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.