Chapter XI: Part IV: Tobolsk (1)

XVIII ORIENTATION

I had pictured the house in the midst of woods, but when I saw it surrounded by a high wooden fence still being erected, it gave me a feeling of loneliness and fear. When we crossed the noisy, wornout wooden sidewalk and the gate closed behind us, we were prisoners. Paradoxically the name of the street was Svoboda (Freedom).

With us came the following: Our faithful friend General Ilia Tatishchev, General Valia Dolgorukov, Dr. Eugene Botkin, M. Pierre Gilliard, Countess Anastasia Hendrikova and Mlle. Ekaterina Schneider; also Miss Alexandra Tegleva, a nurse and her assistant, Elizabeth Ersberg, and the chambermaids, Miss Tutelberg and Anna Demidova; Father’s servant, Terenty Chemodurov; Mother’s servant, Alexei Volkov; and Ivan Sidniev, the servant of us four sisters. Also there were our brother’s personal attendants, Trup, Ivanov and Markov, and his male nurse, Klementy Nagorny; a writer, a hairdresser; several cooks including Kharitonov and his helper, Leonid Sidniev; and other help. About forty people came with us. Later came Mr. Sidney Gibbs, our English tutor, and Dr. Derevenko, who were permitted to join us and resume their duties. Still later Baroness Buxhoeveden, a lady in waiting, followed, joining us on the boat on the day we were leaving for Ekaterinburg. This does not include the military personnel, which numbered about 300-400.

The house itself was quite nice. Our quarters on the second floor were smaller and more crowded than those we were accustomed to. We occupied three bedrooms: one for my parents, one for Alexei, and the other for us four girls. On this floor there was a big hall with a piano and a comfortable divan, tables and other pieces of furniture. Next to Alexei’s room was a room for his male nurse. Father’s study was in a corner room at the head of the stairway. We also had a balcony which we found extremely pleasant when the sun was out. From it Mother watched us when we went for a walk in the small yard. Often we went out on the balcony to see the sunset and the view of the cathedral and the low mountains in the background. It was beautiful; the sun seemed so much brighter than in Petrograd or Tsarskoe Selo.

The arrangements of the first floor were the same as on the second. The rooms opened on both sides of a long corridor which ran from the front to the back of the house. The closest room to the vestibule was occupied by an orderly officer on duty. M. Gilliard’s room and the dining room were on this floor, as were the remaining quarters used by our household. But later the larger rooms had to be divided by partitions to make two rooms out of one, in order to accommodate everyone possible. Almost all the rooms had parquet floors, and on the second floor we had some of our fine Persian scatter rugs and others, all sent to us from Tsarskoe Selo by Makarov. Most of the remainder of the staff was housed across the street in the large residence which belonged to a rich merchant named Kornilov. Extra maids had accommodations in town.

Our walks were not exciting, because of the limited space, which consisted of a small garden, where there were some Siberian irises, and a part of the street and a part of a square joined to the garden by a high wooden fence. This space was always guarded by a dozen or more soldiers on the outside and by that many more inside. In the back of the house there were the temporary barracks built to accommodate the guards. From here they could observe all our activities. We played ball or tug of war among ourselves; and occasionally other games with the guards. Father was always present at these games.

We began to feel almost natural in our prison house. The small quarters took the form of a home and we settled down into a peaceful routine. From the absence of shooting and rioting, it was evident the revolution had not reached this part of the country. In fact, everything was so quiet it was hard to believe it could be Russia.

One of Father’s complaints was the lack of news. We were completely isolated. We did receive a locally published newspaper containing mostly hearsay. No first hand information freshened its pages, nor did it contain any foreign news.

Now and then Commissar Makarov and the guards inadvertently dropped some news. Our friends from across the street were at liberty to enter the governor’s house and resume their duties. They even were permitted to see the town, but we could not go out. Thanks to Colonel Kobylinsky, our first two months at Tobolsk were quite pleasant. The house came near to being the kind of home that Mother had always longed for--one in which we could be close to each other. No external duties claimed any of us, not even Father--a situation that made him restless.

There were many guards everywhere, but they, like Colonel Kobylinsky, had come with us from Tsarskoe Selo and knew us as submissive prisoners. They became our friends and we chatted with them freely. The colonel was very kind; Father nicknamed him “our friend.” There was no friction because we complied with every demand. They trusted us but still they watched us as they were ordered to do.

Our food was simple but nourishing. Our own chef, Kharitonov, and his helper cooked to our satisfaction. In living this simple life, Mother became much stronger. She ceased to fret over the wounded soldiers, whom she could no longer help, and she found compensation in her writing, painting and religion and in our close family life. At least, we were all under the same roof. She had her one wish: the right for us to belong to each other. Our being together went a long way to soften our captivity.

At first it was very difficult for Mother to adjust herself to the new experience of housekeeping, managing personally and coming in direct contact with the attendants. The sudden change from many servants to a few was very confusing to her. She had not kept house for some years; even while living with her Granny she had devoted her time to her studies. Since these servants had to assume duties which were strange to them, we sisters helped Anna and Tootles in their daily work. Operations were not always smooth but the servants were willing and adaptable and above all loyal. After a while Colonel Kobylinsky gave permission for several maids from Tsarskoe Selo, who were willing to come, to join us. But the sudden changes in Tobolsk kept them waiting there for weeks and in the end they never were able to enter the house.

At this time we had a few letters from different friends but nothing from our relatives in the Crimea. The latter were constantly in our minds and we wished so much to be near them in that beautiful country, among all those flowers and near the blue-green sea. Then, as if by mental telepathy, Colonel Kobylinsky arrived, his pale face beaming with excitement, and handed a letter to Father from Aunt Xenia in the Crimea. It calmed us, but at the same time left in our hearts a painful and lonely feeling which stayed with us incessantly. Later a number of letters came from that distant land. One such letter took six months to arrive. Father wrote short letters as there was always the fear of bringing trouble to the recipients.

When shortly our English tutor, Sidney Gibbs, arrived in Tobolsk, he brought us first hand information on the happenings in the Crimea and the conditions in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd.

The older men who came with us from Tsarskoe Selo, especially of the First and the Fourth regiments became our friends. They were kind to us and could not understand why we were held prisoners. These men loved Alexei, and to them he still was their Tsarevich. Those good fellows brought him gifts, which they proudly presented to him with loving smiles and touching words. I will never forget the time when one of these men spent many evenings carving a puzzle out of white soft wood. It was chain-like and every turn made gave it a new design. Another man made for him a set of wooden Kalmuk toys, from the great-grandfather to the tiniest baby boy. They fitted into each other so skilfully that when all together they formed only one big great-grandfather. Alexei was touched by these gifts. We knew all these men and the families of some of them. Knowing their financial condition, we felt sorry for them.

The soldiers of the Second regiment, who at first were unpleasant, had by now become actually insolent. They formed a Soldiers Committee under the direction of a man called Arnold Goldstein who came to Tobolsk about a month after our arrival and at once started to poison those men. All other individuals who came to Tobolsk were at once arrested but this man was allowed to stay and make trouble. The committee asserted its authority over the officers whom Kerensky had sent when we first arrived in Tobolsk. The friendly spirit that prevailed in our prison was reported. Stern orders bounced back. Our kindly guards had to step aside, and radical ones took their places. Colonel Kobylinsky tried to resist but, alas, it was a losing fight.

Shortly after we reached Tobolsk, the young townspeople had a dance on the street, called “Krugom.” The girls were dressed in handsome embroidered red babushkas and the boys in high boots and pleated trousers. The dance starts when one of the girls calls her boy friend by his name, saying please come. He takes off his fur cap and the couple dance in the middle of the circle while the balalaika and accordion play and the participants sing a song--the words of which usually center on water, birds, the moon, etc., all taken from nature. The boy then kisses this girl, the girl of his heart, and asks her to dance with him. The girl then calls another man who in turn invites his own girl. The first couple drops out and the procedure is repeated.

Father liked the Siberian climate and the fabulous splendors of the sunrise and sunset over the mountains and the soft clouds hiding the distant hills. We too found it agreeable and peaceful after the turbulent months we had just gone through. But these tranquil few weeks came to an end all too soon. We shortly learned that one of our former ladies in waiting, Mlle. Rita Khitrovo was in Tobolsk. Her unannounced arrival caused us a great deal of apprehension. We felt that our Russian teacher, Mlle. Bittner, in whom Colonel Kobylinsky was interested, might find an opportunity to exaggerate the reasons for Mlle. Khitrovo’s presence in Tobolsk and thereby create an incident which would have serious repercussions. Once Mlle. Khitrovo was seen talking to a member of our staff across the street, and making a cross with her hand toward the balcony on which we were standing. Immediately after that she was arrested and sent away. The letters she had brought with her were seized and were not delivered to their owners until after they had been censored. Following this incident Kerensky ordered that all persons coming to Tobolsk must be registered.

As a result of this incident Commissar Makarov who knew of Khitrovo’s coming was relieved of his post and replaced by Commissar Pankratov and his deputy, Nikolsky. Pankratov, despite his prison record, was kind to us. His knowledge of languages and his taste for art and literature betrayed his cultural background. This middle-aged man often used to tell us sisters about his experiences in prison. Yet never once did he complain. Instead he admitted his guilt. He was a man of fifty with dark hair. He made a notation on every letter received and often delivered our mail, most of which was addressed to him, saying that he was glad that our friends had not forgotten us. Once he told Marie that no harm would come to us while he was there.

Nikolsky was a Pole of disreputable background. He was rude and fanatic and had an uncontrollable temper and hatred. He immediately ordered everyone to have his picture taken and to carry a card showing the name, age and day of birth, because he had had to have his picture taken and carry a card while serving a prison term for killing two men.

Our schedule for the week was made up by Olga and M. Gilliard. Our friends were the only gleam of light in our daily life. To change the atmosphere it was decided to stage some plays in which the staff and we children could take part. A stage was put up in the big hall on the second floor, which also served us as a school room and later as a chapel. All our friends from across the street were asked to these performances to share in this diversion. Olga was in charge of the music, if such was needed. Alexei was not very keen about taking part in the plays and often begged for someone else to take his role. There was always an officer present at these performances. But soon rapidly changing conditions no longer permitted us these recreations.

Our day began at eight in the morning with breakfast served to us and our friends in the dining room downstairs. It consisted of tea or weak coffee. Olga had hers with Father in his study, and Alexei his with Mother. At 9:00 A.M. we younger sisters took our lessons in the big hall, but during the cold spell, before the house warmed up we started the first lesson in bed with Mother. We wore in the house our woolen leggings or boots and were bundled in warm cardigans. Our instructors were M. Gilliard, Mlle. Hendrikova, Mlle. Bittner, once a teacher at the gymnasium in Tsarskoe Selo. Father continued with the history and geography lessons. The classes lasted from 9:00-11:00 A.M. Alexei had his lessons in M. Gilliard’s or his own room. Afterwards we went out into the yard for a half hour’s exercise before our luncheon at 1:00 P.M.

Father and Olga ate luncheon with us in the dining room. Mother and Alexei had theirs upstairs. Our luncheon consisted of soup, meat or fish and sweets. From two to four we went out again and helped saw wood behind the greenhouse. Mother seldom went out with us in the morning. Alexei joined us in the afternoon after his rest and, when the weather permitted, Mother sat in a chair in the sun, sewing, knitting, writing or painting. When indisposed she stayed upstairs. Sometimes she played the piano and sang, mostly religious pieces. From 3:45 to 4:00 there was a short break for tea, for the family only, during which Mother poured the tea herself. The lessons started again at 4:00 and lasted until 6:00 or 7:00 P.M. Dinner was served at eight; the menu was the same as that served at luncheon except that we had no dessert. Mother always was present at these meals. After dinner, coffee was served upstairs. While Father poured, all stood up except Mother. We could not help noticing that usually there were thirteen persons at the dinner table, seven from the family, and six from the staff. Occasionally Dr. Derevenko and his son were asked to dinner, also Colonel Kobylinsky and Mlle. Bittner.

During the first few weeks the food was satisfactory; this did not last long because many products became scarce and prices went sky high.

It was decided to raise our own food. Within a month we had many chickens, turkeys, and ducks that enjoyed swimming in their little pond which we had made by diverting a small portion of a brook which ran through the garden. The horse stable was used for pigs and even the greenhouse was converted into a chicken coop.

Soon the people learned of the hour of our walks. They tried to get a better view of us through the cracks between the boards, and many of them kneeled down in prayer for us. Even Kalmuks who are Mohammedans raised their hands and prayed to Allah for us, without being afraid to do so. To many millions, the Emperor and Empress were still the Father and Mother of Russia.

In October before navigation on the river stopped for the winter, and after his enforced return to Tsarskoe Selo, our friend Makarov sent us from there some warm clothes and rugs, curtains, linens and other needed items as well as some provisions.

During Kobylinsky’s administration we were permitted to go to church on Sundays and holidays. The church services were held at 8:00 A.M. when it was still dark. We assembled in the yard and proceeded to the church flanked on each side by sentries. The church was a short distance from the house and in getting there we had to cross the street, pass through a small park and onto another street. Father went into the church first, followed by Mother, Alexei and then us sisters. Some of the guards entered the church and stood behind us while the others remained outside, waiting near the steps. On our return, after the service and as a mark of honor, the church bells kept ringing until we entered the house. This procedure however was changed by Nikolsky who, in a childish show of authority, ordered that the ringing of the bells be stopped before we reached the gate. Church services for us were strictly private and the public was not permitted to participate in the services while we were there. Instead they waited outside, and as we left the church they kneeled and kissed the ground after we passed as a sign of their love for the family.

When Dr. Derevenko came to Tobolsk with his son Kolia, it was a joy for Alexei. The two boys played together, read and wrote little stories. Alexei was happy to have a friend to play and eat with. But this did not last very long. One day Nagorny carried a letter from Alexei to his friend Kolia. It was nothing more than childish play. Nikolsky searched Nagorny and found the letter. He immediately went to Pankratov with it, saying, “You see how easily they can smuggle letters out and who knows what else?” Kolia was forbidden to come into the house, and only occasionally were they permitted to play outdoors under the watchful eyes of the guards, provided they kept at a distance from each other.

For weeks Mother had been suffering from neuralgia. Now her teeth caused her a great deal of pain. Everyday she waited patiently for her dentist, who was to come all the way from the Crimea. I never knew of anyone who suffered so much and still had so much patience and never complained. On the arrival of Dr. Kostritsky, he repaired Mother’s false tooth and one of my front teeth which had been damaged. He brought us news from Granny and both our aunts who were in the Crimea. From a previous letter we had learned that Grandmother was ill and was complaining about the shortage of food and the fact that her belongings had been taken away from her, news which distressed us considerably, especially my Father. We had also received a charming letter concerning Aunt Olga telling us about her baby son being driven in a carriage drawn by a small donkey. I remembered when I was a little girl I rode in a small wicker chair strapped on the side of a pony. The news brought by Dr. Kostritsky was cheerful on the whole.

Finally Dr. Botkin’s children, Tatiana and Gleb, arrived in Tobolsk. We hoped that they would join us in our class work, but even that was denied us and we could only see them from the second floor window.

The situation was gradually getting worse. Nikolsky was stirring up more hatred among the soldiers and poisoning their minds with false doctrines.

Dr. Botkin spent several hours with Father, telling him of the conditions in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd. We now had a fairly good idea of the existing situation in our country. We heard that Pravosudovich, head engineer of the Imperial personal train, had been shot; also that Kerensky, his relatives and his friends were splurging at the Catherine Palace, indulging in all kinds of luxuries, of which we had deprived ourselves at all times, especially during the war. Kerensky and his friends were driving in our cars and carriages, and even some servants lay at his feet. Within a short time this man who not long ago had appeared on our threshold in Tsarskoe Selo, with men whose past was steeped in crime, was now enjoying all the luxuries of which he deprived the original owners.

We had several letters from Anna Vyrubova and even some packages. We gathered from her letters that Anna was having a terrible time, though her language was cryptic. She was forced to assume her maiden name in order to avoid persecution. All our mail that came through the regular channels was censored and the contents were known to Colonel Kobylinsky. Father tried to discourage the sending or receiving of mail secretly. He even asked his own relatives to address their letters to Commissar Pankratov, in order to avoid any misunderstanding. Father wrote only a few letters, primarily to his mother and to his sister Xenia.

We had news from the English sisters of mercy in Petrograd, and from the hospitals in Tsarskoe Selo; also we heard from Countess Orlova-Davidova; from Shura Petrovsky, whose husband was one of Father’s aides-de-camp, and from Liuba Khitrovo, sister of Rita Khitrovo who had been arrested in Tobolsk. The news we received indicated untold tragedies. Many officers were shot after they recovered from the wounds. The Provisional Government cared little for these helpless men.

We heard that the people wanted their Emperor back and that the Army was hostile to the new Government, refusing to take orders from the former convicts, spies and invaders, and that it wanted to get rid of Communist agitators around the country. Again Kerensky refused to sanction this proposal, because he wanted to retain all power in his hands, even though it would mean the destruction of Russia. Father knew then that the country was lost. We heard all kinds of stories. One concerned a boat caught sailing in the dark on the Volga River without the permission of the authorities. On the shore, it was discovered that this boat carried six bullions of gold, each worth a fortune. When asked where they were taking this loot, the persons aboard replied that they were taking it to the village of one of the leaders.

Kerensky made many blunders. He prevented the Army from crushing the revolution at a time when it was ready and willing to do so. The soldiers of our regiments, who came with us from Tsarskoe Selo, complained to General Tatishchev that they had not received the allowances that Kerensky had promised they would receive while they remained with us. As a result they were discontented. Many of these men had to meet their family needs. Some of them were able to obtain extra jobs, but those who were not able to do so became angry, which strengthened their sympathy for Bolshevism.

A few weeks before Christmas came the shocking news that Kerensky’s Provisional Government had fallen and that the Bolsheviks had taken control of the country. He was now receiving a dose of his own medicine. The persecutors were more lenient and less cruel toward him than he was toward his Emperor and his family. General Tatishchev told us that when Kerensky was betrayed by his colleagues--the Bolsheviks--he jumped from the second floor of the Winter Palace in order to save his life and in his haste to do so left the belt of his tunic behind. It was said that Prince Volkonsky was an eye witness to this heroic performance. A brave man, indeed. An Emperor without portfolio, a minister, a lawyer, an orator, and Napoleon, all in one.

There was talk that if the Ukraine were to go to Germany, Father would be placed on the throne by German help. Father said, “Never will I or my son accept the throne with the help of the enemy.”

We learned that the Winter Palace had been plundered and that many of its treasures were in the hands of foreign bandits from both hemispheres who came to our country to rob, take and plunder. They pulled down our tricolor flags--white, blue, and red. White stands for snow, blue for the heavenly sky and red for the blood spilled in defense of our country. They hoisted their own flag over the Winter Palace. They removed the double eagles from the buildings and were burning them on the streets before the eyes of respectable citizens. They emptied the historical treasures preserved for generations by our forefathers, the pride and wealth of Russia when she was in her glory. These treasures were sold abroad. The wine cellars of the Palace were broken open and the mob drank so much wine that some of them literally died from it; the rest of the old wines were poured from the bridge into the Neva River.

The secret police still was working at the time of our arrest. Before our exile the names appearing below were given to my Father which he remembered and made us remember. When some of these men found it necessary to escape from Russia for their lives, they were given sanctuary by other countries, instead of being tried for their crimes against the Russian people. These men dared to look into the eyes of Russians knowing what they had done to them, and how easy the Russian people had forgiven them all the wounds they had inflicted upon them.

Communism was founded and organized by these men whose real and assumed names follow.

_Original names_ _Changed to_

Bronstein _Trotsky_
Tsederblum changed to Ulianov then to _Lenin_
Apfelbaum _Zinoviev_
Rosenfeld _Kamenev_
Goldenberg _Mikhovsky_
Krachmann _Zagorsky_
Hollender _Mieshkovsky_
Tsederblum II _Martov_
Himmer _Sukhanov_
Goldmann _Goriev_

We were told that Tsederbaum (Tsederblum?), Lenin’s father, was arrested for murdering a policeman; his sons were very young. One son was brought up in Simbirsk by a well-to-do half-Kalmuk and half-Christian family by the name of Ulianov. The other sons were with Lenin’s uncle, Tsederbaum. While in college both boys met secretly with other boys and inspired them with revolutionary ideas, such as the derailing of the train in which the Emperor and his family were riding; as a result many people were killed. One brother was hanged; the second, Lenin (Ulianov), ran away; and the third was in hiding in Russia until the revolution when he reappeared. There were two brothers who are mentioned above in my list which was given Father while in Tsarskoe Selo. Later in Tobolsk and more so in Ekaterinburg, additional names were given to us to remember, the names of men with whom we actually had contact. Unfortunately I can only remember now the names of about twenty-five out of a total of approximately one hundred.

One morning Colonel Kobylinsky arrived in Father’s study. With tears in his eyes he informed Father that a peace treaty was to be signed, but that prior to the signing the old Russian Army would have to be demobilized. Father said that this terrible move by the Bolsheviks was dangerous not only for Russia but also for the world; that this move on the part of the traitors should now make the Russian people realize that they were being deceived. I cannot describe the feeling it left on us. Father was a prisoner, trapped like a lion in a cage, thousands of miles away.

But going back to Kerensky, it is significant that when he was in danger, he did everything to save his own life. But he never stopped to think that he was the one who had sent the Imperial family to the distant, frozen North. Did he give a thought to the fact that the unfortunate victims were trapped by the traitors and by the bribed convicts, and not by their own people? Now we could see why he had ordered the arrest of everyone who came to our aid and who was willing to risk his life, as well as ours, to save us. Kerensky had given his word of honor to Father that he would protect us. He knew what these men were like and what they were doing. I often ask myself the question: did he do it intentionally? Will one ever know?

If Kerensky was sincerely interested in protecting us, he could have ordered the train in which we were traveling, under the Japanese Red Cross flag, to proceed to Vladivostok from where we could have gone to Japan whose Emperor was quite friendly with Father and would have given us the protection of his country. During the war we had a visit by two young Japanese Princes who brought beautiful gifts for Mother and us from the Empress of Japan. They also visited Father in Mogilev.

Now the Russian people were helpless, numb as from paralysis. With stunned eyes they watched the nightmarish happenings in their country, the wiping out of their possessions, and the tragic end of their families.

XIX WINTER

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.

XX DANGER

After Nikolsky and Pankratov left, Colonel Kobylinsky brought back the key to the balcony which Nikolsky had taken away. Now Mother was again able to sit on the balcony in the sun. For several months we lived quietly and peacefully. But when the new guards came, our lives saddened.

One day Olga was found crying. She had been unhappy. She said that she had been observing the developments and believed that we were doomed. Father sent for Colonel Kobylinsky who admitted that danger was creeping upon us. Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev believed she was right and thought we should escape before the new commissar from Ekaterinburg arrived. But our parents refused to leave Russia, and would not think of separation. We humbly bowed our heads and accepted the inevitable.

All of a sudden a change came into our lives. The Bolsheviks turned their binoculars on us. One day Colonel Kobylinsky informed Father that the Imperial family must go on rations, because keeping us was too heavy a burden on the Communist regime. Each one of us was to receive 600 rubles per month, the same as the soldiers. Father knew nothing about the cost of the operation of our establishment. He asked M. Gilliard, who was the most practical of all, to set up a budget and Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev to help him. When they came with figures, it was concluded that ten servants had to be discharged. My parents became terribly distressed and made all kinds of excuses: this one had a sick mother, another had an invalid son, a third was the sole supporter of his motherless children. What would happen to all these families who came here from Tsarskoe Selo? It went on and on. At last Gillek (M. Gilliard) and General Tatishchev made their own decision, and ten servants came to thank us for treating them so kindly in the past. It was sad losing them, though we could not foresee how fortunate they were.

The new commissar from Ekaterinburg arrived and we heard that he had brought with him about one hundred men, all fanatical Marxists. He was a red-faced brute by the name of Zaslovsky, with a bad reputation.

No sooner had the new young men arrived than trouble developed between them and the old soldiers who had refused them entry to our residence. They became angry and threatened to storm the house. Colonel Kobylinsky and Zaslovsky were bargaining all night downstairs. We dressed and sat up expecting trouble. Long after midnight we heard familiar voices in the corridor. Colonel Kobylinsky sent for more guards to insure our safety. We heard some foreign voices coming from outside the gate, then a loud voice saying, “I am following the orders of Colonel Kobylinsky. I cannot let you in. Then speak to him.” As a result of this incident Colonel Kobylinsky wanted to resign but Father persuaded him to stay with us. We felt that his presence was helpful to us, even though we knew that he had no power over the new soldiers.