Chapter XII: Part IV: Tobolsk (2)

Father believed that at least ten of the new men were disguised former officers. However, if they were former officers they were helpless, because Zaslovsky ordered more men from Tomsk. These men boasted that they had killed the director of the Cadet School and destroyed the headquarters of the Fourth Siberian Army Corps stationed in Tomsk. They said that they had burned the house on Father’s estate in the town of Bernaul on the river Ob and had killed the superintendent in charge. Father had inherited several big estates with large milk and cheese plants in Siberia. Tons of these products were distributed every year to different charitable institutions. Father had visited his estates during the construction of the Trans-Siberian railroad. Zaslovsky bragged that they had already destroyed the gold smelting works and had taken away all the available gold. They also tried to plunder the monastery at Tomsk but were driven away by the monks. This is the monastery that was referred to previously.

Zaslovsky brought us much misery and inexpressible horror right from the start. He ordered us to keep from five to six feet away from the fence, and to go out only under guard and only for thirty minutes twice a day. Our outdoor exercise consisted mainly of cutting wood. We performed this humble work in the back of the building cheerfully and without complaining, and by so doing we helped members of our household whose duty it was to supply the house with wood. Zaslovsky had our house searched and several items belonging to Father were taken away.

Each day brought some new deprivations or restrictions and some fresh heckling by the guards who took pleasure in humiliating us. In return we acquiesced in their demands, disarmingly, at least outwardly. Following Father’s example we accepted everything. Among the soldiers only a few good men were left. In the past, each relay of guards had started out to be severe, then gradually softened. But not these men. They were a dangerous lot. In order to avoid trouble Father and his friends--all of them understood carpentry--had earlier built a ladder which led outside to the top of the roof of an unused greenhouse, which had already been converted into a chicken coop. They also built a platform where we could sit in the sun without being seen from the street.

More restrictions were put on us. The last two days before Lent are by custom days of merriment during which the people enjoy themselves at concerts, balls and in many other ways. Zaslovsky, fearing riots by the people, forbade us to leave the house during those two days. The schools were closed and there was a constant flow of students from the gymnasium. They were gay; we heard the bells ringing; the children were expecting to see the monkey and to hear the organ grinder, who had stopped before the house for Alexei to witness the spectacle and to hear the children sing and play. But Zaslovsky had locked the balcony door and had taken the key back to the office. We heard loud voices outdoors; the guards were driving the students and the youngsters away with the butts of their rifles. The youngsters ran and the students cried: “Go back from where you came, you unwelcome guests.” Zaslovsky said he would shoot anyone who came near the fence. In spite of the warning, the passers-by continued to walk past the house, even more than before. When the people saw us in the window, they always removed their caps and bowed low.

Sorrow and dread were our constant companions. We woke up with sadness, and went to bed in sadness. Father tried to read to us, but the silent interchange of fear muddled the thread of the story he read. He tried to make his voice firm and hopeful but it did not have the ring of former days.

Up to now we were able to send and receive some letters from our relatives in Ai-Todor in the Crimea. Now we heard that the mail service was being discontinued. However, we continued to receive some letters. Since Zaslovsky’s arrival we had stopped writing letters as we knew that they would not be mailed. The last letter we received from the Crimea told us that the family there had been separated. Aunt Xenia with her family and Grandmother had been moved to the chateau of Dyulber, belonging to the Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevich. Though they were not far from the Youssoupoffs at Koreiz, still they could not see each other.

A few weeks before our departure for Ekaterinburg we received a letter from the family through a peasant woman from the Crimea. She had carried this letter surreptitiously thousands of miles. Through her, in return, we sent a letter to the family in the Crimea, together with a photograph of the family--one of the few we had taken in Tobolsk. It was our last link with Granny and our aunts. The very last letter we received came from Irene Tatishcheva. A few of our letters were returned to us undelivered.

We huddled closer together, not so much for warmth, as to feel the strength of each other’s presence. In the evening we dreaded to think of what the morning would bring. Morning returned with the same overhanging fear. Mother’s first words were: “Thank God for the night just past and for the breaking of the new day. Also for giving me such a good family. The Almighty is watching over us.” Then Father read from the Bible some reassuring message.

Our brief walks around the yard brought us no inspiration. They were cut shorter. Mother assured us that God was with us even in our trials. No harm could come to those who had faith in Him. He is putting us to the test. What good is our religion if we are not victorious over suffering? So we continued to endure, brightening the darkness in our hearts with the trust that in time God would lead the way to our safety.

Not being able to attend church was our hardest punishment. Mother especially missed this spiritual support. It had helped us. We had found there the answer to our prayers, and temporary relief. Tatiana made her decision to sacrifice her life in search of theological subjects. She became stronger and firmer in her belief and spent part of the day in reading the Testaments. Mother was a tower of strength to us. She was full of resourcefulness and hope, continually replenished by faith. We felt sure our fate was in the hands of God. This trust in Him made Father calm and resigned. He was one of those who had the truth within him. He carried his grief silently and maintained his high spirits for the sake of his family. We shuddered at the thought of being separated and clung closer together.

Suffering had made Mother meek and more tender and her soul had grown stronger. Under Mother’s influence Olga composed a prayer which follows:

Give patience, Lord, to us Thy children,
In these dark, stormy days to bear
The persecution of our people,
The tortures falling to our share.
Give strength, just God, to us who need it,
The persecutors to forgive,
Our heavy, painful cross to carry
And Thy great meekness to achieve.
When we are plundered and insulted,
In days of mutinous unrest,
We turn for help to Thee, Christ-Saviour,
That we may stand the bitter test.
Lord of the World, God of Creation,
Give us Thy Blessing through our prayer,
Give peace of heart to us, O Master,
This hour of utmost dread to bear.
And on the threshold of the grave,
Breathe power divine into our clay
That we, Thy children, may find strength
In meekness for our foes to pray.

Zaslovsky hated everybody. He even kicked our friendly dog Lisa, because the dog wanted to make friends with him. He also beat the dog in the yard and stepped on our cat without any reason. He said that before he left he would do away with all our pets. We suffered and our animals clung to us. When they heard his loud voice downstairs, they all ran and hid under Mother’s chaise longue. Eventually the soldiers drove Zaslovsky away and he went back to Ekaterinburg.

In the meantime our finances were getting low and Anna Vyrubova made an arrangement with a banker named Yaroshinsky to send us some money through Soloviev, the husband of Matriona, Rasputin’s older daughter. Marie and I knew Yaroshinsky from Tsarskoe Selo. He had financed Marie’s and my hospital and we had seen him occasionally. He spoke poor Russian with a Polish accent. He told us once that he had an uncle who was a cardinal in Italy. Soloviev was entrusted with several thousands of rubles and some letters to be delivered to us. We did not know Soloviev but knew that Anna trusted him and that he had delivered some letters to Tobolsk previously. We received only thirty thousand rubles out of the three hundred thousand that were sent to us by Anna. Later in Ekaterinburg we were shown copies of all letters and records of the money, which Soloviev took as a payment for spying on us. Because he was the husband of Matriona, Anna had confidence in him in financial and other matters. Dr. Botkin told Father that Yurovsky said that Soloviev and Yaroshinsky were friends of General Pilsudski, Lenin and Trotsky and of Voykov (who later, it seems, signed the death verdict of the Imperial family).

We still had about 35-40 employees whose wages we were unable to meet. Food became a problem. We had no sugar, coffee or butter. When the good people of Tobolsk learned of the conditions in the Governor’s house they sent us whatever they had. Some of the merchants and the heads of the city had met Father in 1891 when, on his way home from Japan, he had made an extensive tour throughout Siberia. At that time the museum of Tobolsk was established and Father deposited a great deal of money in the Imperial banks for the upkeep of this museum. Magazines and articles were sent to us and we read them with interest. Incidentally it was twenty-seven years later, in July also, when the murder took place in Ekaterinburg, July 16th-17th, 1918.

One morning we awoke to an acute misery; Alexei was ill. The dreaded disease had returned. And now our previous deprivations seemed insignificant. The youngster’s resistance had been lessened. He was thin and unable to take the food offered him. As always Mother nursed him. Her care for him was the same but her affection for him had changed. My heart tells me not to say that, but conscience tells me otherwise. Alexei sensed it. I remember how much Mother loved her precious “Agoo” and wanted to have him close to her on the chaise longue. I can still see this little boy under a blue silk and lace cover lying on her chaise, or later, his hand in her hand, going into his bedroom to say a prayer. M. Gilliard and all the others knew of the change on Mother’s part, and they gave Alexei more love now to make up for the loss of a part of his Mother’s affection. We sisters became much closer to him, and our hearts formed as one and this one we gave to our unfortunate brother and to our Father who suffered so much.

Following the incident when Nagorny was caught carrying a letter from Alexei to Dr. Derevenko’s son, the Doctor was not permitted to come to the house. But now his services were needed and he, at last, was allowed to see his patient.

When the conditions became dangerously bad, following Nikolsky’s departure, Father wrote an important document about the war, which was placed in a safe place until a change in the Government should occur. At that time it was to be released to the proper authorities. It was left in care of four men and it was endorsed and countersigned by at least four persons.

A treaty between Bolshevik Russia and Germany was now in the process of being signed. We were told that one of its provisions was that the Imperial family was to be brought to Moscow unharmed. Evidently the Germans suspected that our captors were dangerous and would not spare our lives. Father feared if the family went to Moscow, he might be forced to sign the treaty in order to save his family’s life. He said: “Now the people know who are the real traitors to Russia. All these years they have been accusing Mother for being a spy and wanting to sign a separate treaty with Germany.”

Father blamed the downfall of the Russian Army--our national pride--on Kerensky, Guchkov, Ruzsky and Shulgin. He said that now Germany would get all kinds of concessions, which would reduce Russia to poverty, but that Germany would not enjoy these concessions. The treaty was prepared in advance by Tsederbaum, Bronstein, Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld and others--better known to the world today as Lenin, Trotsky, Zinoviev, Kamenev. Not many Russians among them, but traitors. I well remember that as we sat one evening, Father said to Prince Dolgorukov, “Valia, you remember the time when I refused even to consider a separate treaty with Germany. I would not accept any appeasement after the loss of thousands of lives and all the property damage. I was determined to bring Germany to her knees. Even if I had signed a separate treaty, Germany would have paid for all the damage done, and now she is going to get from the traitors anything she wants.” Father went on, “Germany will not enjoy the things she has done to us, and our Allies will not either. They are digging their own graves and soon they will be buried in them. If Russia falls, the whole world will topple with her, and within fifty years from now there will be no democracy left, believe me, Valia.” I remember the last words as though they were spoken only yesterday.

By betraying his country he would have bought freedom for himself and his family. Every soldier knew that Russia was betrayed and that the propaganda about my family was totally untrue. But they were helpless. Father never lived for himself but for his people; they sinned against him and still he loved them. Mother said the time would come when they would stand before Him to answer for murdering our country. The Bolsheviks had every reason to remove Father and all male Romanovs, because by so doing they would eliminate all interference with their plans, and no emperor would ever be in power again.

Lenin had a personal hatred for the Imperial family. He waited for an opportunity to get his revenge. When Father was a young man, he and his parents were on their way to the Caucasus when the train in which they were riding was derailed and eighty people lost their lives and many more were injured. The roof of the Imperial car was on the verge of collapse when my Grandfather, Alexander III, held the roof on his shoulders, preventing further disaster. Six years afterwards he died as a result of the injuries he suffered on that day. The conspirators who caused this derailment were Lenin and his brother. Lenin’s brother was caught and was executed. Lenin himself escaped abroad. The Russian people did not know that Lenin was one of the Ulianov-Tsederbaum brothers. Later it was established that Lenin himself was the mastermind in causing this accident. Little did the people suspect that he was later also an agent of the German government. Trotsky’s brother was also a revolutionary; he was hanged in 1905. Lenin and Trotsky came to Russia shortly after Father’s abdication. Once my Granny told me if Grandfather had not held up the roof of the railway car they would all have been crushed. Aunt Olga suffered an injury to her back, and Granny to an arm. From the life-size painting which hung in Father’s billiard room, I judge my Grandfather to have been enormous, with broad shoulders and colorful, healthy cheeks, a handsome specimen. I would not be surprised if his voice was a deep baritone, like the voice of a lion roaring throughout the vast rooms of the Gatchina Palace. That kind of impression my giant Grandfather made on me.

Father was emphatic about two things: He would accept nothing from Germany and would not permit the family to become separated. After seeing what these people had done to Father, we sisters, though we longed for freedom and an opportunity to enjoy our life, young as we were, were ready to sacrifice everything and even die to save our country.

A new detachment of guards arrived from Moscow under the supervision of a man named Yakovlev. He had been in Tobolsk for several days and no one knew the reason for his being in town. Before the thirteenth day of each month approached we feared some kind of trouble, and the 13th of April was no exception. On this day Yakovlev put under arrest General Tatishchev, Prince Dolgorukov, Countess Hendrikova, Mlle. Schneider and Mr. Gibbs. They were ordered to move into our house.

After all the rooms had been searched, Yakovlev, wanting to be sure that Alexei was ill, brought in a doctor from the outside, who soon verified the boy’s illness.

I remember a conversation one evening with Count Tatishchev. Prior to the war he represented Father at the German Court and spoke German fluently. During the war he questioned German prisoners who told him that their officers were dissatisfied and that even Von Moltke, the German Commander in the field, was disgusted the way things were going by 1917, and was in favor of putting the Kaiser under arrest; that virtually the Kaiser was a prisoner at his own headquarters and no longer had the power to do anything about the situation. Besides, it was further said, Germany was at the point of collapse.

Ludendorff was then master of the Army and the Empire. It was the Russian revolution which was so skillfully promoted by the traitors who had settled for a while in Switzerland that saved Germany. Had it been delayed even by as short a period as three months, victory would have been ours.

Another evening the subject of discussion was the treaty which was about to be signed. As usual we were gathered in the big hall. With us were Prince Dolgorukov, General Tatishchev, M. Gilliard and Mr. Gibbs; also the two ladies in waiting, Mlle. Hendrikova and Mlle. Schneider, both of whom were later killed outside of Perm. Father turned to General Tatishchev and said: “General, do you remember the letter that Wilhelm wrote to me in which he said that he wanted to sign a separate treaty with Russia, after which the whole affair would be forgotten and the two countries would be friends again?” Across the face of that letter Father had written: “Our friendship is dead.” There was a second letter, this one to Count Benckendorff, in which the Kaiser asked the Count to speak to Father about a treaty with Germany.

We all knew about these letters as we were at General Headquarters at the time. Father showed these letters to Sir John Hanbury-Williams and the other members of the Foreign High Command. His own reaction (which may have been sent to Berlin by Count Benckendorff) to these letters was, “If the Kaiser wants peace, let him make his proposals to all my Allies; a separate treaty with Russia alone is out of the question. No treaty without indemnities to my country and my Allies.”

Prince Dolgorukov said to Olga, “Knowing how honest His Majesty is, he would and could not break the promise he made when he put his hand on the Bible, assumed the purple and was crowned, and received the Orb and the Sceptre. At the same time he kneeled in prayer to guide him in his service as Tsar and Judge of the Russian Empire and to keep his heart in the will of God asking for His guidance to help him in his task to rule wisely and be a true father to his people, in order that on the Day of Judgment he may answer without shame.” During the proclamation of war Father again swore with his hand on the Bible never to make a peace with the enemy as long as one enemy soldier was on his soil.

Father would never have betrayed his Allies. However, the Allies did not recognize his loyalty to them and his unwillingness to sign a separate treaty with the Central Powers. Because of his loyalty and their failure to recognize it, he underwent great spiritual suffering, particularly because he knew that it would mean the end of Russia at a time when he so needed the support of the Allies which they failed to give. Even the Bolshevik leaders feared that the stubborn Emperor might be a threat to them, and decided that the only thing left to do was to kill him. Father might still be alive today, if he had been willing to betray his Allies. It was known that Wilhelm had more confidence in Father for keeping his word in honorable dealings than in his other cousins.

XXI SEPARATION

At this time the new commissar informed Father that he would have to leave Tobolsk within twenty-four hours; and that, because he could not take along the entire family on account of Alexei’s inability to travel, he could take with him any other member of the family who wished to accompany him. That meant separation, the thing we dreaded most. Mother was caught between two tortures, at Yakovlev’s mercy. If she accompanied her husband, she must leave behind her sick boy, who needed her above everything else. But should Father face whatever was ahead alone? Suppose he was to be tried and questioned, would he not need her support? Might they not try to force him to sign the shameful Brest-Litovsk treaty, by threatening to kill his family? Yet Alexei might die without Mother. And what about Father? Did this mean death for him? We knew that all this was surging through Mother’s tormented mind, just as it was through ours.

General Tatishchev wanted to go with Father and said: “Your Majesty, you will not sign anything. They will have to kill us both.”

Olga was like a mother to Alexei. With Gillek, our loyal friend at his side, and Dr. Derevenko across the street, Alexei would be well cared for. At last Tatiana spoke up. She suggested that Mother and Marie go with Father. We knew that was the right suggestion. We knew also how Mother and Alexei would grieve for each other. In the midst of this discussion Father, as was always his habit, went outside in the yard to be alone and not show his agony to others. He had always found the answer to his problems when alone, but this time he had none.

Father was supposed to leave at night, but it was decided to wait till morning when it would be safer to travel on the river. If only they could wait a few days, perhaps Alexei would be able to go with them. It was decided that General Tatishchev should stay in Tobolsk while Dr. Botkin, Prince Dolgorukov, Chemodurov (father’s old attendant) Sidniev (our footman) and Anna Demidova, Mother’s maid, would go with them. Colonel Kobylinsky selected eight soldiers of our guard, under the supervision of eight officers, who would accompany them on this trip.

All day we moved about in a daze, as if we were under hypnotism. Mother ordered her most needed articles to be packed. Tatiana with trembling hands placed them in the suitcase. She swallowed fast to turn back the tears but in spite of stoical efforts more than one tear dropped on the articles and sank deep out of sight. Alexei cried incessantly. With him was Gillek (Gilliard), his faithful tutor. Alexei called for Mother for hours but she could not go to him. She could not hide her tears. At last she found strength to see him. When Gillek left the room, Mother threw herself on her knees in front of his bed and her face next to his, though she could not control her emotions. Her arms around Alexei’s thin body, she wept bitterly over the sick boy, “We will be back in a few days. We will soon be together.” A few drops of valerian were given him. While she sat in a chair, holding his hand, Alexei fell asleep. Then Mother bent over him and kissed her sick boy. He woke up and started to cry again. We could all see that she had prepared herself for this ordeal.

Mother understood the seriousness of this trip, that it might mean the death of all three of them. They all accepted it stoically in the hope that it might save their country even though it could lead to the loss of their lives.

The presence of new guards produced another problem, but Colonel Kobylinsky promised that he would see to it that all who remained behind would be cared for by him personally and that he would have the few remaining old soldiers on guard in the house and watching over us. Countess Hendrikova and Mlle. Schneider were to move in with us.

When all the business was finished, late at night we all assembled in the large hall. All the employees, with tear-stained eyes, came to say good-bye to those who were leaving. Mother embraced all the women and Father all the men. After tea our friends from downstairs departed. The family did not go to bed; our friends also stayed up all night. At 3:30 A.M. tea was again served to the travellers. All changed into clothes for the trip and took with them a few valuables which could be sold, if necessary. But upon their arrival in Ekaterinburg, Mother’s and Marie’s handbags were searched and the contents confiscated.

Mother drew us daughters into our room. We gathered around her. Then and there I suddenly realized what Tobolsk had done to her. Mother’s hair was partly grey and her eyes were sunken deep in her head. Her beautiful skin was lined and transparent, and her neck thin and drawn. Her clothes hung on her wasted frame--she cared little how much she had aged. She was speaking slowly as if the choke in her throat would not let the words come through. “My only desire,” she said, “is that should we ever be scattered outside of Russia, I hope none of you will ever choose Germany, and that you will never do anything to disgrace yourselves. There will be some people who will try to put you in a compromising position--to take advantage of your youth. Always keep respectable. Never marry for wealth or power, only for love and devotion. The greatest happiness I can ask for you, if ever you will marry, is that you will love your husbands as I do mine, your dear Father, and we are thankful, for He has rewarded us by giving us such an understanding family.”

We fell on our knees while she prayed for our safekeeping. Then she drew each one of us to her and kissed us feverishly. She embraced us together, then tore herself from our clinging arms and started toward the door. Suddenly she was back again to hug us once more. Again and again she tried to leave. Each time she came back.

Until the last moment we could not believe that God would let this separation take place. Not only that we feared what would happen to them when they reached their destination, but there was the dangerous river to cross for which one closed carriage and several _tarantasy_ (Siberian primitive open carriages) were provided, now that the ice was thawing. The night was dark and cold. It was safer to start early in the morning, because the river freezes overnight, and they had to travel in the middle of the river where the ice was thicker and safer.

Without a word, Marie clutched my hand; my arms flew around her. With burning cheeks our lips met. Then and there I felt that a great part of my life was gone. Marie was my other half.

Father was the most possessed of us all. He was so brave, parting from him was the hardest, for we might never see him again. Mother was gone. We stood there motionless, not yet believing, staring at the door she had just passed through. She was heading for Alexei’s room. We knew that she wanted to be with him alone. We could see into the room. She found him crying with his head buried under the covers. He always thought it was bad taste to cry before others.

Through the mist in our eyes we saw Father standing. He was white, but with a faint smile on his face, he said: “Come now, children. We will only be away for a short time. Hurry Alexei’s recovery so that he will be well enough to travel.”

Somehow we passed the intervening hours with the servants, those faithful few who had given us their all in their desire to lessen our suffering, friends whose loyalty had lightened our burdens. Now these friends were pouring out their love and devotion we so needed, all the time assuring us of their watchfulness over Alexei and ourselves. Nothing would happen to him or to us sisters. We never could have gotten through that night without our friends.

Each moment we thought to be the last, yet each moment was filled with the hope that the trip would be called off. The minutes passed into hours. Midnight, morning, each second was filled with listening dread. Then came the guards, and Colonel Kobylinsky and Yakovlev. Mother went again into Alexei’s room as he was still crying. Almost gayly she assured him she would be back soon. Father made a cross over us, gave his blessing and kissed our wet cheeks. “All ready,” a voice came. “Certainly,” Father answered. We followed our parents out of the house and stood on the steps to see them seated in the waiting _tarantasy_. In one a mattress had been rolled to make a seat; it was covered with a blanket. This vehicle, drawn by three horses, Mother and Marie occupied. The other one had a bundle of straw to serve as a seat, which also was covered with a blanket. Father and Yakovlev got into this one. There were also _tarantasy_ to carry the others, all the luggage and three folding beds. The guards stepped aside; the gate opened and closed. They were gone. Prince Dolgorukov, Dr. Botkin, Chemodurov and Anna Demidova were with them. The officers and soldiers were following on horseback.

The gate closed at 4:00 A.M., April 26th, 1918, new style, leaving us standing there in tragic silence, confused, frightened, bewildered as to our future. We ran to our room, threw ourselves on the beds and sobbed until we could cry no more. Our dear friend Gillek was with Alexei. We could not get to him. He understood. Thank God, for our loyal friends who defended us. How much they suffered on account of us! And how many good people lost their lives to save us. God give them everlasting peace.

Alexei was calling. The room was full of his calls, pitiful calls for Mother and Father. Tatiana bent over him tenderly with both arms wrapped around his frail body. From utter exhaustion his cries grew fainter. She pressed him close. At last he quieted down and fell asleep in his new mother’s arms.

After the parents left, we sisters assumed additional duties. I, being of a restless nature, was given the task of entering all bills and receipts in a big book at the end of each day. The first time I opened the book I found inside many bills and copies of receipts and promissory notes that were given to merchants by Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev. On inquiry we found out that when the expense money which had been promised to Father by Kerensky and which was to be drawn from our own funds, had failed to come, our household bills had been cared for, unbeknown to Father, by Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev. When their own personal funds were exhausted, these good friends of ours gave the merchants their own personal notes guaranteeing payment of these debts. This fact was kept secret from Father.

The same railroad for which Father and his forefathers laid the first stone in construction was now to carry him to his death. All was left for the new masters who claimed credit for everything and who even changed the names of our once proud cities, universities, hospitals, palaces, museums, industrial and other enterprises, regarding which they had nothing in common except the desire to blow them up at the first opportunity. They renamed them after the worst thieves and murderers in all history. Petrograd, built by Peter the Great, they changed to Leningrad after that murderer, Lenin, whose body upon his death became black and so badly decomposed that the poor chemist was shot because he was not able to complete the process of embalming.

The leaders went into the prisons where among thousands of innocent officers, clergymen and others, they found a man resembling Lenin. At four o’clock in the morning they shot the innocent victim and his body was embalmed. Later that same morning Lenin’s body was disposed of. Today millions of tourists see this mausoleum on Red Square close to the wall of the Kremlin. Within a short distance of the red brick wall lie the Holy Sanctuaries. Here are the remains of the murdered man under glass. If you should see this man, do not condemn him, for he is an innocent victim, but pray for him that his suffering was not long. I have heard this from a friend who met a sister of the nurse who was present at this event.

The curtain had fallen on the travellers--Father, Mother and Marie. They had left. The new day could not draw the curtain aside to permit one look into their uncertain future. Only our anxiety could keep them from continuing the trip and force them to return. Perhaps the river would prove impassable and they would have to wait for the thaw, when we could all go together. If Alexei’s illness had not delayed our trip, perhaps we would all have been taken to Moscow. Probably Mother would have given her consent that the children go abroad, and she and Father would have stayed in Russia. This matter was laid before her, but she would not listen. She emphasized that the trial was only the preparation of the spirit; she was willing to die for her country. She prepared us to believe her belief. Olga, Marie, Alexei and I were not willing, Tatiana accepted the inevitable.

We received no news to break our apprehension; no sunshine dispelled our dread. Dread loomed everywhere, but we knew we must not give in but hope this trip would bring betterment to our lives. There was Alexei to cheer and there were new guards to win over.

At night we heard heavy footsteps and the clicking of arms. Every sound suggested fear. We heard that Count Benckendorff was negotiating with Mirbach for our rescue. Olga kept warning us to be particularly careful. “Now that we are alone, we must be cautious with those cruel men,” she said. When Dr. Botkin left us, we lost one of our staunchest protectors. Now our good friend and tutor, M. Gilliard, played the role of a brother to us. Other friends who had moved into our house were now fellow prisoners. They were helpless but at least we had them as consultants. Colonel Kobylinsky, that blessed little man, was still with us. It gave us comfort. Others too were protecting us, including General Tatishchev, Mlle. Bittner, Shura Tegleva, and Alexei’s faithful Ukrainian servant, Nagorny.

The guards continued to flow into Alexei’s room to check on his health. They still did not believe he was ill. We sisters were anxious for Alexei to be well, so that when the river thawed we should be able to follow our parents. Meantime one of the men who drove the family half way to Tiumen brought a letter from Marie describing the incredible condition of the river. It was a miracle that Mother had survived that trip. We were sick at heart that they were suffering there, while here we suffered just as much. The new guards were rough and frightening. We submitted to their tyranny, making no challenge to their disagreeableness. But we were eager for any news which might come to us through Colonel Kobylinsky. Now the poor man had grown nervous and troubled, his hands shook and a strain was noticeable on his face.

The following day Colonel Kobylinsky brought word that the family was safely on the train. The destination was not mentioned. Then came a short note from Mother addressed to us all. It said the journey had been very difficult but they were on the train. We tried hard to read between the lines but found nothing more there.

Day after day followed monotonously; anxiety made us too tired to think; and we lost interest in our studies. In spite of M. Gilliard’s and Mlle. Bittner’s gentle approach, we could not concentrate on our lessons.

We grieved for those we loved most. Every turn we made, the emptiness reminded us of the former times and we were unable to escape from that feeling. Our hearts beat painfully without refreshing news.

The Holy Week was unbearably sad. Almost four days passed without news. At last on Good Friday, Colonel Kobylinsky received a telegram. It read, “We are safe.”

The only comfort we had was when we noticed an improvement in Alexei’s health. We tried to amuse him, but he too had no thought beyond what was happening to Mother and Father. Now I realized why Mother had taken Marie with her. In case of separation from her husband, she would not be left alone. Marie had the patience of a saint, her presence would be comforting to both.

Olga was frail in nature. Mother had wished to spare her this trip if possible. Tatiana would take the responsibility for Alexei’s care. To alleviate the boredom, I had been given the responsibility of keeping the family accounts and soon assumed the role of family banker and bookkeeper. A special permit was required each day for our food purchases. Every evening, I entered in the ledger all our expenditures; General Tatishchev made me believe I was indispensable in that capacity.

Nagorny was a godsend to Alexei. He slept in Alexei’s room and kept the boy busy, amusing him with tales of his province in the Ukraine; of the great poet Taras Shevchenko, and he recited some pastoral and other poems, including “Naimichka” (The Maid), a beautiful poem. This great poet asked to be buried in the expanse of the golden wheat fields on the broad Dneiper River. Here Alexei used to wade and play in the sand at General Headquarters in Mogilev.

Our days were long, but the nights were even longer. On Easter Eve we were permitted to attend the midnight service in the big drawing room. It was a sad performance. We heard that the guards had completely disrobed the priest and searched him thoroughly. They searched the nuns, too, who came to sing in the service. They insulted them. During the service the guards were disturbing and hurled improper remarks. Had we known what would happen, we would not have requested the service at all.

Outside there was the constant sound of footsteps on the wooden sidewalk. Now that the snow had begun to melt, the garden was full of slush. Soon we were not allowed to go out at all. We waited anxiously for Alexei to get well and for the ice to melt on the river. Then we received a letter, ominously brief. It said the family had halted at Ekaterinburg. They were safe, but there was no detailed explanation. All three of them were accommodated in one room. Marie slept on the floor. We were grateful that Father, in particular, had not been taken to Moscow where he would have met a disastrous end, because he would never have agreed to sign a treaty harmful to his country.

We knew of Ekaterinburg from Father and General Tatishchev. We had passed around the city on the train en route to Tiumen the summer before.

Coincidentally the founder of Ekaterinburg was an ancestor of General Tatishchev who had dedicated the name Ekaterinburg to the Empress Catherine the Great. General Tatishchev was destined to be shot in his ancestor’s city of Ekaterinburg years afterwards. My Father had many friends and relatives interested in different business enterprises. The Imperial family owned the stone cutting works and had other commercial operations. Close friends of ours had extensive businesses in this region. Knowing this vicinity General Tatishchev spent several evenings telling us about the city, where two months later my family, and he as well, were destined to be murdered.

Alexei was nearly well but the river was still not open for navigation. Any day, however, the conditions would be right for our departure. The Commandant ordered Dr. Derevenko to let him know the minute the boy would be able to travel. Once more our house was searched. They took many of Father’s belongings.

The men who guarded us at this time were the most vicious we had had. They hurled obscene words at us, then laughed at our flushed faces. Rodionov, the new commissar, was a wild bloodthirsty Latvian, always insulting. He took several pieces of our valuable possessions as souvenirs. Now almost all our guards were completely new and strange to us. The only friendly ones who remained were those who, thanks to Colonel Kobylinsky, were posted at each door. They were old guards and saw to it that only his own men could enter our rooms.

We received orders not to lock our doors at night: our last bulwark of privacy was removed. On the pretense of finding out whether we were asleep, at any time of night, a guard without knocking or asking for permission was free to enter our bedrooms and other rooms. Now that Marie was gone, we three sisters remained in the same corner bedroom. Being frightened, we took turns guarding our room at night. While the other two slept, one of us sat up in bed on watch, wrapped in a blanket. When the floors creaked, we knew that the guard was approaching, and the one on watch would lie down pretending to be asleep.

We became insensitive to the new guards and were no longer annoyed by their overbearing conduct. Our worst anxiety was to get some news from Colonel Kobylinsky, but he did not appear; not in the morning, not in the afternoon, not the next day. What did all this mean? He had never stayed away so long. Finally the news came; our beloved Colonel had become ill and had been sent away just a few days before our nearing departure and was not permitted to say good-bye. We hoped our parents were not informed about this. It would add greatly to their troubled minds.

The guards were now everywhere, even at the door of our bathroom. We never went alone to bathe, always Shura or Mlle. Schneider was with us. One morning Tatiana crossed the hall on her way to the dressing room. A guard followed her closely, though she was not at first aware of it. When she heard footsteps behind her, she turned back suddenly and bumped into Rodionov, thus crashing into the wall. He had something hard on his person which hit her breast, so that she was pained and frightened. She screamed. When we arrived she was trembling and ghastly pale. She did not get over the shock for some time. After this incident none of us dared go into the bathroom alone. Always Volkov, Mother’s old groom of the chamber, or Nagorny paced back and forth in the hall.

From then on we assumed a mock respectfulness, hoping to shame these men and to arouse their conscience. We believed the only way we could hold them at bay was by appealing to their sense of honor. But the way they leered and chuckled gave us a feeling of hopelessness. Without my Father, Dr. Botkin, or Colonel Kobylinsky they might dare anything.

May 6th, old style, was my Father’s birthday, his second during our captivity. It was distressing to think this was the first time in our lives we could not congratulate him. Marie told us later that Mother and Father wished to have a service in Ekaterinburg on that day, but no priest was permitted to come to the house.

More than ever we were anxious to be on our way. The desire to be with our parents was above all else. Yet we wanted to do nothing which might harm our brother. The lack of letters and news from our family spelled tragic overtones. One or two letters did arrive from Dr. Botkin to his son Gleb and daughter Tatiana, and they managed to relay news to us. But these messages told little beyond the word “well.” That word told us they were alive but were so restricted they were unable to communicate with us.

At last the river opened and the boats could navigate. Alexei, though far from well was able to sit up in a wheel chair. We hoped the trip might help him to get his strength more quickly, especially the thought that he was on the way to his Mother might prove a tonic. With this idea in mind we persuaded Dr. Derevenko to tell the Commandant that Alexei was able to travel. At once he was glad to comply with our wishes, since our condition was so wretched.

For some time in anticipation of this signal our suitcases had been packed. We had very few clothes with us. But Anna Demidova on behalf of Mother wrote to us from Ekaterinburg, that the medicine (meaning the jewels) should be packed carefully. General Tatishchev took the inventory; there were not many pieces, but they were invaluable. The General estimated the value of the stones and other items at between three and four million rubles. He and Gillek (M. Gilliard) and Shura Tegleva took great care in placing them in our clothes, suitcases, and pillows. We were to carry these things with us. Some of the large stones had been removed from their settings in Tsarskoe Selo. Mother also had taken from her big trunk in Tsarskoe Selo a few small valuable laces, which she always supervised when the inventory of these priceless pieces was taken, usually twice a year.

It had now been three weeks since our parents had left and we had lived through all kinds of hardships. The night before we were notified that our departure was scheduled in the morning at 11:00 A.M. The guards were standing at each street corner, as they hurriedly whisked us through the streets to the dock.

On May 20th, 1918, we boarded the “Rossia,” the same boat that brought us to Tobolsk almost ten months before. No other boats followed us. We reached the steamer before noon, but not until late in the afternoon did we start to move. No one was allowed on the dock but in the afternoon people crowded on the river bank to see us depart. Some pressed handkerchiefs to their faces, some wiped their eyes with their long sleeves, some made crosses in the air or on their breasts. When the crowds grew larger we were told to get back into our cabins, which were damp and cold.

About an hour or so later, before our departure, we were allowed to come out on the upper deck. We recognized some familiar faces on the shore, but were puzzled not to see the Botkin children among the people. We could not later explain the reason to their father. Upon our arrival in Ekaterinburg, fearing for their safety, Dr. Botkin addressed a letter to Voykov in regard to their coming, but the sinner’s eyes were closed. Later Nagorny told us that one man had called out: “Lunatics, what are you doing to this innocent family? God will punish you for your brutality.” Rodionov, having heard this remark, said to us, “Your friends called us lunatics.” They were lucky that the boat was sailing, otherwise not one of them would be alive now.