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.