The days passed rapidly as winter approached, the cold was relentless. We were glad of the warning to bring warm clothes. December was very cold and it continued through the months of January and February. The house was unbearably cold and our bedroom was like an ice house; even a glass of water had frozen solid overnight. Our rooms were large and each had only one tile stove, providing scant heat against the raw winds that forced themselves right through cracks in the windows. Even Mother, who always preferred cool rooms, complained of the cold. The only time the house ever felt warm to us was on coming in from the icy outdoors.
Mother’s arthritis began to give her serious trouble, her joints and fingers became swollen. She suffered a great deal of pain and was not able to write or paint as much as before. Tatiana had a gift for nursing. She knew how to care and comfort the sick. She massaged Mother’s frostbitten hands in a bowl of warm water. Mother’s eyesight troubled her, too; her glasses no longer helped, since she needed new ones. The cork on the bridge of her frame had broken off and she felt this increased her sinus condition which bothered her to the very end. After a long debate a doctor came and she at last had her new glasses. Now she spent a great deal of time in theological studies and writing in the old Slavonic language.
Father’s joints were swollen also, but my saintly Father never complained lest he might worry us.
We all were supposed to keep our diaries. Alexei made only occasional entries. Whenever he was encouraged to think of something, he wrote “The same old thing.” I too lost interest, for fear that writing what took place in our daily lives might cause us trouble. Olga and Tatiana wrote a great deal, but right after our parents left, General Tatishchev suggested that they burn all unnecessary papers. Olga’s poems and Mother’s poems and paintings all went up in smoke.
Our dogs always went with us on our walks. They were our constant diversion; they saved these outings from complete boredom. We envied their retrieving sticks we threw and jumping happily, since we ourselves felt cramped. Every morning my own dog Jemmy announced her arrival by scratching frantically at the bedroom door. Her happy mood made us forget our troubles. I carried her up and down the stairway, because her legs were too short to climb the stairs. Her long silky ears got into everything. Her long tongue was always out. The poor animal did not know that a few months later her happiness would end in Ekaterinburg.
For months before Christmas we worked on gifts for everyone who came with us from Tsarskoe Selo. We had some yarn on hand and some was sent to us by our friends. Mother made waistcoats, mufflers, mittens, socks and wristbands. We tore apart old blouses and fashioned them into handkerchiefs and then embroidered initials on them. Pieces of silk were made into fancy bookmarks—some of which we painted and some we embroidered. We wanted to surprise our friends with these gifts, in appreciation of their loyalty to us.
Mother, however, seemed to have a premonition of trouble. First, she was worried about Anna, who, she thought, might be in trouble for sending letters and packages to us. Mother warned Anna to be careful about sending people with messages. She feared they might betray us. And so it happened. The least suspected person was Soloviev, husband of Matriona, Rasputin’s older daughter. Soloviev came to Tobolsk several times with letters and packages. Even Olga and Marie called the situation to Mother’s attention, and suggested that Anna should let the officers handle matters and not the Yaroshinsky-Soloviev clique; but Mother said that Anna would die before she would betray us.
In the evening we gathered in Father’s study which was smaller than our other rooms. Father read to us and we sewed until our fingers became so stiff we could hardly hold the needles. But there was a richness in that room that made us reluctant to complain. Sometimes we played dominoes, bingo, or durachka, a card game (resembling five hundred) which Father disliked. Tatiana played bridge best of all, while Mother’s favorite was bezique. Ten o’clock was bed time for us younger girls, but Alexei used to retire at eight. Later on when life became monotonous, Mother asked our friends to join us in the evening. Some played games and others read.
Father also brought with him his diaries and his letters. These had been confiscated in Tsarskoe Selo but were returned to him when nothing incriminating was found in them. We sat around Father in the middle of the room, away from the draft of the windows, listening to his reading aloud. I am sure his heart felt sad as did our own. We learned many interesting events that took place before and during Father’s reign. Father wanted Olga or Tatiana to write a history of present events as soon as we were free, and for that reason he wanted us to remember every event that took place before and after our arrest and during our life in Tobolsk.
Our letters to friends were harmless; some went through Colonel Kobylinsky’s hands and were read by him, but some were not. Later, when we were in Ekaterinburg, we were shown photostatic copies of these letters carried back and forth by Soloviev. Then we realized he was a spy. Once in Ekaterinburg, Mother in her dark hour said, “I warned Anna again and again to be careful of what she was doing, and now she has made another mistake.” After this Mother never again mentioned Anna’s name. I hope she did not leave this world with this bitterness in her heart toward her friend, who unfortunately brought one serious trouble after another not only to Mother but to the whole family. Olga and Marie always opposed Anna but Mother resented anyone saying anything against her friend.
It had been promised that when Baroness Buxhoeveden arrived, she would be staying with us. We fixed her room ourselves and the final touches were approved by Mother. It was Christmas week when she reached Tobolsk. The day she was supposed to come to the house, Colonel Kobylinsky notified Father that he wished to speak to him. He informed Father that the Soldiers’ Committee decided against her joining us. Not having money Iza and her English assistant organized English classes in town and found many people enthusiastic to study this language. She met us only on the boat when we left for Ekaterinburg.
On two occasions, the icon of the Image of the Holy Virgin was brought from the Abalak Monastery to the Church of the Annunciation for services which the family attended.
The first time was November 14th, old style, the anniversary of my parents’ wedding. We had prayed before this icon in the Monastery and were deeply moved to be able to do so again. The church bells rang as we left the church and continued until we reentered the house.
The second time was on Father’s name day—December 6th, old style. No one was allowed to enter this holy place while we were there. At the end of the service, as though nothing had changed, prayers were offered, ending with a Mnogoletie (“Long Life for the Imperial Family”) as had always been done before the revolution. We were surprised at the priest’s courage. Father’s face turned white and we all glanced at each other. Olga’s pale face turned faintly red, and she wiped her eyes. We wondered if there was going to be trouble ahead. There was. They promptly demanded the death penalty for Father Vassiliev, but he was saved, though not for long. He was sent away by Bishop Hermogen and was replaced by another one. The nuns too were taken away.
We were now forbidden to attend church services, but after hours of pleading with the Soldiers’ Committee by Colonel Kobylinsky, we received permission to attend church services but only on the twelve principal holidays. From now on the restrictions became more severe.
Finally Christmas eve arrived. Mother presented everyone with one of the gifts we had been working on for months. The villagers too were thoughtful. They sent us two Christmas trees, one of which we sent to our friends across the street, with whom we shared some delicacies that were sent us by the Ivanovsky nunnery and by the head people of the local museum. In the evening, vespers were held in the big hall and we were grateful that there was no interference. We looked forward to the Christmas morning services at the church.
Somehow I felt a sadness as we walked along the path packed with snow. It was cold and dreary and at eight in the morning still dark. The sky overhead was heavy. It gave me simultaneously a feeling of loneliness and apprehension. It was so quiet that only the crackling of the frozen snow under our feet broke the stillness. We did not speak to each other; each one was occupied with his own thoughts. It is quietness like this that awakens one’s heart to fond memories of the past. We crossed the small garden and with my mind’s eye I could see the museum, the little park, and in it the proud obelisk dedicated to Yermak, the conqueror of Siberia. A short walk, but my thoughts covered thousands of miles behind the frozen plains of Siberia. I could see our Grandmother, our aunts and their children, and our friends, and I wondered if they had forgotten us. Above all I thought of our old homes, where I had spent sixteen happy years of my life. All seemed so cold and so far away.
My thoughts came back to Tobolsk. Only recently we had discussed with our friends here the historical background of this town. It frightened me. I thought of the chapel adjoining the Metropolitan’s residence where the Bell of Uglich was formerly hung. This bell summoned the people of Uglich when Prince Dimitri, son of Ivan the Terrible, was murdered in 1591. By an order presumably given by Boris Godunov, this bell was transferred to Tobolsk, where it was damaged by fire and recast. We too were transferred to Tobolsk, by Kerensky.
Father realized what the prison life had done to his family. We once overheard Father saying to Prince Dolgorukov, in the presence of Colonel Kobylinsky, that his heart was aching for his little family whose life which had just begun was about to come to an end. He continued, “During my whole life I tried to serve my country faithfully, and if I have done wrong I am willing to suffer for it. I am not sorry for myself or my wife, but for the children. It is a crime to punish these innocent youngsters. They are so pure and so good. They are the children of Russia.”
On New Year’s morning we went to church. It was one of the twelve holidays on which we were permitted to attend services. The new priest officiated but he appeared nervous. Then we heard that our former priest, Father Vassiliev, who had officiated at the previous service, had been taken away from the Abalak monastery. He was then tied, beaten and thrown still alive into the Tobol River in front of the monastery. It was very cold that morning. The temperature often went down to 25°-35° below zero. The church was unheated but dimly lighted, and we could offer only one candle apiece. Although we were provided with rugs, even then our feet were numb from the cold, but our hearts found comfort, warmth and hope ahead. Due to the extreme cold, my sisters and brother became ill again with the German measles. This time, however, they were not so seriously ill as the previous year.
Through General Tatishchev Father was informed that we could not go to church on Epiphany day, commemorating the baptism of our Lord, which falls some twelve days after Christmas. It was decided to build a movable altar in a corner of the big hall on the second floor, where we took our lessons and gave our plays. Mother busied herself by supervising the placing of the icons in their proper places. The priest and the four nuns came to the house for the Divine Liturgy and the Blessing of Water. Father and we children sang with the choir which consisted of some members of our staff, including Nagorny, Alexei’s servant, who had a very fine voice. At the end of the service, according to custom, the priest dipped the cross into the water and with it sprinkled the water in the air in the shape of a cross. We all kissed the cross but when Alexei’s turn came to kiss it, the priest bent over and kissed his forehead. It touched Alexei deeply. This kindness meant so much to the little, frail boy. To the last he never forgot this courtesy, nor did we. We “broke bread” with our friends in the dining room downstairs.
It was on this day that Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev pleaded with Father to have his epaulettes removed. For the sake of his family, finally Father gave in. Right then and there something died within him. He did keep his St. George’s Cross and the French Croix de Guerre. He was very proud of them. Father told his valet, Chemodurov, that General Tatishchev should remove the epaulettes before brutal hands touched them. With a painful expression the general removed them. I remember when the St. George decorations were given to Father and Alexei. General Ivanov sent Father’s friend Prince (Toly) Bariatinsky to present these decorations while Father was home for a few days.
Practically buried by snow, we were permitted to make a mountain. Hundreds of shovelsful of snow were carried up and covered with water, which froze immediately. The process was repeated until a good sled course was built. We helped our friends, Prince Dolgorukov and M. Gilliard, as well as the soldiers, until we were exhausted.
January 12th/25th was Tatiana’s twenty-first name day. After the Te Deum, which was held in the house, we all extended to her our congratulations. Even the soldiers of the Fourth regiment presented her with various blooming plants and flowers. Except for Mother, we had no gifts for her.
We heard that Felix Youssoupoff was killed. Mother said, “God forgive his mistakes.” Later the rumor was denied.
We had a swing in the back yard, but Nikolsky’s men at night wrote vulgar words on the wooden seat board. We were forbidden to go near it until Dr. Botkin, Colonel Kobylinsky or Pankratov had examined it. Our outdoor exercises were limited to the small space allotted to us. Each day they found something new to accuse us of. One afternoon Alexei was on the front steps before the house, which were protected by a wall about 2-3 feet high on either side. He heard some children on the street and climbed on top of this wall which was about 35-40 feet from the fence. Nikolsky saw Alexei from the window, and like a bullet ran out of the house and loudly reprimanded the little boy, who had done no harm. From then on we feared him.
From the window, hungrily, I watched the children romp and play all wrapped up like little bear cubs in bright red felt boots. They rode around in bright colored orange or red sleds, or were drawn by plucky little horses which reminded me of the Crimea. These ponies looked so warm in their winter “coats” and so alive as they tramped over the packed snow with their bells ringing and jauntily pulled their sleighs behind them. I pressed my face against the window. The jingling bells outside and the icy cold of the window cutting into my cheek inside were cruel substitutes for my great desire to go sleigh riding myself.
Nikolsky taught the soldiers all kinds of communistic doctrines which he called Yurovsky’s teaching. At that time we did not know who this evil Yurovsky was. The hatred Nikolsky taught to the men, he was to experience himself. Soon afterwards the soldiers drove Nikolsky out. Unfortunately, old Pankratov had to go too. His going was a loss to us because he always defended us. From what we heard in advance about the new commissar who was coming from Ekaterinburg, we were apprehensive.
There were many repercussions in store for us. All the old soldiers of the Fourth and First regiments, who had come with us from Tsarskoe Selo, were ordered to leave. Before they did so, however, they came quietly one by one to Father’s study to say good-bye. Almost all of them cried as Father embraced them and thanked them for their loyalty to us. One of them brought a small body icon for Father to remember him by, and another one brought with him a small notebook which he asked us to autograph. Two men from the Fourth regiment refused to leave the place, saying that they would stay to guard their Emperor. At the point of a gun they were taken away and later we heard that they were shot, near the river. When the last several hundred men were leaving, they assembled on the street behind the fence in front of the house. We all, even Mother, went part way to the snow mountain to see our friends depart. We were never to see them again. The whole family and all around us were crushed by their going and, as they went, our hopes left with them.
We derived a lot of pleasure out of tobogganing on the snow mound we had worked so hard to build. But our pleasure lasted only one month. To the guards the snow mound was a sore spot and we tried to pacify them by not going to its top, so as not to attract the attention of passers-by who often gathered on the other side of the street to watch us. Notwithstanding, the Soldiers’ Committee decided to have the mound demolished. We soon heard heavy chopping and pounding in the garden, and we knew then that the snow mound was being destroyed. They cut deep notches across the mound so it could not be used for tobogganing and in order to prevent us from looking across the street. We showed no resentment at what they did, although in our hearts we felt differently.
Now we had even less space for exercise than we had had before and we tried to amuse ourselves as we elbowed each other in the yard. We looked at each other understandingly even though no words were uttered.
More bad news reached us, that agents of the underground, friends and relatives of the men listed previously, continued to pour into Russia from foreign countries by the thousand, followed later by Generals Pilsudski and Ludendorff and Count von Mirbach, the German Ambassador. We were told that all the buildings in Moscow including all of the Imperial quarters in the Kremlin were taken over by these intruders. These men ordered that the Russian Army be disbanded and that all German and Austro-Hungarian prisoners of war be released from the camps. These camps were scattered on the important railroad lines and mining regions throughout the territories of Omsk, Tomsk, Tiumen, Ekaterinburg, Cheliabinsk and other cities.
Up to now Father had refused to allow himself to be depressed. But this time he no longer was able to hide his feelings. He suffered painfully, because he believed his Allies, in whom he had had faith, had failed to help him in these difficult times. They could have prevented these men from coming to Russia. Instead, passports and other documents were issued to them. Father said again that fifty years from now there would be no democracy left, that when Russia falls the whole world will fall with it. A year later, when I recalled these words, in 1919, I wrote in my notebook, “Only the future will tell.”
Father was so distressed that he often sat up at night with only a little flickering lamp in the corner of his study. Mother knew that Father could not sleep. We heard the cracking of the floors which were more pronounced at night. She had left her bedroom and gone to him. We heard her say: “Nicky, are you not tired? Can you not sleep? I came to keep you company, dear.” Said Father: “No, Alicky, I am not tired. I thank you for thinking of me.” Such words of devotion and understanding always rang in our ears.
The only joy we had at this time was whenever we heard from our family or our friends. We longed so much to see our aunts, especially Aunt Olga’s baby. Aunt Xenia’s letters described to us the little man so charmingly that we felt as if we knew him.