Chapter XIII: Part V: Ekaterinburg (1)

XXII REUNION

With us on the “Rossia” were General Tatishchev, Mlle. Hendrikova, Iza Buxhoeveden, M. Gilliard, Sidney Gibbs and Mlle. Schneider, who had once taught Russian to Mother and Aunt Ella; also Alexei Dmitriev, the hairdresser; Alexandra Tegleva, governess; Elizabeth Ersberg and Miss Tutelberg (“Tootles”) and Alexei (Diatka) Volkov, Mother’s groom of the chamber; valet Trup; Leonid Sidniev, Klementy Nagorny, Ivan Kharitonov, and others.

We were concerned about Alexei, so we went to his cabin and to our dismay we found that he and Nagorny had been locked up in the cabin for the night. Dr. Derevenko, too, was not permitted to see my brother. The Doctor and Nagorny protested such cruelty toward the sick boy. Rodionov shouted back, saying, “You will see who is running this boat.” Then after a series of curses in Russian and expressions in some foreign language, he continued: “I have orders to shoot anyone who resists.” No more could be said or done, and we were thankful that Nagorny was with him. We were not allowed to close our cabin doors. The trip to Ekaterinburg would not be long! We did so hope nothing would happen to Alexei now at the last minute. The spring air on the river Tobol--the little that sifted through our windows--was refreshingly sweet, though the cabins were raw and chilly. The next day they permitted us to sit on deck. We could see the shores were a fused iridescence of the early tree leaves; the stream was swollen and formed numerous little lakes. From our midstream view the world seemed tenderly beautiful. Could our world be tender? Was this a new beginning, or an end?

The guards armed with bayonets were everywhere, dampening any desire on our part to indulge in any kind of conversation. Whoever spoke to us had to raise his voice well above normal, speak in Russian only, and sit at some distance from us. We were happy when Alexei was allowed to be carried out on the deck in his wheel chair. He remained quietly in the sunshine; his eyes followed M. Gilliard whenever he left him for a moment. Alexei was very attached to this faithful friend and protector. He was afraid to talk for fear he might be locked up in his cabin again. He sat worried and forlorn, occupied with troubled thoughts. The little fellow realized the seriousness of his trip, he was obviously in deep agony. Our hearts beat painfully for him. We tried to play some games but none could concentrate. We spoke little for fear they might misinterpret our most innocent conversation.

On the second morning, May 22nd, we arrived in Tiumen. Here were more guards armed to the teeth, even with a machine gun. They were afraid of possible riots when we would disembark. There were crowds of people to see the arrival of the first boat of the season, or perhaps they were aware of our being on board. We waited on the boat several hours before we disembarked, then we walked from the landing, crossing the same tracks to the waiting train as we had done, in reverse, the previous year. A group of ladies threw flowers at our feet, but we did not dare to look in their direction. We saw they were wiping their tears with handkerchiefs. Many crossed themselves and others made a cross in our direction. Still others stood motionless except for their quivering lips. An elderly gentleman knelt down. Immediately a guard pushed him over, swearing at him in a mixed tongue. I felt ashamed to see such brutal disrespect for venerable years. This Russian gentleman was one of the old generation. I could tell by his posture and by the cut of his clothes. He had a familiar look; it seemed I had seen him before somewhere. Tatiana asked Commissar Rodionov if it would be possible to have Baroness Buxhoeveden and others with us. He grinned, saying “Panie, nyet” (lady, no).

We were exhausted and hungry. We had had nothing to eat since noon the day before, and still there was a long trip ahead of us to Ekaterinburg. Finally our brave Nagorny managed to get us a bottle of milk. I presume someone gave it to him and he rushed to give it to us. We sisters each had half a glass and the rest we saved for our brother. Then we were transferred to the train. One car was assigned to us girls and our brother. One side of the aisle was occupied by us sisters and Hendrikova, Buxhoeveden, Schneider, and Ersberg. On the other side were General Tatishchev, Alexei and Nagorny. We were not allowed to speak with those on the other side. Now Alexei was separated from his devoted teacher and protector, M. Gilliard. The rest of the suite, we understood, was in the car behind.

We did not dare to undress that night since the guards were pacing back and forth in the aisle and at each end of the car. They stood or sat continually guarding us as if we were criminals. The shades were pulled down all night, but several dim lights were kept on. We knew we were approaching Ekaterinburg when the guards spoke of Bazhenovo, a town near Ekaterinburg. At midnight the train stopped and we spent the rest of the night there on the train. We remembered Bazhenovo where, on our way to Tobolsk, we had stopped along the track. Father had told us that near here were the famous emerald mines.

About nine o’clock in the morning several men entered our car and said, “Please carry your own personal luggage.” The guards made no move to help us. Nagorny, heavily guarded, was told to pick up Alexei. Without a word he carried him off the train. It was raining and dark clouds were hanging over the area making a most depressing day. Some people stood near the road under the trees which had begun to show their green leaves.

Evidently the news of our arrival had leaked out. The guards loudly ordered the people to turn their backs toward us. We carried our heavy suitcases and other belongings. Olga had been ill during the night and was still so dizzy she could hardly walk. She was unable to carry much. We feared she had had a heart attack that night but Dr. Derevenko, who was probably in the next car, had not been allowed to see her. Four or five carriages met us near the railroad tracks, I presumed in the outskirts of the city. I remembered passing Ekaterinburg the previous summer on the way to Tiumen. The railroad ran partly around the town; there were two stations. I think our train was stopped near the station where a demonstration on the part of the populace would be less likely.

Nagorny placed Alexei in the first carriage, then he ran toward us to give us a hand. He tried to reach for the heavy suitcase which Tatiana had carried with great effort in one hand, the dog and the blanket in the other, but he was brutally pushed aside. We struggled with our burdens in the muddy ground mixed with cinders; no one was permitted to come to our assistance. Our carriages with suitcases and a commissar in each followed the carriage bearing Alexei and Nagorny. While the rain continued, they raised the hood of the carriage in which I rode. In the carriage with me was a man whom I later recognized as Zaslovsky.

Sitting on the edge of the seat I could see that we had entered a broad avenue; shortly on the left I saw a church. Proceeding into another broad avenue, there was a chimney visible behind a wooden fence at the end of which the carriage stopped. I saw a short distance away another church. It was the view of this church that remained in my memory that day as I entered the Ipatiev House.

Trembling with fear we were eager to reach the premises. At the arch of some sort of a porte-cochere we stepped out from the carriage. It was 9:40 A.M. or perhaps a little later when we entered the Ipatiev gate. At the entrance stood Goloshchekin, the Commissar. Olga entered first and we followed her. As we entered the house, we were met by a rough-looking man who stood in the vestibule. From here we were escorted through a wide stairway and entered an anteroom and then passed into another room which was the Commissar’s office. We each had to present, separately, our identity cards, each with its serial number and photograph of the bearer, taken in Tobolsk some time earlier. They showed the place and date of birth, surname, patronymic and family name, as well as our address at Tobolsk.

We found Father standing near the hallway at the foot of the stairway. He threw his arms around us. Then Alexei was placed in Father’s arms. Mother and Marie met us at the threshold. We sobbed in each other’s arms, but when Alexei was brought to Mother, she put her head on his chest and wept bitterly. “My baby, my precious one!” It was nice to hear again these words which had been missing in Tobolsk. Joy and sorrow mingled in that tragic reunion.

Mother looked pale, haggard, and prematurely aged. Even Marie had lost her glow. Father’s once clear blue eyes were circled with dark shadows and his hair was sprinkled with gray. His hands were thin and I noticed dark spots on them. “It is his liver,” Dr. Botkin said. Marie gave her bed to Alexei. In Father’s and Mother’s room were the three folding beds which had been brought from Tobolsk. We four sisters moved into one room.

Late in the afternoon, our cook Kharitonov, his helper Leonid Sidniev and the valet Trup were brought to us. They told us they had been questioned for hours. Their interrogators stripped them of their extra clothing and took some of their belongings. The interrogators had not forgotten the unpleasant incident which took place on the boat, where Nagorny exchanged angry words over Alexei’s being locked up overnight in his cabin. They told us that General Tatishchev, Countess Hendrikova and Mlle. Schneider had been arrested and taken away to prison. But they were unable to find out what had become of Dr. Derevenko, M. Gilliard, Buxhoeveden, Tegleva, Ersberg, Father’s valet Kirpichnikov and the others. Our money, including our household money, carried by General Tatishchev, had been taken away from him. Now we had nothing left. Father wrote to Voykov asking of what these people were guilty to be sent to prison.

In spite of these unpleasant incidents we were glad and pleasantly surprised to have these few friends with us again. Mother was thankful to have these men, since Father’s old valet Chemodurov had been taken ill as a result of the trip from Tobolsk and sent to a hospital. On the day after our arrival it was our turn to be searched. Our suitcases were opened and ransacked. Fortunately we had brought with us little clothing. My shoes were almost worn out. While on the boat, Iza Buxhoeveden promised to let me have a pair of her own shoes. She wore size 4½, the same as I. But she was forbidden to give me hers.

The trunks which were shipped from Tobolsk reached the house but they were taken directly to the attic. We heard banging above the dining room and the sitting room. Evidently they had taken the keys to our trunks from General Tatishchev when they arrested him and were removing our belongings.

Several times they asked Olga to play the piano, which was in Commissar Yurovsky’s room. There we recognized our table linens, on one occasion a large one with the double eagle and the crown woven in it, and also one embroidered in the center with the double eagle and the crown. Commissar Yurovsky also helped himself to Father’s clothes which were much too tight and too short for him.

With all our troubles Olga became ill again with a nervous stomach disorder and suffered excruciating pain. Mother and Father and Marie had a small wardrobe when they first came to Ekaterinburg, but most of their clothes were in their trunks. One misfortune followed another in rapid succession. To add to our distress, Alexei knocked his knee against the bed while trying to get up. At first he fainted and after some minutes the pain became unbearable. An internal hemorrhage caused him untold suffering, with no immediate relief or medical help. Finally, after several letters to Yurovsky and pleading by Dr. Botkin, Dr. Derevenko was allowed to administer medical treatment. Mother spoke to the doctor while he attended Alexei, but he gave no reply. The guards were at the door watching him. He looked pale and his hands shook. When he did not respond to Mother’s question, she realized that he was under strict orders not to speak to us. Mother was so upset by these events that she burst into tears. The doctor’s face turned red and he looked at her pleadingly. He gave her some lotion, salve, clean gauze and epinephrine as Tatiana took charge of Alexei. Dr. Derevenko saluted and left like a shadow or a dream that comes and goes. Tatiana was to apply the compresses of epinephrine to my brother’s knee. When the cotton was used up, she washed the gauze and saved it, and when that too was gone, she used Father’s old shirts or our old blouses. For weeks Alexei suffered. He lost a great deal of weight and became weak. Not only was his knee stiff, but this time both feet were partially paralyzed and one leg somehow became shorter again. Nevertheless, Dr. Derevenko was forbidden to take care of his young patient. We were not able to use the foam apparatus. The instruments were in a trunk in the hallway but were useless because most of the time there was no electricity and very little hot water. This was the only trunk that was turned over to us--because nothing was in it that those cruel men wanted.

It became apparent that the new life we dreamed of and the new hope that ran through us were being mocked at every turn. Restrictions and distrust teamed together to destroy our morale. We four sisters shared one bedroom. The first days we slept on the bare floor covered with blankets and a conglomeration of coats and cushions, as the house had been stripped of rugs and carpets. The floor was cold and damp. Olga and Tatiana became so thin their bones ached from sleeping on the hard floor. I was well padded then and felt less discomfort than the others. After a while we received heavy mattresses made of sacking stuffed with straw. These had to be turned over every day creating much dust and making my Mother’s sinus worse.

We sisters were frightened and agreed among ourselves that one of us should keep watch at night as we had done during the last days at Tobolsk, lying down during the day on our parents’ beds to make up for lost sleep.

Marie described to us their treacherous trip from Tobolsk to Tiumen. As they were crossing the Irtysh River in _tarantasy_, the ice, which was many feet thick, began to break up with a thunderous noise, so much so that even the sharpshooters and officers who were escorting the family under Rodionov’s surveillance were frightened.

The horses struggled in the thick slush which came up to their stomachs. Unable to raise their feet they merely pushed the slush ahead of them. Large pieces of ice wedged between the wheels, causing the spokes to break. In front of Rasputin’s house, a crack like thunder was heard underneath and a huge block of ice heaved close to them. One of the horses fell and could not get up and it took the efforts of all the guards to lift him to his feet with the aid of a wooden plank. What Rasputin had predicted ran through Marie’s mind: that our family would visit his village and that our death would follow his death. When Mother saw that Marie was frightened, she tried to brace her up.

Horses had to be changed a number of times before Tiumen was reached. Father, Dr. Botkin, and Prince Dolgorukov got out and walked in the marsh to lighten the burden of the horses which were wet, steaming and foaming at the mouth. In the evening the party was put up at a peasant’s cottage where some tea and food was served. Mother’s clothes were wet; she was so cold that her teeth were chattering and her lips were blue.

After resuming their trip, Father recognized one of his generals going in the opposite direction, dressed in peasant garb. Their eyes met. Neither one spoke. During this trip Dr. Botkin became ill, but in spite of that they had to continue their trip during the night, because the river did not thaw as rapidly at night. Finally they arrived at a point near Tiumen early in the morning.

Here part of the ice had already melted near the banks of the river, and it became necessary for them to put up a temporary bridge in order to cross the opening between the ice and the shore. Although it was early in the morning--just after daybreak--all kinds of guards were there to meet them, only a few of whom spoke Russian. The rest seemed to be foreigners. Under a heavy escort of soldiers armed with guns and hand grenades suspended from their belts, they were taken to the railroad station. Here they boarded a train. The entire party was seated in one car with Father, Mother and Marie on one side and the others on the other side. These included Prince Dolgorukov, Dr. Botkin, Chemodurov, Father’s old valet, Anna Demidova and Sidniev--once a footman to us girls. The family was not allowed to speak to any one of them.

For four whole days the train was shuttled back and forth by Yakovlev, who had charge of the family and was sympathetic to Father. He feared that when they reached Moscow, if Father should refuse to comply with their demands, the entire family would be killed. Father was puzzled at Yakovlev’s changes as to going or not going to Moscow. But soon the family recognized that Yakovlev was against those traitors in Moscow, but he was helpless, knowing that Father would not leave Russia, especially not leave his family to the mercy of these cruel men. The Germans were in control in Moscow and Father was convinced that all orders concerning our family came from Count Mirbach. Yakovlev’s purpose, therefore, was to forestall this. The train itself was even set on fire in order to give the prisoners a chance to escape. Father would not take advantage of this, as the rest of the family would have been held in Tobolsk as hostages. Soon thereafter Yakovlev received orders to proceed to Ekaterinburg. They spent Palm Sunday on the train.

As they were approaching Ekaterinburg a Commissar came asking for their papers. Father had only an identification card he always carried in his billfold of light leather embossed with a crown in gold. It bore his name, the date and the place of his birth, his religion and marital status. It also indicated the issuing office: the Imperial desk. In addition he had the identification card that had been issued to him at Tobolsk, which contained his picture and the words: Nicholas Alexandrovich Romanov, ex-Emperor, Citizen, Tsarskoe Selo.

In Ekaterinburg a photograph of the whole party of five was taken by Commissars Sverdlov and Goloshchekin, both Jews. Near the station at Ekaterinburg the people on the street went down on their knees and kissed the ground on which my family passed. They were guarded by the same men who came with them on the train, plus some additional guards who now surrounded them. Upon entering the house each gave his name and was admitted, but when Prince Dolgorukov gave his name the Commissar said: “You are under arrest.” This beloved friend of many years with whom Father had played during his childhood, was now separated from them. Prince Dolgorukov pulled out of his pocket one of his general’s epaulettes which had been removed from his uniform in Tobolsk. He handed it to Father and said: “It came from my Emperor and I give it back to my Emperor.” There was no chance to shake hands. He saluted Father and said, “God be with You, Your Majesties.” He was taken away.... Father was so shaken by this incident, he wrote a note to Goloshchekin, who was in charge of all prisoners, but it was fruitless.

At two o’clock in the morning a great mob of people gathered outside the house. Several shots were fired. From the screams they knew some were killed. The guards then entered and made a thorough search of the house. They took Father’s money and Mother’s jewelry and stripped all the others, including the maid, of their valuables. Anna Demidova had all her savings with her and also jewelry given to her by the family over the years. A foreigner who spoke to Mother in German and to Father in French, although he understood Russian, was insulting. It was said that he was Yurovsky’s, Trotsky’s and Mirbach’s friend, and that he was sent to the Ipatiev House from Moscow as a connoisseur of antiquities for a Swiss firm. His name started with “K”. Father resented this treatment and said that up to now he had been accustomed to deal with honest men, and that he did not need to be reminded by a foreigner that he was a prisoner not of his own people, but of traitors, convicts and foreign agents. It is unbelievable that such men could come into our country and wrest all power from the people.

The guards were Russians whose orders came from foreigners in Moscow. Even though most of the guards were ex-convicts, they could see the injustice that was being done. And sooner or later they began to be more lenient. But immediately the change in their attitude was noticed, they were replaced by new recruits.

Such was Marie’s account of their trip and stay in Ekaterinburg.

The arrival of Kharitonov, our chief cook; Trup, the valet; and Leonid Sidniev, the 14-year-old kitchen helper, cheered somewhat the gloomy atmosphere. When Dr. Botkin met us, he threw his arms around us and kissed each one of us, as if we were his own children. Tears filled his eyes. In less than a month he had greatly changed, as had all the others.

Father’s knuckles were swollen with arthritis. His kidney condition caused excruciating back pains. Mother’s hands too were swollen more than before and the lump on the index finger of her right hand was quite noticeable. She no longer could hold a needle in her fingers. All this was due to the very difficult trip from Tobolsk and the mental agony which persisted.

Dr. Botkin’s sad eyes forced a smile, beneath the swollen bags under them. His pastime was limited to reading. The dear man was anxious for news of his children, but we had none to offer, except a few indefinite rumors we had heard on the boat. In spite of the surrounding terrors, Dr. Botkin continued to reflect his intelligence, kindness and tenderness. Why should dear “Papula” be punished? I remember his children called him that. Commissar Yurovsky was especially abusive to him, Dr. Botkin wished his children to be brought to Ekaterinburg. He begged Commissars Avdiev and Yurovsky to have this done but the request was denied. Fortunately, by not coming to Ekaterinburg, they escaped the tragedy that befell their father. This seemed so unnatural since Yurovsky was the father of three children, and the son of a Jewish rabbi. One would think that he would be kind to other children.

Up to now our parents had had their food prepared outside. But when Kharitonov arrived, he resumed his duties as our cook. In the beginning we were allowed fifteen minutes each day to walk in the small, muddy garden; soon the grass began to show signs of life and the fragrant lilacs began to bloom. We were permitted to take some violets and lilacs to Mother, but they had to be examined at the office before they were taken into our apartments. A few trees showed considerable abuse, as the horses had chewed off much of the bark on the white birch and poplar trees. We picked the blossoms of the linden tree, dried them and used them to make tea. There was always something fragrant in the garden; when the acacia was in bloom the fragrance seeped through the windows. Sometimes Mother went out with us in the yard, when Alexei was feeling better. After Nagorny was taken away and when Father was ill, Dr. Botkin or Marie carried Alexei down into the garden. One day when Dr. Botkin carried him, Alexei threw his arms around his neck and kissed this good friend on both cheeks in gratitude. During our walking exercises we were subjected to the watchful eyes of the guards. They all carried hand grenades in their belts. Some of these were good men, but none stayed more than a few days. Once we heard them say, “Where there are devils, there is Hell, and that is what we have now.”

Our window panes had been painted white outside, except for a tiny space at the top through which we could glimpse the blue sky. After a while Father wrote Yurovsky asking him to remove enough paint so that we could see the thermometer which was on the left side of the window frame outside. We saw nothing but walls, prison walls.

Alexei asked Father to request that M. Gilliard be returned to us. This too was denied. Alexei also asked Father how long we would have to stay in this place. Father could not help but tell the truth, “It might be long.” Alexei never brought up that question again.

Sometimes at night shots would be heard; an agonized cry, then quiet. They searched our house again. We sisters were still without beds. They told us to set our clocks ahead by two hours. We had our breakfast at 12:30 noon. Kharitonov had to work not only for us and our staff but also for these terrible men. The odors of fish and other good-smelling things would drift to our rooms, but they were not for us. These foods were for the Commandant and the guards. We were given a thin fish soup or half-cooked veal cutlet at noon and a cold one at night. Father could not eat these things, so he went frequently without food. Mother’s meals consisted usually of spaghetti and tea, which little Leonid prepared for her over a small kerosene burner, because she refused to sit at the same table with those vulgar men. The guards ate at the same table with the family. For us, it was a question of eating the revolting stuff or starving while the guards lived off the fat of the land at our expense.

XXIII DEPRIVATION AND COURAGE

Every week Father was questioned in the Commissar’s room, while the guards stood by at the doorway of our rooms. One day Father returned very upset after being questioned for two hours. They showed him a war document, the “Orange Book” as it was called, from which a number of documents were missing and accused Father of destroying these documents and substituting a letter from the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria, in which he wrote to Father that he did not wish to acquire any territory, but to die in peace in his old age. They ignored the fact that these documents had been held at the Ministry of War after they had been read by Father and the General Staff. Their suspicions were based on the assumption that it was impossible for the Emperor Francis Joseph to have written such a letter.

We had no privacy, not even the privacy of a prison. All the doors of our rooms had been removed before we arrived at the Ipatiev House. At any time of the day or night the guards or the Commandant would stalk into our rooms, without knocking. This occurred about every three hours for their check-up. The stench of liquor that flooded the rooms warned us of their approach. They sat on Alexei’s bed. They drank from our tumblers. They stuffed into their pockets anything that caught their eye. They came in twos or threes. By this time we had kept only our most treasured keepsakes, so whatever they helped themselves to was a real loss to us. But even precious things were worth losing if they would but leave us alone without this constant intrusion. They kept coming in more often, flaunting their authority in our faces, joking at our expense, and toying with the veneer of our composure. By comparison, the first guards at Tobolsk were gentlemen. We could not believe these creatures were soldiers. They seemed too uncouth to have been in any service of the Army. At night their hideous brawlings reached us from their quarters below to fill us with disgust and terror. Dr. Botkin tried to intercede. He went to the Commandant and urged him to see that his men were less rowdy, but they continued to act as before. Father seldom spoke to the Commissars. Anything he needed he wrote down and handed it to his valet Trup to deliver to Yurovsky.

In cases of illness, Dr. Botkin took care of us on his own accord. We sisters at home were trained not to be familiar with anyone around us, and always to be reserved. Mother also spoke seldom to her help, except when giving orders; and yet she was very kind to those who were in trouble or in need. Mother was the first one to help them financially. And now when Anna Demidova lost all her belongings Mother promised to replace their losses to all who were in our service.

Once when Kharitonov was ill, we sisters undertook the task of preparing the food. One day a burlap sack of potatoes was brought to the kitchen. “Peel them,” said one of the guards. Potatoes! Something so real, so much a part of the earth, to hold in our hands. We fondled each one, breathing in its earthy smell; no perfume like it. We made a game out of paring and when we finished, there was only a small pile of peelings. It was a refreshing task. We assumed some of these would be for our meals, but no potatoes were served to us. We helped on another occasion in the kitchen, baking bread. Kharitonov was appreciative of our help, since he had lately been in poor health, and the task of cooking for so many, commissars and others as well as for us, was too much for him.

Twice a week two maids came in to care for our rooms. They cleaned, washed the floors and changed our bedding. We helped them all we could and were glad to see the new faces about. We could not converse with them, because the guards stood at the doorway wherever they worked. We saw their frightened faces. We understood and they applied themselves to the execution of their strict orders. Upon entering our rooms and again on leaving they were searched. But somehow these women managed to tell us that some of our friends had been imprisoned and some shot.

Now we utilized a code using verses of the Bible. While the women worked, Mother or one of us sisters was told to read certain verses from St. John. We hoped the maids understood that she was to communicate with someone on the outside. The next time she came to clean she merely raised one or two of her fingers. We thought that someone had been interviewed and had suggested that we read Chapter 1 or Chapter 2. Another time we understood we were expected to read other chapters of the Bible. In that way we thought we were in touch with someone on the outside. We did this when conditions became dangerous. It was the only hope we believed might save us at the crucial moment. But if any of these messages reached anyone outside we did not know it.

We knew that food was being delivered to the house from the neighboring monastery every other day, for our family use. However, very seldom did any of this food reach us. The Commissars took most of it for themselves. During our meals Avdiev sat at our table and so did the guards. At such times the food was much better. Our few remaining servants felt uncomfortable sitting at the same table with us, and they asked Dr. Botkin to speak to Father about it Father made it easier for them by saying: “We are all in the same boat, and if we are to sink we might as well sink together.” They were exceedingly sympathetic and showed us more kindness. We could read the grief in their faces, but they were as brave as the rest of us. Trup and Kharitonov were approached by Voykov to cook for them at the club outside, a home of the Commissars. In spite of Kharitonov’s wife and a daughter being in Ekaterinburg, both refused, and preferred to work for their old employers without compensation. In response to Mother’s anguished prayers, Alexei began to feel better now. One day, Yurovsky came in and said abruptly, “Alexei is better now. He does not need Nagorny any longer.” Poor Nagorny was taken away. This faithful Ukrainian had done no more than serve his young master faithfully. Also our young footman Sidniev was taken away.

What was left of our silver disappeared gradually, except for a few forks and spoons which we kept in our rooms. Most of our silver had been seized from us in Tsarskoe Selo during the Kerensky regime. Part of it was repurchased by my two older sisters from their savings and part was purchased by Count Benckendorff who gave it back to us.

At meal time these wretched guards monopolized the conversation with all kinds of jokes. Their table manners were atrocious and their appetites voracious. One of the guards leaned against Dr. Botkin to light his cigarette from the candle which stood in the center of the table. His sleeve got into the food, and I without a thought gave him my napkin. The man actually looked ashamed. But as time wore on, we thought we could notice an improvement in the attitude of the guards. Some became tolerant and a few were even friendly. During one of our walks in the garden one of these men spoke so that Father could hear him say, “How cruel and senseless to hold and abuse an innocent man.” This guard suddenly disappeared, as did others. Every day there were new arrivals to replace those who were being sent away, for showing sympathy for us, which no doubt worried Yurovsky.

At night we tried to create a homelike atmosphere by lighting candles on the table. These nourished our souls, even if the food did not nourish our bodies. But we were told to burn one candle at a time, or one kerosene lamp. So for a long time we did burn only one candle. Often we were compelled to sit in the dark or go to bed early. Electricity was off most of the time. There were promises that it would be fixed tomorrow, but tomorrow never came and we never saw electric lights again.

Among our household dishes, Kharitonov had a box of gold candles. When the men searched the kitchen they became suspicious and melted some of the candles but found nothing.

Yurovsky had an office in the house. This consisted of an impressive desk and community bed covered with a military blanket, on which he and others took turns resting their troubled heads. The room, dirty and filled with cigarette butts, became a human pigsty. A samovar graced a table, many glasses of tea were consumed. A German newspaper rested majestically by the samovar. There was also a pointed knife with a black horn handle, a special culinary tool with which Yurovsky had proudly speared his cutlet at the supper table and expertly carried it straight into his mouth, profusely decorated with a curly, bushy black beard and mustache. In the corners of his protruding mouth there was an accumulation of saliva which never experienced a lonely hour. A dish with a mound of fresh butter was replaced as soon as it was finished. We long ago had forgotten the taste of butter. Since his last cold, the doctor had prescribed this diet for Yurovsky’s weak chest. This brute even looked for sympathy.

The table was covered with an elegant damask table cloth with a woven double eagle and a crown in the center. We also recognized Prince Dolgorukov’s handkerchiefs, presumably taken away from him during his arrest. His coat of arms displayed a hand holding an arrow. Dolgorukov means “long arm.”

Frequently the guards asked Olga to play the balalaika or the piano, for their amusement. Sometimes she played her own compositions. Father could but consent so long as the pieces were not construed to have a double meaning. Whatever the guards ordered we complied with, thankful for an occasional moment when they occupied themselves with something constructive. But when they insisted that Olga sing “We Abandon the Old Regime,” she stood up and in a firm tone said, “I will not do it, even if you kill me.” Surprised they were at her courage. Once when she played _Andante Contabule_ by Tchaikovsky, they screamed “No” at the top of their voices. “It is sad, play something else, please.” Then she played a war song, “He Died in the War Hospital.” “No, no, please stop it; it is sad too, play something else.” Cheerfulness they were seeking at the hands of those who long ago had forgotten the meaning of a happy mood. Father always stood at the doorway when anyone of us played or sang for them. But Mother was never left alone. This habit we had formed at Tsarskoe Selo. No matter what we did one of us remained with her.

It had become a regular thing to search our quarters, not so much for valuables, since by now they had already taken an inventory of them, as for possible means of escape. Each day there was a fresh excuse. They constantly suspected us of having something incriminating. They heard that we had guns hidden, they would say. No matter what the answer was, a whole troop of them would stalk in. Each day’s experience sharpened our detective powers. We could see without looking. Every time they stole we sensed it. We saw them take our silver spoons, pencils, soap and other articles. They removed everything they saw and slipped them up their sleeves. They took apart a picture with a heavy enamel frame with the excuse that the frame might have something hidden in it. Underneath they found a photograph of Mother’s beloved brother Ernest. With all the persecution she had feared to display her brother’s photograph. So she covered it with one of our pictures. They said nothing. Even we had not known that her brother’s picture was hidden underneath. They also took a gold chain with an icon which hung over Alexei’s bed. We never made any effort to stop them, nor did we give any sign that we saw. We ignored their thievery and curiosity since Father said: “We must not let them know how much they annoy us; soon they will grow tired and leave us alone.”

After much argument and after waiting for over two weeks, Dr. Botkin was able to persuade Yurovsky to have a window opened in one of the rooms for ventilation. They unlatched two other windows, then accused us of unlatching them. We sisters moved our mattresses for the night closer to that window for a breath of air. Father’s and Mother’s beds were also moved closer to our room, where there was only one window open, and where near by was the guard booth. We felt sorry for Dr. Botkin, Sidniev, Trup and Nagorny. They had no privacy. They shared the same room with doors removed and at one end was the staircase which was used by the guards to go downstairs. The room had two opposite doors, one leading through a hall into one side and the other into the apartment on the other side; Nagorny and Sidniev had been taken away in the beginning of June before the heat became unbearable. Poor Kharitonov and little Leonid had slept in the hot kitchen.

Our days were irregular although we arose regularly at eight in the morning. Before breakfast we held a service and sang a prayer in our room. Father, Mother, Dr. Botkin and all the rest joined us for a half hour of prayer and meditation. These were the most pleasant moments of the day, because our friends were with us at this hour.

Mother worried more about Alexei, since he had grown steadily worse with the small amount of nourishment he had. Now all the supply of tissue-building ingredients was gone from his diet. The Commandant would not heed Dr. Botkin’s plea for the food necessary to his well-being--gelatine, vegetables and fruit. The saintly “Papula” (Dr. Botkin) begged Yurovsky to be generous to the sick boy, but to no avail. Father also wrote to Yurovsky, but this too was ignored by him. All this tension reacted on Mother’s heart. She had grown much weaker and her lips, when blue, warned us of a heart attack.

Father looked desperate, because he could do nothing to spare his children. We knew he himself could stand anything for Russia, anything but the persecution of his family. Only occasionally did his hopelessness come to the surface, though he tried to disguise it from us. With us sisters low spirits rotated from one to another. Each lived for the other. Father knew everything that went on in our hearts and often told us what we were thinking.

XXIV THE NIGHTS ARE LONG

It was a sad moment when we heard that Nagorny and Sidniev had been taken away. Without any notice they were ordered to get ready in a few moments time. Dr. Botkin told us that both men wanted to see us before they left. Nagorny said, “I am employed by my Emperor and I am going to see him.” But he was rudely pushed toward the stairway. Poor Leonid lost his only relative, his uncle Sidniev, who had devoted his life to this little orphaned boy. Now Leonid, the scullery boy, took the responsibility of taking care of our dogs. It was a great treat not only to Alexei but to the family to see someone who had been with us in Tobolsk. Leonid’s smiling face brought some diversion to Alexei, but Leonid too was a prisoner in the house, like the rest of us. The two boys played navy games with toy boats and so were able momentarily to forget the existing conditions surrounding us. Since Leonid was an orphan, Alexei’s ambition was to give him the best possible education and care for him as long as he would be in need.

Now that Nagorny was gone, Father himself carried Alexei down into the courtyard for his daily airing of thirty minutes. Father’s tenderness choked us afresh each time. All the time it was evident to us that Father was buckling under the weight of his own injured back. We had little heart to go out at all into a cheerful courtyard full of heartless men. The thirty minutes airing was hardly worth the strain on Father, but the fresh air was medicine to Alexei, until God would answer our prayers.

We did not take the wheel chair down into the garden. Mother wanted Alexei to walk a little each day. We took turns holding him under the arms; his legs were so weak they would have collapsed under him without support. Dr. Botkin thought that braces on both legs would help. The rubber had gone to pieces on the braces he had been using. Olga and Tatiana took stays, hooks, and other parts of our corsets and made two braces that hooked in front. Not having any rubber, they padded these with cotton placed between two pieces of cloth. These proved to be effective and Alexei was able to go outdoors wearing these braces under his trousers.

Once when we walked around the courtyard some birds made a commotion. In my mind I wondered if they came from the Crimea. One little fellow warbled on so eternally that we were lifted as by a religious service. From then on we listened hungrily, each songster seeming a harbinger of that world so shut away from us.

Now our walks were cut down to fifteen minutes. The time was so short that it seemed we were back in the house at the moment of leaving! Olga used to say, “Back into the vault.”

Mother seldom went out with us but, on our return, she eagerly drank in the sweet air that still clung to our clothes. There were a few ways left for us to amuse ourselves but these had grown monotonous. Our books, which had been taken away from us on our arrival, were now restored and we read them but our thoughts were far away.

Father read the Bible aloud, often starting on the page at which he opened the book. We girls had our tapestries, but the lack of yarn and the bad light caused us to give up working on them. Mother no longer sewed, her eyes being bad from the inadequate light of our lone candle. It was too much of a strain.

Alexei no longer had his toy soldiers, the guards having seized them some time earlier. Now he passed many hours cutting out paper soldiers with his little friend Leonid--lining them up in formation on the squares of a chessboard. We sisters helped to design different uniforms and color them. Anything to help the boys forget the dreary hours. The guards leaned over the boys’ shoulders commenting on the play.

Father wrote Yurovsky requesting a priest to come and hold a service. After a long debate with Dr. Botkin, one of the Commissars came at last to inform us that, on the next day, a priest would come to hold a service in the house, the first one in Ekaterinburg. Mother was ecstatic. We selected our choice icons and, with the help of our friends, we put up in the sitting room a small altar, a table covered with a hand-embroidered cloth. With the coming of the priest and the service a little light crept into the Ipatiev House.

Just before the service began, Alexei’s bed was brought into the room. He had been suffering from the cold as well as from swollen hands and legs partially paralyzed from his knees down. Yurovsky leered at us from one corner of the room but we ignored him. The priest’s voice trembled. He was upset for fear of making a mistake, probably knowing the fate of Father Vassiliev in Tobolsk.

It was an inspirational day; the simple ritual, the chanting, the Communion and its consummation, our lips kissed the cross, and our souls feasted on the Blessed Bread. Exaltation swept through us and we soared to an enveloping oneness with God. Father read the Holy Scripture and we all sang. What a day it was!

After the service Mother said: “The priest and the deacon seemed so sad. Priests are in great danger these days. I pray they get into no trouble for coming to the house.”

Did the guards feel as we felt that day? They did not interfere with our taking Holy Communion. God’s hand was upon us and we felt safer. The world of prison and persecution was not real. We had glimpsed the real world, that world where our souls were filled and a new life flowed into our withering flesh. Mother kept repeating: “The Communion has been such a healer.”

Perhaps it was the influence of this Communion service which gave us an inspiration. We girls put our heads together and wrote a prayer of seven verses, one for each member of the family. We memorized each verse completely so that we could destroy the written copy in order to keep the prayer to ourselves. We agreed that if we were ever separated, we could communicate with each other by using one or more of the verses as a sort of unwritten code. We were delighted with the idea and worked on its composition, each member contributing. Olga put the prayer together in its final form. Then we memorized it verse by verse. When everyone had mastered the prayer we tore into the tiniest bits the paper on which the prayer was written and disposed of them, a little at a time, every day. Six verses of the prayer follow:

Our Father of all men, Giver of our lives,
In our saddest, stormy hour of this day,
We stand at the Gate of our Lord,
Give Thy courage and nourishment to our innocent bodies.
Watch over us in the hour of our fate, bathed by our tears.
Almighty Father, though men may stain their hands in martyr blood,
Fill our hearts with forgiveness,
Grant Thy salvation to us--defenseless--
As we pray for the sickness of the souls who have gone astray.

O, Father in Heaven, light up the land of Russia.
Enlighten her way from darkness to understanding,
Stretch Thy Blessed hand over those in need of Thy help.
Lighten their sorrows and heal their wounds.

Almighty Father, breathe into us Thy power, Thy strength;
And when the storm breaks, grant us patience.
With prayers on our lips, numb the pain in our bodies;
With compassion, close our eyes with Thy blessed hand forever.

When we are no more, open Thy doors to the hungry spirits of our souls.
Guide them in a prayer to be worthy of Thy Kingdom,
And grant that we may receive Thy mercy on the day of judgment.

Blessed Father, Thou hast bestowed life upon us with the great power of
Thy hand.
Grant that, when Thou takest our lives’ spirits to be born free again,
We may rest in peace in Thy heaven, O blessèd Father of all men.

XXV ACCUSATION

Yurovsky was now getting worse than ever, especially when his men were nearby. He chose to ignore the insolence of his men when they caught us washing our glasses after they finished drinking out of them. Dr. Botkin again tried to intercede but, while Yurovsky pretended to be shocked, his attitude did not change.

The maid came and whispered that Nagorny had been shot a few days after he was taken away. She thought Sidniev too had been shot.

The Commandants continually fabricated that Father was in touch with the outside world, and that Father had written a letter to some person telling him how to get into the house. Father had no knowledge whatever of the layout of the house. From the day we entered the premises all of us, including Father, were confined to our quarters. We used the same stairway every time we went out or returned. We could not even see the street because the window panes were painted to make them opaque. We heard only the voice of the guard on duty in front of our window, who often sang obnoxious songs. There were two tall wooden fences surrounding the house, but we did not know their distance from each other.

Another day, Yurovsky and Goloshchekin told Dr. Botkin that both Father and Mother knew of an escape plot. Dr. Botkin answered firmly it was not true. It had been suggested to us in Tobolsk, but Father refused even to think of such a thing. Then Yurovsky said that we had been communicating with our friends. For some time our parents were puzzled but, after learning that every move they made and every letter they wrote were known to the authorities in Moscow, they realized that they were being betrayed. There was nothing incriminating in their letters that were sent from Tobolsk through Markov and Soloviev. They were not censored by Colonel Kobylinsky. However, Mother complained in those letters about the leaders selling out Russia to the enemy. She also expressed her harsh feelings toward the traitors and the crooked foreign policy that centered in Moscow and said that Father would stand firm no matter what the consequences might be.

One morning Yurovsky and Voykov appeared with some papers. After making themselves comfortable in our sitting room, they called Father’s attention to photostatic copies of the letters that Mother had written to Anna Vyrubova and other friends in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd. There were some letters written to us from Mlle. Fredericks and Mme. Sukhomlinova, the wife of a former Minister of War. These were carried to and from Tobolsk by Soloviev, husband of Matriona, Rasputin’s oldest daughter, who was selected for this mission by Anna Vyrubova.