

cramped. Every morning my own dog Jemmy announced her arrival by
scratching frantically at the bedroom door. Her happy mood made us forget
our troubles. I carried her up and down the stairway, because her legs were
too short to climb the stairs. Her long silky ears got into everything. Her
long tongue was always out. The poor animal did not know that a few
months later her happiness would end in Ekaterinburg.
For months before Christmas we worked on gifts for everyone who came
with us from Tsarskoe Selo. We had some yarn on hand and some was sent
to us by our friends. Mother made waistcoats, mufflers, mittens, socks and
wristbands. We tore apart old blouses and fashioned them into
handkerchiefs and then embroidered initials on them. Pieces of silk were
made into fancy bookmarks—some of which we painted and some we
embroidered. We wanted to surprise our friends with these gifts, in
appreciation of their loyalty to us.
Mother, however, seemed to have a premonition of trouble. First, she was
worried about Anna, who, she thought, might be in trouble for sending
letters and packages to us. Mother warned Anna to be careful about sending
people with messages. She feared they might betray us. And so it happened.
The least suspected person was Soloviev, husband of Matriona, Rasputin’s
older daughter. Soloviev came to Tobolsk several times with letters and
packages. Even Olga and Marie called the situation to Mother’s attention,
and suggested that Anna should let the officers handle matters and not the
Yaroshinsky-Soloviev clique; but Mother said that Anna would die before
she would betray us.
In the evening we gathered in Father’s study which was smaller than our
other rooms. Father read to us and we sewed until our fingers became so
stiff we could hardly hold the needles. But there was a richness in that room
that made us reluctant to complain. Sometimes we played dominoes, bingo,
or durachka, a card game (resembling five hundred) which Father disliked.
Tatiana played bridge best of all, while Mother’s favorite was bezique. Ten
o’clock was bed time for us younger girls, but Alexei used to retire at eight.
Later on when life became monotonous, Mother asked our friends to join us
in the evening. Some played games and others read.
Father also brought with him his diaries and his letters. These had been
confiscated in Tsarskoe Selo but were returned to him when nothing

incriminating was found in them. We sat around Father in the middle of the
room, away from the draft of the windows, listening to his reading aloud. I
am sure his heart felt sad as did our own. We learned many interesting
events that took place before and during Father’s reign. Father wanted Olga
or Tatiana to write a history of present events as soon as we were free, and
for that reason he wanted us to remember every event that took place before
and after our arrest and during our life in Tobolsk.
Our letters to friends were harmless; some went through Colonel
Kobylinsky’s hands and were read by him, but some were not. Later, when
we were in Ekaterinburg, we were shown photostatic copies of these letters
carried back and forth by Soloviev. Then we realized he was a spy. Once in
Ekaterinburg, Mother in her dark hour said, “I warned Anna again and again
to be careful of what she was doing, and now she has made another
mistake.” After this Mother never again mentioned Anna’s name. I hope she
did not leave this world with this bitterness in her heart toward her friend,
who unfortunately brought one serious trouble after another not only to
Mother but to the whole family. Olga and Marie always opposed Anna but
Mother resented anyone saying anything against her friend.
It had been promised that when Baroness Buxhoeveden arrived, she would
be staying with us. We fixed her room ourselves and the final touches were
approved by Mother. It was Christmas week when she reached Tobolsk. The
day she was supposed to come to the house, Colonel Kobylinsky notified
Father that he wished to speak to him. He informed Father that the Soldiers’
Committee decided against her joining us. Not having money Iza and her
English assistant organized English classes in town and found many people
enthusiastic to study this language. She met us only on the boat when we
left for Ekaterinburg.
On two occasions, the icon of the Image of the Holy Virgin was brought
from the Abalak Monastery to the Church of the Annunciation for services
which the family attended.
The first time was November 14th, old style, the anniversary of my parents’
wedding. We had prayed before this icon in the Monastery and were deeply
moved to be able to do so again. The church bells rang as we left the church
and continued until we reentered the house.

The second time was on Father’s name day—December 6th, old style. No
one was allowed to enter this holy place while we were there. At the end of
the service, as though nothing had changed, prayers were offered, ending
with a Mnogoletie (“Long Life for the Imperial Family”) as had always
been done before the revolution. We were surprised at the priest’s courage.
Father’s face turned white and we all glanced at each other. Olga’s pale face
turned faintly red, and she wiped her eyes. We wondered if there was going
to be trouble ahead. There was. They promptly demanded the death penalty
for Father Vassiliev, but he was saved, though not for long. He was sent
away by Bishop Hermogen and was replaced by another one. The nuns too
were taken away.
We were now forbidden to attend church services, but after hours of
pleading with the Soldiers’ Committee by Colonel Kobylinsky, we received
permission to attend church services but only on the twelve principal
holidays. From now on the restrictions became more severe.
Finally Christmas eve arrived. Mother presented everyone with one of the
gifts we had been working on for months. The villagers too were
thoughtful. They sent us two Christmas trees, one of which we sent to our
friends across the street, with whom we shared some delicacies that were
sent us by the Ivanovsky nunnery and by the head people of the local
museum. In the evening, vespers were held in the big hall and we were
grateful that there was no interference. We looked forward to the Christmas
morning services at the church.
Somehow I felt a sadness as we walked along the path packed with snow. It
was cold and dreary and at eight in the morning still dark. The sky overhead
was heavy. It gave me simultaneously a feeling of loneliness and
apprehension. It was so quiet that only the crackling of the frozen snow
under our feet broke the stillness. We did not speak to each other; each one
was occupied with his own thoughts. It is quietness like this that awakens
one’s heart to fond memories of the past. We crossed the small garden and
with my mind’s eye I could see the museum, the little park, and in it the
proud obelisk dedicated to Yermak, the conqueror of Siberia. A short walk,
but my thoughts covered thousands of miles behind the frozen plains of
Siberia. I could see our Grandmother, our aunts and their children, and our
friends, and I wondered if they had forgotten us. Above all I thought of our

old homes, where I had spent sixteen happy years of my life. All seemed so
cold and so far away.
My thoughts came back to Tobolsk. Only recently we had discussed with
our friends here the historical background of this town. It frightened me. I
thought of the chapel adjoining the Metropolitan’s residence where the Bell
of Uglich was formerly hung. This bell summoned the people of Uglich
when Prince Dimitri, son of Ivan the Terrible, was murdered in 1591. By an
order presumably given by Boris Godunov, this bell was transferred to
Tobolsk, where it was damaged by fire and recast. We too were transferred
to Tobolsk, by Kerensky.
Father realized what the prison life had done to his family. We once
overheard Father saying to Prince Dolgorukov, in the presence of Colonel
Kobylinsky, that his heart was aching for his little family whose life which
had just begun was about to come to an end. He continued, “During my
whole life I tried to serve my country faithfully, and if I have done wrong I
am willing to suffer for it. I am not sorry for myself or my wife, but for the
children. It is a crime to punish these innocent youngsters. They are so pure
and so good. They are the children of Russia.”
On New Year’s morning we went to church. It was one of the twelve
holidays on which we were permitted to attend services. The new priest
officiated but he appeared nervous. Then we heard that our former priest,
Father Vassiliev, who had officiated at the previous service, had been taken
away from the Abalak monastery. He was then tied, beaten and thrown still
alive into the Tobol River in front of the monastery. It was very cold that
morning. The temperature often went down to 25°-35° below zero. The
church was unheated but dimly lighted, and we could offer only one candle
apiece. Although we were provided with rugs, even then our feet were
numb from the cold, but our hearts found comfort, warmth and hope ahead.
Due to the extreme cold, my sisters and brother became ill again with the
German measles. This time, however, they were not so seriously ill as the
previous year.
Through General Tatishchev Father was informed that we could not go to
church on Epiphany day, commemorating the baptism of our Lord, which
falls some twelve days after Christmas. It was decided to build a movable
altar in a corner of the big hall on the second floor, where we took our

lessons and gave our plays. Mother busied herself by supervising the
placing of the icons in their proper places. The priest and the four nuns
came to the house for the Divine Liturgy and the Blessing of Water. Father
and we children sang with the choir which consisted of some members of
our staff, including Nagorny, Alexei’s servant, who had a very fine voice. At
the end of the service, according to custom, the priest dipped the cross into
the water and with it sprinkled the water in the air in the shape of a cross.
We all kissed the cross but when Alexei’s turn came to kiss it, the priest
bent over and kissed his forehead. It touched Alexei deeply. This kindness
meant so much to the little, frail boy. To the last he never forgot this
courtesy, nor did we. We “broke bread” with our friends in the dining room
downstairs.
It was on this day that Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev pleaded
with Father to have his epaulettes removed. For the sake of his family,
finally Father gave in. Right then and there something died within him. He
did keep his St. George’s Cross and the French Croix de Guerre. He was
very proud of them. Father told his valet, Chemodurov, that General
Tatishchev should remove the epaulettes before brutal hands touched them.
With a painful expression the general removed them. I remember when the
St. George decorations were given to Father and Alexei. General Ivanov
sent Father’s friend Prince (Toly) Bariatinsky to present these decorations
while Father was home for a few days.
Practically buried by snow, we were permitted to make a mountain.
Hundreds of shovelsful of snow were carried up and covered with water,
which froze immediately. The process was repeated until a good sled course
was built. We helped our friends, Prince Dolgorukov and M. Gilliard, as
well as the soldiers, until we were exhausted.
January 12th/25th was Tatiana’s twenty-first name day. After the Te Deum,
which was held in the house, we all extended to her our congratulations.
Even the soldiers of the Fourth regiment presented her with various
blooming plants and flowers. Except for Mother, we had no gifts for her.
We heard that Felix Youssoupoff was killed. Mother said, “God forgive his
mistakes.” Later the rumor was denied.
We had a swing in the back yard, but Nikolsky’s men at night wrote vulgar
words on the wooden seat board. We were forbidden to go near it until Dr.

Botkin, Colonel Kobylinsky or Pankratov had examined it. Our outdoor
exercises were limited to the small space allotted to us. Each day they found
something new to accuse us of. One afternoon Alexei was on the front steps
before the house, which were protected by a wall about 2-3 feet high on
either side. He heard some children on the street and climbed on top of this
wall which was about 35-40 feet from the fence. Nikolsky saw Alexei from
the window, and like a bullet ran out of the house and loudly reprimanded
the little boy, who had done no harm. From then on we feared him.
From the window, hungrily, I watched the children romp and play all
wrapped up like little bear cubs in bright red felt boots. They rode around in
bright colored orange or red sleds, or were drawn by plucky little horses
which reminded me of the Crimea. These ponies looked so warm in their
winter “coats” and so alive as they tramped over the packed snow with their
bells ringing and jauntily pulled their sleighs behind them. I pressed my
face against the window. The jingling bells outside and the icy cold of the
window cutting into my cheek inside were cruel substitutes for my great
desire to go sleigh riding myself.
Nikolsky taught the soldiers all kinds of communistic doctrines which he
called Yurovsky’s teaching. At that time we did not know who this evil
Yurovsky was. The hatred Nikolsky taught to the men, he was to experience
himself. Soon afterwards the soldiers drove Nikolsky out. Unfortunately,
old Pankratov had to go too. His going was a loss to us because he always
defended us. From what we heard in advance about the new commissar who
was coming from Ekaterinburg, we were apprehensive.
There were many repercussions in store for us. All the old soldiers of the
Fourth and First regiments, who had come with us from Tsarskoe Selo,
were ordered to leave. Before they did so, however, they came quietly one
by one to Father’s study to say good-bye. Almost all of them cried as Father
embraced them and thanked them for their loyalty to us. One of them
brought a small body icon for Father to remember him by, and another one
brought with him a small notebook which he asked us to autograph. Two
men from the Fourth regiment refused to leave the place, saying that they
would stay to guard their Emperor. At the point of a gun they were taken
away and later we heard that they were shot, near the river. When the last
several hundred men were leaving, they assembled on the street behind the
fence in front of the house. We all, even Mother, went part way to the snow

mountain to see our friends depart. We were never to see them again. The
whole family and all around us were crushed by their going and, as they
went, our hopes left with them.
We derived a lot of pleasure out of tobogganing on the snow mound we had
worked so hard to build. But our pleasure lasted only one month. To the
guards the snow mound was a sore spot and we tried to pacify them by not
going to its top, so as not to attract the attention of passers-by who often
gathered on the other side of the street to watch us. Notwithstanding, the
Soldiers’ Committee decided to have the mound demolished. We soon heard
heavy chopping and pounding in the garden, and we knew then that the
snow mound was being destroyed. They cut deep notches across the mound
so it could not be used for tobogganing and in order to prevent us from
looking across the street. We showed no resentment at what they did,
although in our hearts we felt differently.
Now we had even less space for exercise than we had had before and we
tried to amuse ourselves as we elbowed each other in the yard. We looked at
each other understandingly even though no words were uttered.
More bad news reached us, that agents of the underground, friends and
relatives of the men listed previously, continued to pour into Russia from
foreign countries by the thousand, followed later by Generals Pilsudski and
Ludendorff and Count von Mirbach, the German Ambassador. We were told
that all the buildings in Moscow including all of the Imperial quarters in the
Kremlin were taken over by these intruders. These men ordered that the
Russian Army be disbanded and that all German and Austro-Hungarian
prisoners of war be released from the camps. These camps were scattered
on the important railroad lines and mining regions throughout the territories
of Omsk, Tomsk, Tiumen, Ekaterinburg, Cheliabinsk and other cities.
Up to now Father had refused to allow himself to be depressed. But this
time he no longer was able to hide his feelings. He suffered painfully,
because he believed his Allies, in whom he had had faith, had failed to help
him in these difficult times. They could have prevented these men from
coming to Russia. Instead, passports and other documents were issued to
them. Father said again that fifty years from now there would be no
democracy left, that when Russia falls the whole world will fall with it. A

year later, when I recalled these words, in 1919, I wrote in my notebook,
“Only the future will tell.”
Father was so distressed that he often sat up at night with only a little
flickering lamp in the corner of his study. Mother knew that Father could
not sleep. We heard the cracking of the floors which were more pronounced
at night. She had left her bedroom and gone to him. We heard her say:
“Nicky, are you not tired? Can you not sleep? I came to keep you company,
dear.” Said Father: “No, Alicky, I am not tired. I thank you for thinking of
me.” Such words of devotion and understanding always rang in our ears.
The only joy we had at this time was whenever we heard from our family or
our friends. We longed so much to see our aunts, especially Aunt Olga’s
baby. Aunt Xenia’s letters described to us the little man so charmingly that
we felt as if we knew him.

XX
DANGER

After Nikolsky and Pankratov left, Colonel Kobylinsky brought back the
key to the balcony which Nikolsky had taken away. Now Mother was again
able to sit on the balcony in the sun. For several months we lived quietly
and peacefully. But when the new guards came, our lives saddened.
One day Olga was found crying. She had been unhappy. She said that she
had been observing the developments and believed that we were doomed.
Father sent for Colonel Kobylinsky who admitted that danger was creeping
upon us. Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev believed she was right
and thought we should escape before the new commissar from Ekaterinburg
arrived. But our parents refused to leave Russia, and would not think of
separation. We humbly bowed our heads and accepted the inevitable.
All of a sudden a change came into our lives. The Bolsheviks turned their
binoculars on us. One day Colonel Kobylinsky informed Father that the
Imperial family must go on rations, because keeping us was too heavy a
burden on the Communist regime. Each one of us was to receive 600 rubles
per month, the same as the soldiers. Father knew nothing about the cost of
the operation of our establishment. He asked M. Gilliard, who was the most
practical of all, to set up a budget and Prince Dolgorukov and General
Tatishchev to help him. When they came with figures, it was concluded that
ten servants had to be discharged. My parents became terribly distressed
and made all kinds of excuses: this one had a sick mother, another had an
invalid son, a third was the sole supporter of his motherless children. What
would happen to all these families who came here from Tsarskoe Selo? It
went on and on. At last Gillek (M. Gilliard) and General Tatishchev made
their own decision, and ten servants came to thank us for treating them so
kindly in the past. It was sad losing them, though we could not foresee how
fortunate they were.
The new commissar from Ekaterinburg arrived and we heard that he had
brought with him about one hundred men, all fanatical Marxists. He was a
red-faced brute by the name of Zaslovsky, with a bad reputation.

No sooner had the new young men arrived than trouble developed between
them and the old soldiers who had refused them entry to our residence.
They became angry and threatened to storm the house. Colonel Kobylinsky
and Zaslovsky were bargaining all night downstairs. We dressed and sat up
expecting trouble. Long after midnight we heard familiar voices in the
corridor. Colonel Kobylinsky sent for more guards to insure our safety. We
heard some foreign voices coming from outside the gate, then a loud voice
saying, “I am following the orders of Colonel Kobylinsky. I cannot let you
in. Then speak to him.” As a result of this incident Colonel Kobylinsky
wanted to resign but Father persuaded him to stay with us. We felt that his
presence was helpful to us, even though we knew that he had no power over
the new soldiers.
Father believed that at least ten of the new men were disguised former
officers. However, if they were former officers they were helpless, because
Zaslovsky ordered more men from Tomsk. These men boasted that they had
killed the director of the Cadet School and destroyed the headquarters of the
Fourth Siberian Army Corps stationed in Tomsk. They said that they had
burned the house on Father’s estate in the town of Bernaul on the river Ob
and had killed the superintendent in charge. Father had inherited several big
estates with large milk and cheese plants in Siberia. Tons of these products
were distributed every year to different charitable institutions. Father had
visited his estates during the construction of the Trans-Siberian railroad.
Zaslovsky bragged that they had already destroyed the gold smelting works
and had taken away all the available gold. They also tried to plunder the
monastery at Tomsk but were driven away by the monks. This is the
monastery that was referred to previously.
Zaslovsky brought us much misery and inexpressible horror right from the
start. He ordered us to keep from five to six feet away from the fence, and
to go out only under guard and only for thirty minutes twice a day. Our
outdoor exercise consisted mainly of cutting wood. We performed this
humble work in the back of the building cheerfully and without
complaining, and by so doing we helped members of our household whose
duty it was to supply the house with wood. Zaslovsky had our house
searched and several items belonging to Father were taken away.
Each day brought some new deprivations or restrictions and some fresh
heckling by the guards who took pleasure in humiliating us. In return we

acquiesced in their demands, disarmingly, at least outwardly. Following
Father’s example we accepted everything. Among the soldiers only a few
good men were left. In the past, each relay of guards had started out to be
severe, then gradually softened. But not these men. They were a dangerous
lot. In order to avoid trouble Father and his friends—all of them understood
carpentry—had earlier built a ladder which led outside to the top of the roof
of an unused greenhouse, which had already been converted into a chicken
coop. They also built a platform where we could sit in the sun without being
seen from the street.
More restrictions were put on us. The last two days before Lent are by
custom days of merriment during which the people enjoy themselves at
concerts, balls and in many other ways. Zaslovsky, fearing riots by the
people, forbade us to leave the house during those two days. The schools
were closed and there was a constant flow of students from the gymnasium.
They were gay; we heard the bells ringing; the children were expecting to
see the monkey and to hear the organ grinder, who had stopped before the
house for Alexei to witness the spectacle and to hear the children sing and
play. But Zaslovsky had locked the balcony door and had taken the key
back to the office. We heard loud voices outdoors; the guards were driving
the students and the youngsters away with the butts of their rifles. The
youngsters ran and the students cried: “Go back from where you came, you
unwelcome guests.” Zaslovsky said he would shoot anyone who came near
the fence. In spite of the warning, the passers-by continued to walk past the
house, even more than before. When the people saw us in the window, they
always removed their caps and bowed low.
Sorrow and dread were our constant companions. We woke up with
sadness, and went to bed in sadness. Father tried to read to us, but the silent
interchange of fear muddled the thread of the story he read. He tried to
make his voice firm and hopeful but it did not have the ring of former days.
Up to now we were able to send and receive some letters from our relatives
in Ai-Todor in the Crimea. Now we heard that the mail service was being
discontinued. However, we continued to receive some letters. Since
Zaslovsky’s arrival we had stopped writing letters as we knew that they
would not be mailed. The last letter we received from the Crimea told us
that the family there had been separated. Aunt Xenia with her family and
Grandmother had been moved to the chateau of Dyulber, belonging to the

Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevich. Though they were not far from the
Youssoupoffs at Koreiz, still they could not see each other.
A few weeks before our departure for Ekaterinburg we received a letter
from the family through a peasant woman from the Crimea. She had carried
this letter surreptitiously thousands of miles. Through her, in return, we sent
a letter to the family in the Crimea, together with a photograph of the family
—one of the few we had taken in Tobolsk. It was our last link with Granny
and our aunts. The very last letter we received came from Irene
Tatishcheva. A few of our letters were returned to us undelivered.
We huddled closer together, not so much for warmth, as to feel the strength
of each other’s presence. In the evening we dreaded to think of what the
morning would bring. Morning returned with the same overhanging fear.
Mother’s first words were: “Thank God for the night just past and for the
breaking of the new day. Also for giving me such a good family. The
Almighty is watching over us.” Then Father read from the Bible some
reassuring message.
Our brief walks around the yard brought us no inspiration. They were cut
shorter. Mother assured us that God was with us even in our trials. No harm
could come to those who had faith in Him. He is putting us to the test. What
good is our religion if we are not victorious over suffering? So we
continued to endure, brightening the darkness in our hearts with the trust
that in time God would lead the way to our safety.
Not being able to attend church was our hardest punishment. Mother
especially missed this spiritual support. It had helped us. We had found
there the answer to our prayers, and temporary relief. Tatiana made her
decision to sacrifice her life in search of theological subjects. She became
stronger and firmer in her belief and spent part of the day in reading the
Testaments. Mother was a tower of strength to us. She was full of
resourcefulness and hope, continually replenished by faith. We felt sure our
fate was in the hands of God. This trust in Him made Father calm and
resigned. He was one of those who had the truth within him. He carried his
grief silently and maintained his high spirits for the sake of his family. We
shuddered at the thought of being separated and clung closer together.
Suffering had made Mother meek and more tender and her soul had grown
stronger. Under Mother’s influence Olga composed a prayer which follows:

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

Zaslovsky hated everybody. He even kicked our friendly dog Lisa, because
the dog wanted to make friends with him. He also beat the dog in the yard
and stepped on our cat without any reason. He said that before he left he
would do away with all our pets. We suffered and our animals clung to us.
When they heard his loud voice downstairs, they all ran and hid under
Mother’s chaise longue. Eventually the soldiers drove Zaslovsky away and
he went back to Ekaterinburg.
In the meantime our finances were getting low and Anna Vyrubova made an
arrangement with a banker named Yaroshinsky to send us some money
through Soloviev, the husband of Matriona, Rasputin’s older daughter.
Marie and I knew Yaroshinsky from Tsarskoe Selo. He had financed
Marie’s and my hospital and we had seen him occasionally. He spoke poor
Russian with a Polish accent. He told us once that he had an uncle who was
a cardinal in Italy. Soloviev was entrusted with several thousands of rubles
and some letters to be delivered to us. We did not know Soloviev but knew
that Anna trusted him and that he had delivered some letters to Tobolsk

previously. We received only thirty thousand rubles out of the three hundred
thousand that were sent to us by Anna. Later in Ekaterinburg we were
shown copies of all letters and records of the money, which Soloviev took
as a payment for spying on us. Because he was the husband of Matriona,
Anna had confidence in him in financial and other matters. Dr. Botkin told
Father that Yurovsky said that Soloviev and Yaroshinsky were friends of
General Pilsudski, Lenin and Trotsky and of Voykov (who later, it seems,
signed the death verdict of the Imperial family).
We still had about 35-40 employees whose wages we were unable to meet.
Food became a problem. We had no sugar, coffee or butter. When the good
people of Tobolsk learned of the conditions in the Governor’s house they
sent us whatever they had. Some of the merchants and the heads of the city
had met Father in 1891 when, on his way home from Japan, he had made an
extensive tour throughout Siberia. At that time the museum of Tobolsk was
established and Father deposited a great deal of money in the Imperial
banks for the upkeep of this museum. Magazines and articles were sent to
us and we read them with interest. Incidentally it was twenty-seven years
later, in July also, when the murder took place in Ekaterinburg, July 16th-
17th, 1918.
One morning we awoke to an acute misery; Alexei was ill. The dreaded
disease had returned. And now our previous deprivations seemed
insignificant. The youngster’s resistance had been lessened. He was thin
and unable to take the food offered him. As always Mother nursed him. Her
care for him was the same but her affection for him had changed. My heart
tells me not to say that, but conscience tells me otherwise. Alexei sensed it.
I remember how much Mother loved her precious “Agoo” and wanted to
have him close to her on the chaise longue. I can still see this little boy
under a blue silk and lace cover lying on her chaise, or later, his hand in her
hand, going into his bedroom to say a prayer. M. Gilliard and all the others
knew of the change on Mother’s part, and they gave Alexei more love now
to make up for the loss of a part of his Mother’s affection. We sisters
became much closer to him, and our hearts formed as one and this one we
gave to our unfortunate brother and to our Father who suffered so much.
Following the incident when Nagorny was caught carrying a letter from
Alexei to Dr. Derevenko’s son, the Doctor was not permitted to come to the

house. But now his services were needed and he, at last, was allowed to see
his patient.
When the conditions became dangerously bad, following Nikolsky’s
departure, Father wrote an important document about the war, which was
placed in a safe place until a change in the Government should occur. At
that time it was to be released to the proper authorities. It was left in care of
four men and it was endorsed and countersigned by at least four persons.
A treaty between Bolshevik Russia and Germany was now in the process of
being signed. We were told that one of its provisions was that the Imperial
family was to be brought to Moscow unharmed. Evidently the Germans
suspected that our captors were dangerous and would not spare our lives.
Father feared if the family went to Moscow, he might be forced to sign the
treaty in order to save his family’s life. He said: “Now the people know who
are the real traitors to Russia. All these years they have been accusing
Mother for being a spy and wanting to sign a separate treaty with
Germany.”
Father blamed the downfall of the Russian Army—our national pride—on
Kerensky, Guchkov, Ruzsky and Shulgin. He said that now Germany would
get all kinds of concessions, which would reduce Russia to poverty, but that
Germany would not enjoy these concessions. The treaty was prepared in
advance by Tsederbaum, Bronstein, Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld and others—
better known to the world today as Lenin, Trotsky, Zinoviev, Kamenev. Not
many Russians among them, but traitors. I well remember that as we sat one
evening, Father said to Prince Dolgorukov, “Valia, you remember the time
when I refused even to consider a separate treaty with Germany. I would not
accept any appeasement after the loss of thousands of lives and all the
property damage. I was determined to bring Germany to her knees. Even if
I had signed a separate treaty, Germany would have paid for all the damage
done, and now she is going to get from the traitors anything she wants.”
Father went on, “Germany will not enjoy the things she has done to us, and
our Allies will not either. They are digging their own graves and soon they
will be buried in them. If Russia falls, the whole world will topple with her,
and within fifty years from now there will be no democracy left, believe
me, Valia.” I remember the last words as though they were spoken only
yesterday.

By betraying his country he would have bought freedom for himself and his
family. Every soldier knew that Russia was betrayed and that the
propaganda about my family was totally untrue. But they were helpless.
Father never lived for himself but for his people; they sinned against him
and still he loved them. Mother said the time would come when they would
stand before Him to answer for murdering our country. The Bolsheviks had
every reason to remove Father and all male Romanovs, because by so doing
they would eliminate all interference with their plans, and no emperor
would ever be in power again.
Lenin had a personal hatred for the Imperial family. He waited for an
opportunity to get his revenge. When Father was a young man, he and his
parents were on their way to the Caucasus when the train in which they
were riding was derailed and eighty people lost their lives and many more
were injured. The roof of the Imperial car was on the verge of collapse
when my Grandfather, Alexander III, held the roof on his shoulders,
preventing further disaster. Six years afterwards he died as a result of the
injuries he suffered on that day. The conspirators who caused this
derailment were Lenin and his brother. Lenin’s brother was caught and was
executed. Lenin himself escaped abroad. The Russian people did not know
that Lenin was one of the Ulianov-Tsederbaum brothers. Later it was
established that Lenin himself was the mastermind in causing this accident.
Little did the people suspect that he was later also an agent of the German
government. Trotsky’s brother was also a revolutionary; he was hanged in
1905. Lenin and Trotsky came to Russia shortly after Father’s abdication.
Once my Granny told me if Grandfather had not held up the roof of the
railway car they would all have been crushed. Aunt Olga suffered an injury
to her back, and Granny to an arm. From the life-size painting which hung
in Father’s billiard room, I judge my Grandfather to have been enormous,
with broad shoulders and colorful, healthy cheeks, a handsome specimen. I
would not be surprised if his voice was a deep baritone, like the voice of a
lion roaring throughout the vast rooms of the Gatchina Palace. That kind of
impression my giant Grandfather made on me.
Father was emphatic about two things: He would accept nothing from
Germany and would not permit the family to become separated. After
seeing what these people had done to Father, we sisters, though we longed

for freedom and an opportunity to enjoy our life, young as we were, were
ready to sacrifice everything and even die to save our country.
A new detachment of guards arrived from Moscow under the supervision of
a man named Yakovlev. He had been in Tobolsk for several days and no one
knew the reason for his being in town. Before the thirteenth day of each
month approached we feared some kind of trouble, and the 13th of April
was no exception. On this day Yakovlev put under arrest General
Tatishchev, Prince Dolgorukov, Countess Hendrikova, Mlle. Schneider and
Mr. Gibbs. They were ordered to move into our house.
After all the rooms had been searched, Yakovlev, wanting to be sure that
Alexei was ill, brought in a doctor from the outside, who soon verified the
boy’s illness.
I remember a conversation one evening with Count Tatishchev. Prior to the
war he represented Father at the German Court and spoke German fluently.
During the war he questioned German prisoners who told him that their
officers were dissatisfied and that even Von Moltke, the German
Commander in the field, was disgusted the way things were going by 1917,
and was in favor of putting the Kaiser under arrest; that virtually the Kaiser
was a prisoner at his own headquarters and no longer had the power to do
anything about the situation. Besides, it was further said, Germany was at
the point of collapse.
Ludendorff was then master of the Army and the Empire. It was the Russian
revolution which was so skillfully promoted by the traitors who had settled
for a while in Switzerland that saved Germany. Had it been delayed even by
as short a period as three months, victory would have been ours.
Another evening the subject of discussion was the treaty which was about
to be signed. As usual we were gathered in the big hall. With us were Prince
Dolgorukov, General Tatishchev, M. Gilliard and Mr. Gibbs; also the two
ladies in waiting, Mlle. Hendrikova and Mlle. Schneider, both of whom
were later killed outside of Perm. Father turned to General Tatishchev and
said: “General, do you remember the letter that Wilhelm wrote to me in
which he said that he wanted to sign a separate treaty with Russia, after
which the whole affair would be forgotten and the two countries would be
friends again?” Across the face of that letter Father had written: “Our
friendship is dead.” There was a second letter, this one to Count

Benckendorff, in which the Kaiser asked the Count to speak to Father about
a treaty with Germany.
We all knew about these letters as we were at General Headquarters at the
time. Father showed these letters to Sir John Hanbury-Williams and the
other members of the Foreign High Command. His own reaction (which
may have been sent to Berlin by Count Benckendorff) to these letters was,
“If the Kaiser wants peace, let him make his proposals to all my Allies; a
separate treaty with Russia alone is out of the question. No treaty without
indemnities to my country and my Allies.”
Prince Dolgorukov said to Olga, “Knowing how honest His Majesty is, he
would and could not break the promise he made when he put his hand on
the Bible, assumed the purple and was crowned, and received the Orb and
the Sceptre. At the same time he kneeled in prayer to guide him in his
service as Tsar and Judge of the Russian Empire and to keep his heart in the
will of God asking for His guidance to help him in his task to rule wisely
and be a true father to his people, in order that on the Day of Judgment he
may answer without shame.” During the proclamation of war Father again
swore with his hand on the Bible never to make a peace with the enemy as
long as one enemy soldier was on his soil.
Father would never have betrayed his Allies. However, the Allies did not
recognize his loyalty to them and his unwillingness to sign a separate treaty
with the Central Powers. Because of his loyalty and their failure to
recognize it, he underwent great spiritual suffering, particularly because he
knew that it would mean the end of Russia at a time when he so needed the
support of the Allies which they failed to give. Even the Bolshevik leaders
feared that the stubborn Emperor might be a threat to them, and decided
that the only thing left to do was to kill him. Father might still be alive
today, if he had been willing to betray his Allies. It was known that Wilhelm
had more confidence in Father for keeping his word in honorable dealings
than in his other cousins.

XXI
SEPARATION

At this time the new commissar informed Father that he would have to
leave Tobolsk within twenty-four hours; and that, because he could not take
along the entire family on account of Alexei’s inability to travel, he could
take with him any other member of the family who wished to accompany
him. That meant separation, the thing we dreaded most. Mother was caught
between two tortures, at Yakovlev’s mercy. If she accompanied her
husband, she must leave behind her sick boy, who needed her above
everything else. But should Father face whatever was ahead alone? Suppose
he was to be tried and questioned, would he not need her support? Might
they not try to force him to sign the shameful Brest-Litovsk treaty, by
threatening to kill his family? Yet Alexei might die without Mother. And
what about Father? Did this mean death for him? We knew that all this was
surging through Mother’s tormented mind, just as it was through ours.
General Tatishchev wanted to go with Father and said: “Your Majesty, you
will not sign anything. They will have to kill us both.”
Olga was like a mother to Alexei. With Gillek, our loyal friend at his side,
and Dr. Derevenko across the street, Alexei would be well cared for. At last
Tatiana spoke up. She suggested that Mother and Marie go with Father. We
knew that was the right suggestion. We knew also how Mother and Alexei
would grieve for each other. In the midst of this discussion Father, as was
always his habit, went outside in the yard to be alone and not show his
agony to others. He had always found the answer to his problems when
alone, but this time he had none.
Father was supposed to leave at night, but it was decided to wait till
morning when it would be safer to travel on the river. If only they could
wait a few days, perhaps Alexei would be able to go with them. It was
decided that General Tatishchev should stay in Tobolsk while Dr. Botkin,
Prince Dolgorukov, Chemodurov (father’s old attendant) Sidniev (our
footman) and Anna Demidova, Mother’s maid, would go with them.
Colonel Kobylinsky selected eight soldiers of our guard, under the
supervision of eight officers, who would accompany them on this trip.

All day we moved about in a daze, as if we were under hypnotism. Mother
ordered her most needed articles to be packed. Tatiana with trembling hands
placed them in the suitcase. She swallowed fast to turn back the tears but in
spite of stoical efforts more than one tear dropped on the articles and sank
deep out of sight. Alexei cried incessantly. With him was Gillek (Gilliard),
his faithful tutor. Alexei called for Mother for hours but she could not go to
him. She could not hide her tears. At last she found strength to see him.
When Gillek left the room, Mother threw herself on her knees in front of his
bed and her face next to his, though she could not control her emotions. Her
arms around Alexei’s thin body, she wept bitterly over the sick boy, “We
will be back in a few days. We will soon be together.” A few drops of
valerian were given him. While she sat in a chair, holding his hand, Alexei
fell asleep. Then Mother bent over him and kissed her sick boy. He woke up
and started to cry again. We could all see that she had prepared herself for
this ordeal.
Mother understood the seriousness of this trip, that it might mean the death
of all three of them. They all accepted it stoically in the hope that it might
save their country even though it could lead to the loss of their lives.
The presence of new guards produced another problem, but Colonel
Kobylinsky promised that he would see to it that all who remained behind
would be cared for by him personally and that he would have the few
remaining old soldiers on guard in the house and watching over us.
Countess Hendrikova and Mlle. Schneider were to move in with us.
When all the business was finished, late at night we all assembled in the
large hall. All the employees, with tear-stained eyes, came to say good-bye
to those who were leaving. Mother embraced all the women and Father all
the men. After tea our friends from downstairs departed. The family did not
go to bed; our friends also stayed up all night. At 3:30 A.M. tea was again
served to the travellers. All changed into clothes for the trip and took with
them a few valuables which could be sold, if necessary. But upon their
arrival in Ekaterinburg, Mother’s and Marie’s handbags were searched and
the contents confiscated.
Mother drew us daughters into our room. We gathered around her. Then and
there I suddenly realized what Tobolsk had done to her. Mother’s hair was
partly grey and her eyes were sunken deep in her head. Her beautiful skin

was lined and transparent, and her neck thin and drawn. Her clothes hung
on her wasted frame—she cared little how much she had aged. She was
speaking slowly as if the choke in her throat would not let the words come
through. “My only desire,” she said, “is that should we ever be scattered
outside of Russia, I hope none of you will ever choose Germany, and that
you will never do anything to disgrace yourselves. There will be some
people who will try to put you in a compromising position—to take
advantage of your youth. Always keep respectable. Never marry for wealth
or power, only for love and devotion. The greatest happiness I can ask for
you, if ever you will marry, is that you will love your husbands as I do
mine, your dear Father, and we are thankful, for He has rewarded us by
giving us such an understanding family.”
We fell on our knees while she prayed for our safekeeping. Then she drew
each one of us to her and kissed us feverishly. She embraced us together,
then tore herself from our clinging arms and started toward the door.
Suddenly she was back again to hug us once more. Again and again she
tried to leave. Each time she came back.
Until the last moment we could not believe that God would let this
separation take place. Not only that we feared what would happen to them
when they reached their destination, but there was the dangerous river to
cross for which one closed carriage and several tarantasy (Siberian
primitive open carriages) were provided, now that the ice was thawing. The
night was dark and cold. It was safer to start early in the morning, because
the river freezes overnight, and they had to travel in the middle of the river
where the ice was thicker and safer.
Without a word, Marie clutched my hand; my arms flew around her. With
burning cheeks our lips met. Then and there I felt that a great part of my life
was gone. Marie was my other half.
Father was the most possessed of us all. He was so brave, parting from him
was the hardest, for we might never see him again. Mother was gone. We
stood there motionless, not yet believing, staring at the door she had just
passed through. She was heading for Alexei’s room. We knew that she
wanted to be with him alone. We could see into the room. She found him
crying with his head buried under the covers. He always thought it was bad
taste to cry before others.

Through the mist in our eyes we saw Father standing. He was white, but
with a faint smile on his face, he said: “Come now, children. We will only
be away for a short time. Hurry Alexei’s recovery so that he will be well
enough to travel.”
Somehow we passed the intervening hours with the servants, those faithful
few who had given us their all in their desire to lessen our suffering, friends
whose loyalty had lightened our burdens. Now these friends were pouring
out their love and devotion we so needed, all the time assuring us of their
watchfulness over Alexei and ourselves. Nothing would happen to him or to
us sisters. We never could have gotten through that night without our
friends.
Each moment we thought to be the last, yet each moment was filled with
the hope that the trip would be called off. The minutes passed into hours.
Midnight, morning, each second was filled with listening dread. Then came
the guards, and Colonel Kobylinsky and Yakovlev. Mother went again into
Alexei’s room as he was still crying. Almost gayly she assured him she
would be back soon. Father made a cross over us, gave his blessing and
kissed our wet cheeks. “All ready,” a voice came. “Certainly,” Father
answered. We followed our parents out of the house and stood on the steps
to see them seated in the waiting tarantasy. In one a mattress had been
rolled to make a seat; it was covered with a blanket. This vehicle, drawn by
three horses, Mother and Marie occupied. The other one had a bundle of
straw to serve as a seat, which also was covered with a blanket. Father and
Yakovlev got into this one. There were also tarantasy to carry the others, all
the luggage and three folding beds. The guards stepped aside; the gate
opened and closed. They were gone. Prince Dolgorukov, Dr. Botkin,
Chemodurov and Anna Demidova were with them. The officers and
soldiers were following on horseback.
The gate closed at 4:00 A.M., April 26th, 1918, new style, leaving us
standing there in tragic silence, confused, frightened, bewildered as to our
future. We ran to our room, threw ourselves on the beds and sobbed until
we could cry no more. Our dear friend Gillek was with Alexei. We could
not get to him. He understood. Thank God, for our loyal friends who
defended us. How much they suffered on account of us! And how many
good people lost their lives to save us. God give them everlasting peace.