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.