When the first days of July with their white nights were approaching, a time when night is much like day in those northern regions, when twilight spreads a kind of magic transparency in the distant sky and woods, we saw creeping figures with shining bayonets emerge from the bushes. They were watching the windows of the prisoners. I wish I did not love that great country with so much promise, whose soul lies in debris now and of which I cannot speak without the feeling of a heavy weight on my chest.
Before the leaves came out, we withdrew to an area where we thought we could not be seen so easily. That led us to the greenhouses. We found them dreadfully neglected. No one had taken care of the plants. The gardeners had been discharged or put to work in some other capacity. Now many rare and valuable bushes surrounding the colonnades were cut down against everybody’s objection. The orders, we were told, came from Kerensky. Tears were in Father’s eyes to see such destruction.
We realized that the iron fence which protected us from the outside was now our prison wall. The driveway was a source of fear. Even the bushes and the trees of our beloved park secreted spies who watched every move we made. Even though we were accustomed to isolation from the world by a cordon of police and military protection, being surrounded by unfriendly guards was indeed depressing.
During the turbulent days, even the swans cried mournfully every morning because they knew we were in the palace, and they felt that something was wrong that we did not speak to them and feed them. Even these majestic birds must have known....
Our food now was ice-cold, more so than ever before. Our kitchens were in a separate building and the food was wheeled through the long tunnel in large carriers which had to be opened for inspection. Therefore the food cooled off before it reached our apartments.
Sometimes we played on the “Children’s Island.” On several occasions Alexei went out in a rowboat with his toy sailboats, but was not allowed to enter his little four-room playhouse where he used to play with his cousins and young cadets. It was locked up and his rowboat taken away, making him very unhappy.
We enjoyed our cycling, Father and Alexei on bicycles and we four girls on velocipedes. In the afternoon even Mother went into the woods and sat in the shade with her tapestry work, copying the original pattern of her Hepplewhite chair, while Father, his officer friends and others were cutting down the dead trees. We sisters helped to carry the smaller pieces and built tall stacks for the wood to dry during the summer months.
We heard that our friend Captain Nilov, whom we called “the little admiral”, once a commandant on the “Standard” and later at G.H.Q. with Father, had been arrested on order of Kerensky and shot without trial. This because he said while at G.H.Q. that he would kill General Ruzsky. Fortunately for Ruzsky, Captain Nilov was denied this pleasure. General Ruzsky also had a cordial dislike for Captain Nilov because the latter knew that Ruzsky was a traitor.
We already by this time had begun to enjoy our fresh vegetables. We lingered and feasted our eyes on the beauty of nature which until now had been taken for granted. Alexei, not yet thirteen, in the early summer delighted in shedding his boots and wading into the sparkling water up to his knees. It did not take much to satisfy him during these trying times. He wished nothing more from those heartless men than to be free to enjoy God’s given creation. How fortunate we human beings are, to see and feel all the loveliness and enjoy it to the utmost! How cruel too when men deny this privilege to their fellowmen!
Later, when we were in Tobolsk, Alexei recalled the Children’s Island and wistfully expressed the hope that he might be able to return to it and wade in the water again. He spoke of his playrooms, his small cars, and then all of a sudden he seemed to realize that these reminiscences of former places, dear to his heart, caused only pain, and he never spoke of them again.
Many days we saw curious strangers and friends being driven from the fence. The people, knowing the time of our walks, gathered along the fence; some even climbed on top of carriages to get a better view of us. Especially on Sundays, there were a great many watching us through the railing.
Often we saw familiar, friendly faces in the crowd, but we were afraid to recognize them. Once I thought I saw near the fence some of the Tolstoys—Marie and Elizabeth, also Pasha and her brother. Mother in her youth had met from time to time some of the Tolstoy relatives who lived abroad. Another time we saw friends from Petrograd and some nurses from the Tsarskoe Selo hospitals.
Near Easter my parents were informed that about eighty servants and workers employed in the palace were to be discharged. My family was perturbed, because some servants had families who depended on their earnings, and many of them had been with my family from the time of Father’s marriage. Before these people, so close to us, left, both parents thanked them for their past services and each one of them was presented with a gold or silver medal. Orders came that Count Benckendorff and all ladies in waiting, as well as Prince Dolgorukov, should leave us. However, they were permitted to stay without compensation.
During Lent we were allowed to have services in our private chapel, but Father Vassiliev had to eliminate Father’s name from the ritual. With trembling voice he stopped in confusion when he came to the part in which he was supposed to say, “Long Life for the Imperial Family.” I am sure that in his mind he added the omission to his own satisfaction. When Father Vassiliev became ill, after much negotiating Count Fredericks, the Court Minister, received permission to have Father Belyayev, a deacon and four singers come to the palace during the Easter holidays.
Palm Sunday services had been held in the palace chapel on the ground floor at the fourth entrance of the building. During the services we were carefully watched. The guards were secreted behind the draperies and the altar. Father Belyayev seeing all this could not control his emotions; his tears fell freely down his vestment.
During the Holy Week two services a day were the only refreshing moments in our new lives. Mother stood behind a large screen made in her favorite purplish-blue crystal glass, which Father had given her previously. Behind the screen was a small, cushioned, kneeling stand, on top of which rested a Psalter. On the wall to the right, were several religious paintings, inherited from her Mother Alice and several gifts from her Granny, Queen Victoria. The Psalter was searched when it was brought in and again when taken away. In the small room on Mother’s right adjoining the chapel some Bibles were kept. Mother was very much annoyed when a guard stood behind her throughout the service. “Even in this holy place,” she said, “one is deprived of a moment of meditation.”
On the day of the Lord’s Crucifixion the revolutionists decided to bury their own dead. With the red flags flying and a band blaring forth with the Marseillaise and Chopin’s Funeral March, the procession advanced through the avenues of lime trees and stopped opposite the circular balcony from which we could see them marching. Among the dead they paraded were bodies taken from the cemetery, including those who died in the cellar, which they had set on fire during a drinking spree. But their evil scheme came to an end on this day, when angry, black clouds darkened the sky, when a terrific hail and wind storm furiously broke whole branches from the trees and pelted the metal roof of the palace with large hailstones. Candles were lit. When daylight returned, the courtyard was flooded, and there were large cakes of ice in the water. All was quiet now.
The same screeching cry and the detested Funeral March that should be reserved only for the dead was now heard every day. It became annoying even to the sentries. Often they whistled sarcastically as soon as the demonstrators appeared. I even heard this abhorrent March in my sleep.
Saturday night the staff, the servants and others, several hundred in all, were present at the midnight service in our chapel, which lasted till an early morning hour. The procession, headed by the priest who carried an icon, went through the rooms with the lighted candles and the message: “Khristos Voskrese (Christ is Risen)”, bringing the hope that our dark lives might be brightened.
We thought it was a sad Easter, but a worse one was to follow. On this Easter morning the staff, the chief of the guards, the commandant, officers, ladies in waiting and a few others assembled in Father’s library to break the blessed bread. In the afternoon those on duty assembled in Mother’s room for congratulations.
This year our relatives, and high ranking military men, Ministers, and the representatives of foreign countries no longer were permitted to come to congratulate us on this Holy Day. Queen Olga of Greece, the sister of the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich, miraculously entered the grounds but her entry into the palace was prevented. Her kind message and the Easter egg were delivered to us by an officer. A great many others came but were turned back at the gate.
There were several birthdays during our five months of imprisonment at Tsarskoe Selo. First came my Father’s. On his birthday, services were held in the chapel. The words “Long Life for the Tsar” were still missing; a sad day. Then Mother’s, then came Tatiana’s, and on June 5th, Russian calendar, I became sixteen years old—the year I should have been officially presented to the Russian court. But there was no debut for me and I did not care. The family did their best to make an occasion of it. A service was held in the chapel and I received congratulations from all around me. A year earlier a design made by Fabergé for my lavalier had been approved by my family, to be made of diamonds and pearls. I was to receive it on this day. Instead, these sixteen diamonds and sixteen pearls, one for each birthday and one for each name day, were sewn into my clothes when we left for Siberia. Not long after my own birthday came Marie’s, and then just before our departure from Tsarskoe Selo came Alexei’s.
More about our imprisonment. First, there was some improvement in Mother’s health. However, during the hot spell in July her heart condition became worse. She was forced to lead a quiet life. There were no more separations, no more hospital work and no attacks of haemophilia for Alexei. We all fell into a routine. Lessons had been entirely neglected since our illness. Some of our instructors came from outside. They taught in the gymnasium and in other schools. Now it was no longer permissible for them to resume their former duties. Monsieur Gilliard spent most of his time with Alexei, and in general was most helpful in reorganizing the household with which the others were inexpert to cope.
We had books galore to choose from, and several pianos for our use. We resumed piano lessons—now with Anastasia Hendrikova; previously they were given by Mr. Konrad. Father began to teach us history, geography and natural science; Mother, religion; Baroness Buxhoeveden, English; Dr. Botkin, Russian; M. Gilliard, French; Mlle. Schneider, mathematics. There was only one thing lacking—inspiration.
From the very first Kerensky barged into Father’s rooms without warning, much to the disgust of the Court Marshal who followed him angrily. Kerensky asked Father whether he would go to Germany if the Kaiser would extend an invitation. Father disappointed him by answering, “I shall never set foot on German soil. I have already previously rejected the invitation.” A car supposed to carry us over the border crashed into the fence as it tried to drive through the gate. Even if an opportunity had presented itself, dozens of strong chains that bound us to our Mother country would not let us leave Russia. There was an offer that we leave Russia by way of Murmansk, but Kerensky betrayed it to the revolutionists, even though we would not have accepted the offer.
Suddenly Kerensky wanted General Kornilov’s resignation but the General refused to comply with his order. Kerensky then told Father that Kornilov was a traitor. What was Kerensky? I wonder now if the General was not in Kerensky’s way! Kerensky also was against Captain Count Kotsebue, the Commandant of the Palace who formerly was an Uhlan Guard officer. Kerensky forced him to give up his post in favor of Kerensky’s communist friend, Colonel Korovichenko.
Once after a walk when Father was about to enter the palace, one of the new guards stepped in front of him and barred his entrance. Alexei from the open door saw what happened and burst out crying. Another time Father was walking with Prince Dolgorukov in the park when one of the new officers followed close behind and stepped on his heel. Father turned suddenly and hit the officer with his walking cane so hard that the officer bent double. After that none of them tried this incivility again.
Years later I spoke by chance to a former Russian officer who said the Emperor should have “prayed less but worked more.” But this officer’s wife at that time remarked to her husband, “What kind of officer were you? When you became ill with appendicitis you carried on like an infant! Is that bravery?” My Father not only prayed and worked but possessed the bravery of a hero. Every day he spent ten to fourteen hours at his desk. There was no other man that worked and fought harder and with more determination than did Father. Such words were spoken only by German traitors and weaklings who did everything to buy the privilege to stay far behind the front lines. Some said that Father was mild. Perhaps he was; he might have been appreciated in another country. However, many said that Father should have ordered guns, but the Emperor would not take the lives of men. He was very kind because he did not believe in the ruthlessness of Ivan the Terrible, or Lenin, Trotsky, Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld, Himmer, and others.
The very things we loved most, were now turning against us. Each morning when I awakened I hoped for an improvement. But one glance around convinced me the times were not right. One day a bullet hit a window in Father’s study and left an ugly round scar, showing the great thickness of the glass. Our walks continued, but every time we went out we discovered many familiar faces had disappeared, and were replaced by new ones. In the park the sentries followed us closely and engaged us in conversation. Most often we did not care to hear what they said. Then came an order limiting our walk to the first bridge of the brook. Now we were confined to a more restricted area. We tried to ignore the impertinence of guards who lolled in our chairs on the lawn in front of the small balcony which led into the entry room. This balcony was a few steps up and had an entrance on each side, but the arbitrary guards prevented us from entering except through one side only. Mother watched us from the window, and when we returned to her, one glance indicated that she had been weeping. We knew it was the sight of our being so restricted that made her cry. Whether long or short, these walks remained the most coveted events of our day. Mother too was wheeled out in her chair, and sat with her embroidery in the shade. Usually she was surrounded by the young guards who asked her all kinds of questions, mostly religious ones. Those big children understood her and she won them with her kindness.
At first our captivity at Tsarskoe Selo was not so difficult, even though there was a complete lack of privacy and our freedom to come and go was restricted. In fact it was not much different from our usual routine as we had been accustomed to watchful eyes and many limitations. We would have been fairly comfortable if we had had enough heat and the right food for the convalescents.
The familiar rooms, furnished with what we always considered to be our own possessions, were at once comforting and disturbing. But soon we found out that these things and many personal household treasures no longer belonged to us. Many of these were confiscated immediately, including all Mother’s silver sets. Some of these were heirlooms from her Granny, Queen Victoria, and some were Father’s wedding gifts. Other confiscations included trays, platters, urns and numerous gold plates, gold tea glass holders and spoons, over five hundred table place settings, Mother’s imperial jade figurines and crosses by Bolin, the most famous jeweller in Petrograd; also many priceless gold icons decorated with precious stones and other treasures.
They even took Alexei’s jade and rock crystal collection of animals, gold swords, miniatures of the family, and his icons, many of which were presented to him during his illness in Spala in 1912 and were especially esteemed by him, because the people had prayed before them to spare his life. Some of these were in gold, studded in precious stones. On his birth in 1904 the Shah of Persia ordered a religio-historical rug to be made and had presented it to Alexei on his twelfth birthday. Approximately 12 feet by 16 feet, it took twelve years to make. As I remember it, it had Christ’s face in the middle, surrounded by about a hundred world leaders from the time of Moses up to 1900. There was an excellent likeness of George Washington.
Olga and Tatiana had saved some money with which they were able to redeem some of our tea sets, place settings and a few gold tea glass holders. Our home had the finest Persian rugs and Hepplewhite furniture. The gallery contained fine paintings and rock crystal chandeliers.
Father read in the paper that capital punishment had been abolished. He knew this would mean disaster for Russia. He wrote a long letter to the Provisional Government and expressed his views, pointing out the detrimental effect it would have on the Army and the country as a whole. Moreover, it would cause a great deal of danger to the public—and so indeed it happened. He preferred death before such conditions should develop. He gave no thought to his own fate and that of his family. As a consequence of the abolition of the death penalty, Kerensky was blamed openly for the murder of hundreds of young cadets and the torture of their superior officers. It was said that he was hand in glove with the perpetrators of these crimes. Many of these officers were well known to us. We heard that many of them were bound, then covered with straw saturated with kerosene, which was then set on fire before the eyes of their stricken families.
Kerensky was a good speaker and his words flowed smoothly. He seemed to impress people as being honest in his undertakings. This belief in him eventually vanished. He spoke of freedom and many exciting ideals poured from his lips. He promised that when these ideals were put into effect they would bring a prosperous republic and a good fruit. But his theory brought nothing but tragedy. Yet the seeds of the fruit continued to grow, and do so even now.
During this time, Kerensky’s absurd promises were constantly broken. Many came to regard him as a sheer opportunist. First, he told us that we had an invitation to go to England. Later he contradicted himself by saying that the invitation had been cancelled. We were puzzled and still we had to trust him. In the beginning Father believed that he was the right man for the office. Soon people began to doubt Kerensky’s sincerity, but we could do nothing to repudiate him. All kinds of fantastic stories were germinating during Kerensky’s short-lived administration which emerged rapidly but was soon carried away into a river reddened with blood. Even his own friends whom he himself had liberated betrayed him.
With the air of a conqueror he went to General Headquarters, and the people sarcastically said, “A Napoleon is now on the march. With a snap of his fingers, he will sweep on to Berlin and secure the keys to the city.” The new hero marched with thieves and murderers of Russia, and with these men he thought that he could win the war, and thus gain popularity. They carried the red flag and sang, “My poidyom vperyod i vyigrayem voinu s krasnym flagom—(We are marching forward and will win the war with the red flag).”
Many officers whom Kerensky had kept arrested, and who were anxious to fight the enemy, were left by this man to rot and die in unkempt prisons. He wanted to be the sole power and to keep all in his hands. As a result Prince Lvov, Rodzianko (once his friend) and Generals Alexeiev and Kornilov, as well as many others, resigned their positions.
Kerensky moved into a section of the Catherine Palace, which once was occupied by Father’s A.D.C., and indulged in luxuries to gratify his palate. It was said that all kinds of vegetables and rare flowers were especially raised for his pleasure, that he spared nothing to satisfy his thirst for luxuries, and that he left terror and rivers of blood for the Russian people to remember him by.
My little brother seemed to have faith in Kerensky and on one occasion he asked him whether Father could legally abdicate for him too. Kerensky replied, “Yes and no, but in your case I think, yes.” How surprised Father was at this. Alexei must have been puzzled by the abdication and evidently, on thinking it over, he wanted an explanation by someone else.