Every week Father was questioned in the Commissar’s room, while the guards stood by at the doorway of our rooms. One day Father returned very upset after being questioned for two hours. They showed him a war document, the “Orange Book” as it was called, from which a number of documents were missing and accused Father of destroying these documents and substituting a letter from the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria, in which he wrote to Father that he did not wish to acquire any territory, but to die in peace in his old age. They ignored the fact that these documents had been held at the Ministry of War after they had been read by Father and the General Staff. Their suspicions were based on the assumption that it was impossible for the Emperor Francis Joseph to have written such a letter.
We had no privacy, not even the privacy of a prison. All the doors of our rooms had been removed before we arrived at the Ipatiev House. At any time of the day or night the guards or the Commandant would stalk into our rooms, without knocking. This occurred about every three hours for their check-up. The stench of liquor that flooded the rooms warned us of their approach. They sat on Alexei’s bed. They drank from our tumblers. They stuffed into their pockets anything that caught their eye. They came in twos or threes. By this time we had kept only our most treasured keepsakes, so whatever they helped themselves to was a real loss to us. But even precious things were worth losing if they would but leave us alone without this constant intrusion. They kept coming in more often, flaunting their authority in our faces, joking at our expense, and toying with the veneer of our composure. By comparison, the first guards at Tobolsk were gentlemen. We could not believe these creatures were soldiers. They seemed too uncouth to have been in any service of the Army. At night their hideous brawlings reached us from their quarters below to fill us with disgust and terror. Dr. Botkin tried to intercede. He went to the Commandant and urged him to see that his men were less rowdy, but they continued to act as before. Father seldom spoke to the Commissars. Anything he needed he wrote down and handed it to his valet Trup to deliver to Yurovsky.
In cases of illness, Dr. Botkin took care of us on his own accord. We sisters at home were trained not to be familiar with anyone around us, and always to be reserved. Mother also spoke seldom to her help, except when giving orders; and yet she was very kind to those who were in trouble or in need. Mother was the first one to help them financially. And now when Anna Demidova lost all her belongings Mother promised to replace their losses to all who were in our service.
Once when Kharitonov was ill, we sisters undertook the task of preparing the food. One day a burlap sack of potatoes was brought to the kitchen. “Peel them,” said one of the guards. Potatoes! Something so real, so much a part of the earth, to hold in our hands. We fondled each one, breathing in its earthy smell; no perfume like it. We made a game out of paring and when we finished, there was only a small pile of peelings. It was a refreshing task. We assumed some of these would be for our meals, but no potatoes were served to us. We helped on another occasion in the kitchen, baking bread. Kharitonov was appreciative of our help, since he had lately been in poor health, and the task of cooking for so many, commissars and others as well as for us, was too much for him.
Twice a week two maids came in to care for our rooms. They cleaned, washed the floors and changed our bedding. We helped them all we could and were glad to see the new faces about. We could not converse with them, because the guards stood at the doorway wherever they worked. We saw their frightened faces. We understood and they applied themselves to the execution of their strict orders. Upon entering our rooms and again on leaving they were searched. But somehow these women managed to tell us that some of our friends had been imprisoned and some shot.
Now we utilized a code using verses of the Bible. While the women worked, Mother or one of us sisters was told to read certain verses from St. John. We hoped the maids understood that she was to communicate with someone on the outside. The next time she came to clean she merely raised one or two of her fingers. We thought that someone had been interviewed and had suggested that we read Chapter 1 or Chapter 2. Another time we understood we were expected to read other chapters of the Bible. In that way we thought we were in touch with someone on the outside. We did this when conditions became dangerous. It was the only hope we believed might save us at the crucial moment. But if any of these messages reached anyone outside we did not know it.
We knew that food was being delivered to the house from the neighboring monastery every other day, for our family use. However, very seldom did any of this food reach us. The Commissars took most of it for themselves. During our meals Avdiev sat at our table and so did the guards. At such times the food was much better. Our few remaining servants felt uncomfortable sitting at the same table with us, and they asked Dr. Botkin to speak to Father about it Father made it easier for them by saying: “We are all in the same boat, and if we are to sink we might as well sink together.” They were exceedingly sympathetic and showed us more kindness. We could read the grief in their faces, but they were as brave as the rest of us. Trup and Kharitonov were approached by Voykov to cook for them at the club outside, a home of the Commissars. In spite of Kharitonov’s wife and a daughter being in Ekaterinburg, both refused, and preferred to work for their old employers without compensation. In response to Mother’s anguished prayers, Alexei began to feel better now. One day, Yurovsky came in and said abruptly, “Alexei is better now. He does not need Nagorny any longer.” Poor Nagorny was taken away. This faithful Ukrainian had done no more than serve his young master faithfully. Also our young footman Sidniev was taken away.
What was left of our silver disappeared gradually, except for a few forks and spoons which we kept in our rooms. Most of our silver had been seized from us in Tsarskoe Selo during the Kerensky regime. Part of it was repurchased by my two older sisters from their savings and part was purchased by Count Benckendorff who gave it back to us.
At meal time these wretched guards monopolized the conversation with all kinds of jokes. Their table manners were atrocious and their appetites voracious. One of the guards leaned against Dr. Botkin to light his cigarette from the candle which stood in the center of the table. His sleeve got into the food, and I without a thought gave him my napkin. The man actually looked ashamed. But as time wore on, we thought we could notice an improvement in the attitude of the guards. Some became tolerant and a few were even friendly. During one of our walks in the garden one of these men spoke so that Father could hear him say, “How cruel and senseless to hold and abuse an innocent man.” This guard suddenly disappeared, as did others. Every day there were new arrivals to replace those who were being sent away, for showing sympathy for us, which no doubt worried Yurovsky.
At night we tried to create a homelike atmosphere by lighting candles on the table. These nourished our souls, even if the food did not nourish our bodies. But we were told to burn one candle at a time, or one kerosene lamp. So for a long time we did burn only one candle. Often we were compelled to sit in the dark or go to bed early. Electricity was off most of the time. There were promises that it would be fixed tomorrow, but tomorrow never came and we never saw electric lights again.
Among our household dishes, Kharitonov had a box of gold candles. When the men searched the kitchen they became suspicious and melted some of the candles but found nothing.
Yurovsky had an office in the house. This consisted of an impressive desk and community bed covered with a military blanket, on which he and others took turns resting their troubled heads. The room, dirty and filled with cigarette butts, became a human pigsty. A samovar graced a table, many glasses of tea were consumed. A German newspaper rested majestically by the samovar. There was also a pointed knife with a black horn handle, a special culinary tool with which Yurovsky had proudly speared his cutlet at the supper table and expertly carried it straight into his mouth, profusely decorated with a curly, bushy black beard and mustache. In the corners of his protruding mouth there was an accumulation of saliva which never experienced a lonely hour. A dish with a mound of fresh butter was replaced as soon as it was finished. We long ago had forgotten the taste of butter. Since his last cold, the doctor had prescribed this diet for Yurovsky’s weak chest. This brute even looked for sympathy.
The table was covered with an elegant damask table cloth with a woven double eagle and a crown in the center. We also recognized Prince Dolgorukov’s handkerchiefs, presumably taken away from him during his arrest. His coat of arms displayed a hand holding an arrow. Dolgorukov means “long arm.”
Frequently the guards asked Olga to play the balalaika or the piano, for their amusement. Sometimes she played her own compositions. Father could but consent so long as the pieces were not construed to have a double meaning. Whatever the guards ordered we complied with, thankful for an occasional moment when they occupied themselves with something constructive. But when they insisted that Olga sing “We Abandon the Old Regime,” she stood up and in a firm tone said, “I will not do it, even if you kill me.” Surprised they were at her courage. Once when she played Andante Contabule by Tchaikovsky, they screamed “No” at the top of their voices. “It is sad, play something else, please.” Then she played a war song, “He Died in the War Hospital.” “No, no, please stop it; it is sad too, play something else.” Cheerfulness they were seeking at the hands of those who long ago had forgotten the meaning of a happy mood. Father always stood at the doorway when anyone of us played or sang for them. But Mother was never left alone. This habit we had formed at Tsarskoe Selo. No matter what we did one of us remained with her.
It had become a regular thing to search our quarters, not so much for valuables, since by now they had already taken an inventory of them, as for possible means of escape. Each day there was a fresh excuse. They constantly suspected us of having something incriminating. They heard that we had guns hidden, they would say. No matter what the answer was, a whole troop of them would stalk in. Each day’s experience sharpened our detective powers. We could see without looking. Every time they stole we sensed it. We saw them take our silver spoons, pencils, soap and other articles. They removed everything they saw and slipped them up their sleeves. They took apart a picture with a heavy enamel frame with the excuse that the frame might have something hidden in it. Underneath they found a photograph of Mother’s beloved brother Ernest. With all the persecution she had feared to display her brother’s photograph. So she covered it with one of our pictures. They said nothing. Even we had not known that her brother’s picture was hidden underneath. They also took a gold chain with an icon which hung over Alexei’s bed. We never made any effort to stop them, nor did we give any sign that we saw. We ignored their thievery and curiosity since Father said: “We must not let them know how much they annoy us; soon they will grow tired and leave us alone.”
After much argument and after waiting for over two weeks, Dr. Botkin was able to persuade Yurovsky to have a window opened in one of the rooms for ventilation. They unlatched two other windows, then accused us of unlatching them. We sisters moved our mattresses for the night closer to that window for a breath of air. Father’s and Mother’s beds were also moved closer to our room, where there was only one window open, and where near by was the guard booth. We felt sorry for Dr. Botkin, Sidniev, Trup and Nagorny. They had no privacy. They shared the same room with doors removed and at one end was the staircase which was used by the guards to go downstairs. The room had two opposite doors, one leading through a hall into one side and the other into the apartment on the other side; Nagorny and Sidniev had been taken away in the beginning of June before the heat became unbearable. Poor Kharitonov and little Leonid had slept in the hot kitchen.
Our days were irregular although we arose regularly at eight in the morning. Before breakfast we held a service and sang a prayer in our room. Father, Mother, Dr. Botkin and all the rest joined us for a half hour of prayer and meditation. These were the most pleasant moments of the day, because our friends were with us at this hour.
Mother worried more about Alexei, since he had grown steadily worse with the small amount of nourishment he had. Now all the supply of tissue-building ingredients was gone from his diet. The Commandant would not heed Dr. Botkin’s plea for the food necessary to his well-being—gelatine, vegetables and fruit. The saintly “Papula” (Dr. Botkin) begged Yurovsky to be generous to the sick boy, but to no avail. Father also wrote to Yurovsky, but this too was ignored by him. All this tension reacted on Mother’s heart. She had grown much weaker and her lips, when blue, warned us of a heart attack.
Father looked desperate, because he could do nothing to spare his children. We knew he himself could stand anything for Russia, anything but the persecution of his family. Only occasionally did his hopelessness come to the surface, though he tried to disguise it from us. With us sisters low spirits rotated from one to another. Each lived for the other. Father knew everything that went on in our hearts and often told us what we were thinking.