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.