With us on the “Rossia” were General Tatishchev, Mlle. Hendrikova, Iza Buxhoeveden, M. Gilliard, Sidney Gibbs and Mlle. Schneider, who had once taught Russian to Mother and Aunt Ella; also Alexei Dmitriev, the hairdresser; Alexandra Tegleva, governess; Elizabeth Ersberg and Miss Tutelberg (“Tootles”) and Alexei (Diatka) Volkov, Mother’s groom of the chamber; valet Trup; Leonid Sidniev, Klementy Nagorny, Ivan Kharitonov, and others.
We were concerned about Alexei, so we went to his cabin and to our dismay we found that he and Nagorny had been locked up in the cabin for the night. Dr. Derevenko, too, was not permitted to see my brother. The Doctor and Nagorny protested such cruelty toward the sick boy. Rodionov shouted back, saying, “You will see who is running this boat.” Then after a series of curses in Russian and expressions in some foreign language, he continued: “I have orders to shoot anyone who resists.” No more could be said or done, and we were thankful that Nagorny was with him. We were not allowed to close our cabin doors. The trip to Ekaterinburg would not be long! We did so hope nothing would happen to Alexei now at the last minute. The spring air on the river Tobol—the little that sifted through our windows—was refreshingly sweet, though the cabins were raw and chilly. The next day they permitted us to sit on deck. We could see the shores were a fused iridescence of the early tree leaves; the stream was swollen and formed numerous little lakes. From our midstream view the world seemed tenderly beautiful. Could our world be tender? Was this a new beginning, or an end?
The guards armed with bayonets were everywhere, dampening any desire on our part to indulge in any kind of conversation. Whoever spoke to us had to raise his voice well above normal, speak in Russian only, and sit at some distance from us. We were happy when Alexei was allowed to be carried out on the deck in his wheel chair. He remained quietly in the sunshine; his eyes followed M. Gilliard whenever he left him for a moment. Alexei was very attached to this faithful friend and protector. He was afraid to talk for fear he might be locked up in his cabin again. He sat worried and forlorn, occupied with troubled thoughts. The little fellow realized the seriousness of his trip, he was obviously in deep agony. Our hearts beat painfully for him. We tried to play some games but none could concentrate. We spoke little for fear they might misinterpret our most innocent conversation.
On the second morning, May 22nd, we arrived in Tiumen. Here were more guards armed to the teeth, even with a machine gun. They were afraid of possible riots when we would disembark. There were crowds of people to see the arrival of the first boat of the season, or perhaps they were aware of our being on board. We waited on the boat several hours before we disembarked, then we walked from the landing, crossing the same tracks to the waiting train as we had done, in reverse, the previous year. A group of ladies threw flowers at our feet, but we did not dare to look in their direction. We saw they were wiping their tears with handkerchiefs. Many crossed themselves and others made a cross in our direction. Still others stood motionless except for their quivering lips. An elderly gentleman knelt down. Immediately a guard pushed him over, swearing at him in a mixed tongue. I felt ashamed to see such brutal disrespect for venerable years. This Russian gentleman was one of the old generation. I could tell by his posture and by the cut of his clothes. He had a familiar look; it seemed I had seen him before somewhere. Tatiana asked Commissar Rodionov if it would be possible to have Baroness Buxhoeveden and others with us. He grinned, saying “Panie, nyet” (lady, no).
We were exhausted and hungry. We had had nothing to eat since noon the day before, and still there was a long trip ahead of us to Ekaterinburg. Finally our brave Nagorny managed to get us a bottle of milk. I presume someone gave it to him and he rushed to give it to us. We sisters each had half a glass and the rest we saved for our brother. Then we were transferred to the train. One car was assigned to us girls and our brother. One side of the aisle was occupied by us sisters and Hendrikova, Buxhoeveden, Schneider, and Ersberg. On the other side were General Tatishchev, Alexei and Nagorny. We were not allowed to speak with those on the other side. Now Alexei was separated from his devoted teacher and protector, M. Gilliard. The rest of the suite, we understood, was in the car behind.
We did not dare to undress that night since the guards were pacing back and forth in the aisle and at each end of the car. They stood or sat continually guarding us as if we were criminals. The shades were pulled down all night, but several dim lights were kept on. We knew we were approaching Ekaterinburg when the guards spoke of Bazhenovo, a town near Ekaterinburg. At midnight the train stopped and we spent the rest of the night there on the train. We remembered Bazhenovo where, on our way to Tobolsk, we had stopped along the track. Father had told us that near here were the famous emerald mines.
About nine o’clock in the morning several men entered our car and said, “Please carry your own personal luggage.” The guards made no move to help us. Nagorny, heavily guarded, was told to pick up Alexei. Without a word he carried him off the train. It was raining and dark clouds were hanging over the area making a most depressing day. Some people stood near the road under the trees which had begun to show their green leaves.
Evidently the news of our arrival had leaked out. The guards loudly ordered the people to turn their backs toward us. We carried our heavy suitcases and other belongings. Olga had been ill during the night and was still so dizzy she could hardly walk. She was unable to carry much. We feared she had had a heart attack that night but Dr. Derevenko, who was probably in the next car, had not been allowed to see her. Four or five carriages met us near the railroad tracks, I presumed in the outskirts of the city. I remembered passing Ekaterinburg the previous summer on the way to Tiumen. The railroad ran partly around the town; there were two stations. I think our train was stopped near the station where a demonstration on the part of the populace would be less likely.
Nagorny placed Alexei in the first carriage, then he ran toward us to give us a hand. He tried to reach for the heavy suitcase which Tatiana had carried with great effort in one hand, the dog and the blanket in the other, but he was brutally pushed aside. We struggled with our burdens in the muddy ground mixed with cinders; no one was permitted to come to our assistance. Our carriages with suitcases and a commissar in each followed the carriage bearing Alexei and Nagorny. While the rain continued, they raised the hood of the carriage in which I rode. In the carriage with me was a man whom I later recognized as Zaslovsky.
Sitting on the edge of the seat I could see that we had entered a broad avenue; shortly on the left I saw a church. Proceeding into another broad avenue, there was a chimney visible behind a wooden fence at the end of which the carriage stopped. I saw a short distance away another church. It was the view of this church that remained in my memory that day as I entered the Ipatiev House.
Trembling with fear we were eager to reach the premises. At the arch of some sort of a porte-cochere we stepped out from the carriage. It was 9:40 A.M. or perhaps a little later when we entered the Ipatiev gate. At the entrance stood Goloshchekin, the Commissar. Olga entered first and we followed her. As we entered the house, we were met by a rough-looking man who stood in the vestibule. From here we were escorted through a wide stairway and entered an anteroom and then passed into another room which was the Commissar’s office. We each had to present, separately, our identity cards, each with its serial number and photograph of the bearer, taken in Tobolsk some time earlier. They showed the place and date of birth, surname, patronymic and family name, as well as our address at Tobolsk.
We found Father standing near the hallway at the foot of the stairway. He threw his arms around us. Then Alexei was placed in Father’s arms. Mother and Marie met us at the threshold. We sobbed in each other’s arms, but when Alexei was brought to Mother, she put her head on his chest and wept bitterly. “My baby, my precious one!” It was nice to hear again these words which had been missing in Tobolsk. Joy and sorrow mingled in that tragic reunion.
Mother looked pale, haggard, and prematurely aged. Even Marie had lost her glow. Father’s once clear blue eyes were circled with dark shadows and his hair was sprinkled with gray. His hands were thin and I noticed dark spots on them. “It is his liver,” Dr. Botkin said. Marie gave her bed to Alexei. In Father’s and Mother’s room were the three folding beds which had been brought from Tobolsk. We four sisters moved into one room.
Late in the afternoon, our cook Kharitonov, his helper Leonid Sidniev and the valet Trup were brought to us. They told us they had been questioned for hours. Their interrogators stripped them of their extra clothing and took some of their belongings. The interrogators had not forgotten the unpleasant incident which took place on the boat, where Nagorny exchanged angry words over Alexei’s being locked up overnight in his cabin. They told us that General Tatishchev, Countess Hendrikova and Mlle. Schneider had been arrested and taken away to prison. But they were unable to find out what had become of Dr. Derevenko, M. Gilliard, Buxhoeveden, Tegleva, Ersberg, Father’s valet Kirpichnikov and the others. Our money, including our household money, carried by General Tatishchev, had been taken away from him. Now we had nothing left. Father wrote to Voykov asking of what these people were guilty to be sent to prison.
In spite of these unpleasant incidents we were glad and pleasantly surprised to have these few friends with us again. Mother was thankful to have these men, since Father’s old valet Chemodurov had been taken ill as a result of the trip from Tobolsk and sent to a hospital. On the day after our arrival it was our turn to be searched. Our suitcases were opened and ransacked. Fortunately we had brought with us little clothing. My shoes were almost worn out. While on the boat, Iza Buxhoeveden promised to let me have a pair of her own shoes. She wore size 4½, the same as I. But she was forbidden to give me hers.
The trunks which were shipped from Tobolsk reached the house but they were taken directly to the attic. We heard banging above the dining room and the sitting room. Evidently they had taken the keys to our trunks from General Tatishchev when they arrested him and were removing our belongings.
Several times they asked Olga to play the piano, which was in Commissar Yurovsky’s room. There we recognized our table linens, on one occasion a large one with the double eagle and the crown woven in it, and also one embroidered in the center with the double eagle and the crown. Commissar Yurovsky also helped himself to Father’s clothes which were much too tight and too short for him.
With all our troubles Olga became ill again with a nervous stomach disorder and suffered excruciating pain. Mother and Father and Marie had a small wardrobe when they first came to Ekaterinburg, but most of their clothes were in their trunks. One misfortune followed another in rapid succession. To add to our distress, Alexei knocked his knee against the bed while trying to get up. At first he fainted and after some minutes the pain became unbearable. An internal hemorrhage caused him untold suffering, with no immediate relief or medical help. Finally, after several letters to Yurovsky and pleading by Dr. Botkin, Dr. Derevenko was allowed to administer medical treatment. Mother spoke to the doctor while he attended Alexei, but he gave no reply. The guards were at the door watching him. He looked pale and his hands shook. When he did not respond to Mother’s question, she realized that he was under strict orders not to speak to us. Mother was so upset by these events that she burst into tears. The doctor’s face turned red and he looked at her pleadingly. He gave her some lotion, salve, clean gauze and epinephrine as Tatiana took charge of Alexei. Dr. Derevenko saluted and left like a shadow or a dream that comes and goes. Tatiana was to apply the compresses of epinephrine to my brother’s knee. When the cotton was used up, she washed the gauze and saved it, and when that too was gone, she used Father’s old shirts or our old blouses. For weeks Alexei suffered. He lost a great deal of weight and became weak. Not only was his knee stiff, but this time both feet were partially paralyzed and one leg somehow became shorter again. Nevertheless, Dr. Derevenko was forbidden to take care of his young patient. We were not able to use the foam apparatus. The instruments were in a trunk in the hallway but were useless because most of the time there was no electricity and very little hot water. This was the only trunk that was turned over to us—because nothing was in it that those cruel men wanted.
It became apparent that the new life we dreamed of and the new hope that ran through us were being mocked at every turn. Restrictions and distrust teamed together to destroy our morale. We four sisters shared one bedroom. The first days we slept on the bare floor covered with blankets and a conglomeration of coats and cushions, as the house had been stripped of rugs and carpets. The floor was cold and damp. Olga and Tatiana became so thin their bones ached from sleeping on the hard floor. I was well padded then and felt less discomfort than the others. After a while we received heavy mattresses made of sacking stuffed with straw. These had to be turned over every day creating much dust and making my Mother’s sinus worse.
We sisters were frightened and agreed among ourselves that one of us should keep watch at night as we had done during the last days at Tobolsk, lying down during the day on our parents’ beds to make up for lost sleep.
Marie described to us their treacherous trip from Tobolsk to Tiumen. As they were crossing the Irtysh River in tarantasy, the ice, which was many feet thick, began to break up with a thunderous noise, so much so that even the sharpshooters and officers who were escorting the family under Rodionov’s surveillance were frightened.
The horses struggled in the thick slush which came up to their stomachs. Unable to raise their feet they merely pushed the slush ahead of them. Large pieces of ice wedged between the wheels, causing the spokes to break. In front of Rasputin’s house, a crack like thunder was heard underneath and a huge block of ice heaved close to them. One of the horses fell and could not get up and it took the efforts of all the guards to lift him to his feet with the aid of a wooden plank. What Rasputin had predicted ran through Marie’s mind: that our family would visit his village and that our death would follow his death. When Mother saw that Marie was frightened, she tried to brace her up.
Horses had to be changed a number of times before Tiumen was reached. Father, Dr. Botkin, and Prince Dolgorukov got out and walked in the marsh to lighten the burden of the horses which were wet, steaming and foaming at the mouth. In the evening the party was put up at a peasant’s cottage where some tea and food was served. Mother’s clothes were wet; she was so cold that her teeth were chattering and her lips were blue.
After resuming their trip, Father recognized one of his generals going in the opposite direction, dressed in peasant garb. Their eyes met. Neither one spoke. During this trip Dr. Botkin became ill, but in spite of that they had to continue their trip during the night, because the river did not thaw as rapidly at night. Finally they arrived at a point near Tiumen early in the morning.
Here part of the ice had already melted near the banks of the river, and it became necessary for them to put up a temporary bridge in order to cross the opening between the ice and the shore. Although it was early in the morning—just after daybreak—all kinds of guards were there to meet them, only a few of whom spoke Russian. The rest seemed to be foreigners. Under a heavy escort of soldiers armed with guns and hand grenades suspended from their belts, they were taken to the railroad station. Here they boarded a train. The entire party was seated in one car with Father, Mother and Marie on one side and the others on the other side. These included Prince Dolgorukov, Dr. Botkin, Chemodurov, Father’s old valet, Anna Demidova and Sidniev—once a footman to us girls. The family was not allowed to speak to any one of them.
For four whole days the train was shuttled back and forth by Yakovlev, who had charge of the family and was sympathetic to Father. He feared that when they reached Moscow, if Father should refuse to comply with their demands, the entire family would be killed. Father was puzzled at Yakovlev’s changes as to going or not going to Moscow. But soon the family recognized that Yakovlev was against those traitors in Moscow, but he was helpless, knowing that Father would not leave Russia, especially not leave his family to the mercy of these cruel men. The Germans were in control in Moscow and Father was convinced that all orders concerning our family came from Count Mirbach. Yakovlev’s purpose, therefore, was to forestall this. The train itself was even set on fire in order to give the prisoners a chance to escape. Father would not take advantage of this, as the rest of the family would have been held in Tobolsk as hostages. Soon thereafter Yakovlev received orders to proceed to Ekaterinburg. They spent Palm Sunday on the train.
As they were approaching Ekaterinburg a Commissar came asking for their papers. Father had only an identification card he always carried in his billfold of light leather embossed with a crown in gold. It bore his name, the date and the place of his birth, his religion and marital status. It also indicated the issuing office: the Imperial desk. In addition he had the identification card that had been issued to him at Tobolsk, which contained his picture and the words: Nicholas Alexandrovich Romanov, ex-Emperor, Citizen, Tsarskoe Selo.
In Ekaterinburg a photograph of the whole party of five was taken by Commissars Sverdlov and Goloshchekin, both Jews. Near the station at Ekaterinburg the people on the street went down on their knees and kissed the ground on which my family passed. They were guarded by the same men who came with them on the train, plus some additional guards who now surrounded them. Upon entering the house each gave his name and was admitted, but when Prince Dolgorukov gave his name the Commissar said: “You are under arrest.” This beloved friend of many years with whom Father had played during his childhood, was now separated from them. Prince Dolgorukov pulled out of his pocket one of his general’s epaulettes which had been removed from his uniform in Tobolsk. He handed it to Father and said: “It came from my Emperor and I give it back to my Emperor.” There was no chance to shake hands. He saluted Father and said, “God be with You, Your Majesties.” He was taken away.... Father was so shaken by this incident, he wrote a note to Goloshchekin, who was in charge of all prisoners, but it was fruitless.
At two o’clock in the morning a great mob of people gathered outside the house. Several shots were fired. From the screams they knew some were killed. The guards then entered and made a thorough search of the house. They took Father’s money and Mother’s jewelry and stripped all the others, including the maid, of their valuables. Anna Demidova had all her savings with her and also jewelry given to her by the family over the years. A foreigner who spoke to Mother in German and to Father in French, although he understood Russian, was insulting. It was said that he was Yurovsky’s, Trotsky’s and Mirbach’s friend, and that he was sent to the Ipatiev House from Moscow as a connoisseur of antiquities for a Swiss firm. His name started with “K”. Father resented this treatment and said that up to now he had been accustomed to deal with honest men, and that he did not need to be reminded by a foreigner that he was a prisoner not of his own people, but of traitors, convicts and foreign agents. It is unbelievable that such men could come into our country and wrest all power from the people.
The guards were Russians whose orders came from foreigners in Moscow. Even though most of the guards were ex-convicts, they could see the injustice that was being done. And sooner or later they began to be more lenient. But immediately the change in their attitude was noticed, they were replaced by new recruits.
Such was Marie’s account of their trip and stay in Ekaterinburg.
The arrival of Kharitonov, our chief cook; Trup, the valet; and Leonid Sidniev, the 14-year-old kitchen helper, cheered somewhat the gloomy atmosphere. When Dr. Botkin met us, he threw his arms around us and kissed each one of us, as if we were his own children. Tears filled his eyes. In less than a month he had greatly changed, as had all the others.
Father’s knuckles were swollen with arthritis. His kidney condition caused excruciating back pains. Mother’s hands too were swollen more than before and the lump on the index finger of her right hand was quite noticeable. She no longer could hold a needle in her fingers. All this was due to the very difficult trip from Tobolsk and the mental agony which persisted.
Dr. Botkin’s sad eyes forced a smile, beneath the swollen bags under them. His pastime was limited to reading. The dear man was anxious for news of his children, but we had none to offer, except a few indefinite rumors we had heard on the boat. In spite of the surrounding terrors, Dr. Botkin continued to reflect his intelligence, kindness and tenderness. Why should dear “Papula” be punished? I remember his children called him that. Commissar Yurovsky was especially abusive to him, Dr. Botkin wished his children to be brought to Ekaterinburg. He begged Commissars Avdiev and Yurovsky to have this done but the request was denied. Fortunately, by not coming to Ekaterinburg, they escaped the tragedy that befell their father. This seemed so unnatural since Yurovsky was the father of three children, and the son of a Jewish rabbi. One would think that he would be kind to other children.
Up to now our parents had had their food prepared outside. But when Kharitonov arrived, he resumed his duties as our cook. In the beginning we were allowed fifteen minutes each day to walk in the small, muddy garden; soon the grass began to show signs of life and the fragrant lilacs began to bloom. We were permitted to take some violets and lilacs to Mother, but they had to be examined at the office before they were taken into our apartments. A few trees showed considerable abuse, as the horses had chewed off much of the bark on the white birch and poplar trees. We picked the blossoms of the linden tree, dried them and used them to make tea. There was always something fragrant in the garden; when the acacia was in bloom the fragrance seeped through the windows. Sometimes Mother went out with us in the yard, when Alexei was feeling better. After Nagorny was taken away and when Father was ill, Dr. Botkin or Marie carried Alexei down into the garden. One day when Dr. Botkin carried him, Alexei threw his arms around his neck and kissed this good friend on both cheeks in gratitude. During our walking exercises we were subjected to the watchful eyes of the guards. They all carried hand grenades in their belts. Some of these were good men, but none stayed more than a few days. Once we heard them say, “Where there are devils, there is Hell, and that is what we have now.”
Our window panes had been painted white outside, except for a tiny space at the top through which we could glimpse the blue sky. After a while Father wrote Yurovsky asking him to remove enough paint so that we could see the thermometer which was on the left side of the window frame outside. We saw nothing but walls, prison walls.
Alexei asked Father to request that M. Gilliard be returned to us. This too was denied. Alexei also asked Father how long we would have to stay in this place. Father could not help but tell the truth, “It might be long.” Alexei never brought up that question again.
Sometimes at night shots would be heard; an agonized cry, then quiet. They searched our house again. We sisters were still without beds. They told us to set our clocks ahead by two hours. We had our breakfast at 12:30 noon. Kharitonov had to work not only for us and our staff but also for these terrible men. The odors of fish and other good-smelling things would drift to our rooms, but they were not for us. These foods were for the Commandant and the guards. We were given a thin fish soup or half-cooked veal cutlet at noon and a cold one at night. Father could not eat these things, so he went frequently without food. Mother’s meals consisted usually of spaghetti and tea, which little Leonid prepared for her over a small kerosene burner, because she refused to sit at the same table with those vulgar men. The guards ate at the same table with the family. For us, it was a question of eating the revolting stuff or starving while the guards lived off the fat of the land at our expense.