Chapter IV: Part I: The Youthful Years (3)

Here, too, were many mounted heads, killed in previous years, which adorned the various walls in the house. I was glad when Mother had some of them removed from the dining room. Several large landscape paintings in heavy frames and some paintings of horses brightened these rooms. But the other pictures of hunting dogs with a fowl in their mouths or a large boar lying on the green grass with a spot of blood on its body was not very cheerful.

In spite of the wonderful care which always surrounded Alexei, he bumped his knee during our trip on the yacht, bursting a blood vessel, which affected his groin and developed into a black and blue lump. It was so painful he could not bear to have the doctor examine it. His condition had bettered and the swelling below his abdomen was somewhat reduced, but when he was taken for a ride in a carriage, suddenly he became very ill and the swelling increased again, as did his temperature, and he became delirious.

Mother’s sister, Princess Irene, wife of Prince Henry of Prussia, and their son, Prince Sigismund, were visiting us at the time. She was very sympathetic regarding Alexei’s misfortune because one of her sons had died of haemophilia. She was one of the very few who knew about Alexei’s condition from the earliest symptoms. Those outside the family did not know of the serious nature of Alexei’s illness. Now Aunt Irene joined Mother in taking care of Alexei, especially since our trip to Spala had been planned several months ahead and previously arranged engagements could not be cancelled without arousing suspicion concerning the state of Alexei’s health.

We had many house guests who had come from several foreign countries and from many parts of Russia. Friends from nearby Warsaw sometimes joined us for dinners and entertainments which had been arranged for the pleasure of our guests. There was dancing and other professional amusements. But it was difficult for Mother to appear to be enjoying these festive occasions when at the same time fate might claim the life of her son. She ran up the stairs whenever possible, in order to be with Alexei for a few minutes. Meanwhile Father carried on as host, with Princess Irene taking Mother’s place as hostess during Mother’s absence.

We sisters gave a French play before our guests. I was delighted that our Swiss tutor, M. Pierre Gilliard, gave me a part that contributed largely to the success of our little performance. But, while performing before our audience, I mixed up my lines and could not hear the prompter; so I resorted to improvising. At this moment, while the guests were hilarious over my ad libbing, an elastic of my most delicate undergarment broke and the embarrassing white ruffled cambric fell to the floor. The audience became well-nigh hysterical and laughed far more than if I had remembered my lines.

The secrecy surrounding Alexei’s illness had always tormented me. I knew bleeding was involved, like the bleeding of a wound that could not be stopped. Marie and I were almost as ignorant as the general public as to the real nature of his illness. I remember tiptoeing into my brother’s room and there I saw Mother lying on a couch. In one corner was a basin filled with pieces of cotton which she had been applying to the blue swelling. As Alexei’s condition became worse, the rest of the family joined Mother at the side of his bed. I would have preferred to be outside where I could not see my brother’s suffering or hear his moans, yet something held me inside. There they were, Father, Olga, Tatiana, and Marie, all huddled together, a thin layer of hope spread over their despair. They were all in an attitude of prayer, and totally unaware of the struggle that was taking place in me. Suddenly, shame-faced, I slipped in beside them and found myself in the front ranks of the sorrowing family.

We all watched Mother, her hand enclosing Alexei’s as though she were trying to transmit her own strength into his frail body. He was not lying in a pool of blood as I had always expected but looked quite normal, except that he was very pale and moaned pitifully. His eyes seemed to be sunk into his head and he wore a peculiar expression on his face. Mother knelt beside him, encouraging her little son with a smile which seemed to say, “You will be well soon.” So long as Mother did not give up, Alexei knew his condition was not hopeless. We knew her heart was breaking, but before Alexei she was a picture of confidence and hope. Mother knew that if she left Alexei to the nurses, the boy would stop fighting, for it was her heroic presence which strengthened him.

Dr. Botkin, Mother’s private physician, relieved her on many nights as did my Aunt Irene. Dr. Fedorov, Dr. Dreifuss and Dr. Ostrogorsky were all summoned to repeat all the treatments which had helped in previous attacks. Dr. Fedorov, a renowned specialist in haemophilia, was in charge of Alexei. He had brought my brother through several other attacks, after which Dr. Derevenko, who was Dr. Fedorov’s assistant, became Alexei’s personal physician. The doctors’ efforts did not seem to bring about any change. Mother, however, remained confident even when the doctors were shaking their heads in despair. Mother understood every agony of the boy and seemed to be able to relieve his suffering. Alexei extended his feverish hands to her in appreciation. They understood each other perfectly.

Hopelessness was crushing Father. It was such double torture with the fear of losing Mother as well as Alexei in the event anything happened to Alexei. We had practically given up hope, but not Mother. She would not give up. We braced ourselves to meet the inevitable. Mother’s face was white but calm before Alexei’s searching eyes. As a last resort she directed that a telegram be sent to Rasputin at his home in Siberia, imploring him to pray for Alexei’s recovery. In the morning Mother sent for Father Vassiliev to administer the holy sacrament to our brother. Alexei and Mother looked straight into each other’s eyes, the one sending out waves of assurance, the other hopefully receptive. The light in her eyes never failed him.

In the meantime a bulletin had been issued about the boy’s serious condition. Father felt that the people had the right to know about their Tsarevich, although it was torture to reveal the secret kept so long. At this time Father also ordered the sending of wires to our foreign diplomatic representatives with a view to locating specialists who might be able to help Alexei, but no medic for this malady was found.

The doctors worked feverishly, their foreheads moist with their exertions. Silence was broken as Alexei moaned and Mother whispered, “Has no word come from the Starets?” Alexei clung to life even when all of us except Mother thought each breath might be his last. Under the tension we even wished that it would be, to spare him further agony!

Suddenly one of the officers approached with a quick step and handed a telegram to Father. He read it aloud to all of us in a clear voice. “The little one will not die, do not let him be bothered too much.” (This was the sense of the telegram, the words are my own.) When we all heard these words, the air became charged with renewed hope. Alexei must have felt it too for he relaxed into a deep sleep. It continued for so long that Mother kept listening to his heart to make sure that he was still with us. When he awoke, the bleeding had stopped. Whether it was the medicine, the holy sacrament, or our prayers, as well as those of Rasputin, which caused the sudden turn for the better, we could not tell, but we knew that death had been averted. We had seen a miracle before our very eyes.

From that moment on, the boy’s ravaged body began to mend. We could only think of Rasputin as a holy man and the instrument in the healing of my brother. I recall seeing him later--only three or four times--but he made a deep impression on me. He was so different from other human beings. His piercing eyes seemed to look right through me even into the depths of my innermost self. He frightened me. When I first saw him he said, “Is this the little one?” and I was afraid that he would touch me, but he didn’t. He wore a long cassock with a cross hanging down on his chest. He looked like a monk. I was told he walked long distances barefoot, not having the necessary money to travel by train. But when I saw him he wore boots. By nature he was a son of the soil, like a wild plant nourished by accident.

Grigory Rasputin was not a monk at all except in a very loose sense. He was not even a member of any holy order. He was a Starets, a pilgrim and lay preacher among peasants. Could he be a biblical character come to life? I wondered. On his many journeys he had learned many of nature’s remedies. He had faith in them in the face of modern scientific medicine. He believed nature had made provision for man’s health as she had made provision for his food and drink. He knew an herb or berry for various maladies. His remedies were simple; it did not seem possible they could be effective. I heard he used to put dried berries in his tea. For bronchitis, he used high bush cranberries or red raspberry juice. We did not follow any of his remedies for my brother. We believed that ultimately God was the only Healer.

Father Vassiliev, our chaplain, held services twice a day in the camp chapel, which had been especially built in a large tent in the garden, until our departure from Spala in the late fall. Many different gifts were sent to Alexei during his illness, including some enamel and silver icons of St. Alexius and a Virgin and Christ in gold and decorated with precious stones. These and others came with the blessing of the churches in their incessant prayer for his health.

After this dreadful experience in Poland, Alexei was like something that had been lost but was now found. We could not do enough for him, but in spite of the attention we gave him, he was not spoiled. He was only an average boy and there was no reason for him to be different because he had been born to a royal family. There was a magnetism about the little fellow which no one could resist, yet Mother and Father tried to be firm with him. We all knew Alexei was the most important thing in Mother’s life; in fact, he was in all of ours. His condition meant misery or happiness to the whole family. Our first question every morning was, “How is Alexei?” We really did not need to ask because when Mother was happy, obviously he was all right.

Later we heard all kinds of atrocious stories spread about the illness of this innocent little boy. How could any human being think of anything so cruel and untrue is beyond my imagination.

Alexei was very sensitive and sometimes when Mother rebuked him he would run to Olga for sympathy. He adored Olga and said he was going to marry her. He was even jealous of her in a way, because he did not want her to pay attention to strangers when he was present. He had a talent for making us forget to scold him when he had done something wrong by distracting our attention. We all knew his strategy but it was hard to punish him when we saw him perched on a chair like a little sparrow, wondering what he would say to get our minds off the coming reprimand.

Late in the fall a few weeks before Christmas when the snow had buried the ground, Alexei was well enough to be moved to Tsarskoe Selo and there he made further recovery from his recent attack. This illness damaged the nerve and caused his left leg to become shorter. It required painful treatments and a special pad was placed in his shoe to build up the heel, so that he limped only slightly.

Mother had put so much of herself into the agonizing condition that it was hard for her to be herself again. For weeks she lay prostrate from her nursing and emotional strain but blissfully conscious of victory. She was disappointed not to be able to go to church to give fitting thanks for Alexei’s recovery, but the priest came to the house and conducted a special service in the palace chapel. When she felt well enough to be up and around again, Dr. Botkin found her heart again in a weakened condition and confined her to her room.

During these periods of rest, following the exhausting care of Alexei, Mother devoted herself to intensive religious study. The sparing of Alexei was God’s answer to her prayers; her gratitude was so consuming she lived in a realm of religious dedication. She had a rare collection of Bibles, which were brought to her from St. Petersburg and Moscow; these she studied, making comparisons of the various editions. She would then discuss what she had learned with Father who was no less interested but who did not have the time he would have liked to devote to the subject.

In our library we had some rare scrolls and texts. They had come from Egypt, Persia, Palestine, Sinai, and elsewhere. One of these was the famous Codex Sinaiticus, dating from the fourth century A.D., which was first discovered by the German scholar Tischendorff in a monastery on the Sinai peninsula. Great-grandfather, Alexander II, had acquired the manuscript; later, in 1862, he had it published. There were also very early Russian texts. All these were under lock and key but we could see them in the glass case. Father knew the history of each of these texts and versions. The children’s library was separate. On its shelves were Russian fables and stories, and there were translations from the Danish. We had some originals signed by Hans Christian Andersen.

Mother was reared and educated in England and Germany and distinguished herself in her studies. She, herself, was a philosopher and often discussed philosophy with her friends. She saw things the others could not see and sometimes connected religion with the writings of the great philosophers.

However, she was not a fanatic as many described her, but she could see and understand things the others did not. She was well informed on various subjects. She understood and reasoned the value and depth of her religion. Her and Father’s knowledge of history surpassed that of many historians and their vocabulary was powerfully rich.

When Mother was strong enough, we children joined her at luncheon or tea. In the winter she selected a sunny room where a folding table was used for the occasion. One of Mother’s rooms was decorated in her favorite color, mauve, and was cosy with matching brocades, curtains and upholstery. One wall was covered with a collection of icons which were gifts from different people. These were continually lighted by two lamps, one blue and one pink. Some of these icons were the most beautiful that Byzantine art could produce, others were very simple, but all were symbols to Mother and a means of remembering the donors. Mother loved every one of them, and was most appreciative when people presented her one of these religious treasures. Some of them she carried with her from Tsarskoe Selo to Alexandria and Livadia palaces and later to Tobolsk and Ekaterinburg. She wanted to have the most meaningful in her room. Others hung in one of the small rooms of the chapel together with some of her Bibles and a panagia. She also had some icons of great historic importance.

Icons of these types were made only by the Greeks, Russians, Serbians, Bulgarians, and Rumanians. No statues were permitted in our churches, since we discarded the pagan idols at the time of the adoption of the Greek orthodox religion. A lot of the best treasures in the country were looted during the revolution. Other gifts were hung in the long hall which ran the whole length of the palace including all kinds of plates and other objects of historical value which we had received during many trips in Russia and abroad.

We were shocked to see how frail Mother looked when she finally emerged from her convalescence. It was an effort for her to walk the length of the hall and she was wheeled to the lift which took her to Alexei’s room. She permitted him to come down to the music room and lie on the sofa, or to amuse himself in the library with his electric trains. He built villages, fountains, churches out of blocks. We girls read to him or engaged him in games to keep him occupied. I can still see my brother in the blue nightshirt which he wore after his bath when he came down every evening before retiring. Mother took his emaciated hand and they went upstairs to hear his prayers. She had a tendency to overdo, hoping no one would suspect how much these illnesses of Alexei took out of her. It is true that bulletins had been issued telling of the serious condition of the Tsarevich but the nature of the illness had never been revealed to the people--that would be admitting hopelessness. When Alexei and Mother were well enough to travel we went down to the Crimea where the change and rest were always refreshing to both.

These attacks of Alexei were hard on us. For one thing our education was disrupted. It was difficult for us to concentrate on anything other than our brother’s health. The shared sorrow welded us into a closer family and the realization of this brought a change in my life. Thoughts of self seemed empty; childish pleasures began to lose their charm. My life was now so bound up with the family that I could no longer be lighthearted and free as before.

Reluctantly I realized I was taming down, through sorrow, not discipline. My childhood pastime of painting took a more serious turn. I even attempted to write imaginary stories about animals. Mother was so pleased with my efforts she sent one of these stories to Aunt Irene saying, “See what our little Nastia has done.” I now took a greater interest in music and hoped that by working hard I might sing as well as Mother or play like Olga. I loved Olga for her true kinship and often kissed her hand for her understanding of us younger sisters.

A week or two was a long time for me to stick to anything. Again and again I would revert to my childhood spirit but each time with less of my former zest. My reputation of being a problem child persisted. People often asked, “Where does the little one, small in size, store so much, much energy? She has an endless supply of jokes and pranks.” Some enjoyed my humor as I could tell from the expression on their faces, and some did not.

Marie and I had all kinds of “properties” with which to carry out our practical jokes. We had a set of stuffed animals which we called our “Circus Kingdom.” We had a mechanical mouse, a yellow iridescent snake with a moving head and a red, sharp tongue, a snapping turtle which might tangle in a victim’s dress. Frightened, our victim would jump up on a sofa or chair while Marie and I pretended to be equally scared and put on an act with wide-open mouths.

Often, new attendants were warned to watch out for me and my pranks, but in the end they suffered. In all these activities I was the leader and most of the time in disgrace. Once Alexei sprinkled water over me saying, “You must have been born in a dry summer, your jokes have outgrown you.”

Perhaps my most effective toy for playing pranks was a large doll with brown phosphorescent eyes that shone in the dark. This mechanical doll, when wound, would open and close its eyes, making life-like, blinking motions. On one occasion, I wound my doll while Marie was watching at the bedroom door and, when we heard our victim coming, I left the doll on the floor facing the door. We then jumped into our beds and pretended we were asleep. The attendant, who had come to see if we were all right, saw this awful thing on the floor in the dark with its blinking eyes. Terrified she ran screaming into the hall and awakened everyone on the whole floor. After this a sign was put up on our playroom door which read, “Enter only by permission of Olga and Tatiana.” This was designed to prevent Marie, Alexei, and myself from entering the room at will.

In the face of recent family heartaches I was less and less proud of my reputation as a prankster.

VI JUBILEE: 1913

The spring of 1913 marked the three hundredth anniversary of the Romanov dynasty. Celebrations began with a great jubilee in St. Petersburg. We arrived from Tsarskoe Selo a few days ahead of the festivities and took up our residence in the Winter Palace. On the first day we drove in open carriages through streets lined with troops to the Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan where a picturesque ceremony was held. It was a gray, cold and rainy day, in contrast to the brilliance that awaited us inside the Cathedral.

According to custom the Tsar entered first, followed by the Heir to the Crown. When Alexei appeared, it was not a strapping, healthy Tsarevich to whom all the Grand Dukes and dignitaries bowed, but a frail little boy of nine, carried in the arms of a Cossack. This was a sad moment for us. We had hoped Alexei would at least be well enough to walk but he had not recovered sufficiently from his recent illness. We stood under a canopy in the middle of the great church. Alexei sat in a chair. Mother worried about Alexei. She asked us to watch him also. Dr. Derevenko stood nearby. We sisters were dressed in white, as was Mother. She wore the blue ribbon of St. Andrew, the order studded with diamonds and rubies. We had the red ribbon of the order of St. Catherine with its dazzling star. Grandmother Marie stood with us, trim and regal as always, blazing with diamonds, rubies and emeralds. The elite of St. Petersburg were assembled here, a magnificent sight, with the high clergy in golden robes and elaborate mitres, and the high military dignitaries in uniforms embroidered in gold.

During the service a dove flew into the Cathedral and circled above our canopy. Afterwards friends told us they were afraid it would fly into the lighted candles and start a fire, but fortunately it flew out of the church through a door. Since the dove is an important symbol of peace in our religion, a representation of the Holy Ghost, we all wondered if this event had a special significance. (It is worthwhile mentioning that also during the coronation, Father said, “A pigeon flew during the ceremonies.” Later, in Ekaterinburg on the day of tragedy, while we were having our last walk in the yard, a pigeon flew over us three times and then dashed repeatedly against the window.) After the ceremony, in the afternoon, we were attired in national costumes, as were our guests. Mother was especially beautiful, in her high _kokoshnik_, with her white robe exquisitely embroidered in silver and long veil. In the evening she wore a tiara of Catherine II and a necklace of diamonds. It was valued at several million rubles. It was so heavy that she used it in all only a few times. Olga and Tatiana were attired in soft pink tulle gowns, Marie and I in white silk and lace.

Some evenings later a ball was held in the Winter Palace. It was the first official appearance for us two younger sisters, the first time we participated in such a grand affair. I remember how excitedly we looked forward to that occasion. Mother was indisposed that evening and, after a short while, suggested that we leave early and go to our rooms. Grandmother, however, took our side and asked Mother to let us stay longer, and promised that she would personally look after us. Mother burst into tears and said: “These women of St. Petersburg might talk about the girls, and Anastasia’s jokes might be misinterpreted.”

I was very unhappy that evening for fear that every move I might make or every word I might speak would be used against me. All the innocent joy was taken from me that gala night for fear of those women’s sharp tongues.

From St. Petersburg we proceeded by train to Moscow where the Jubilee continued. On this occasion Mother wore the crown jewels. She never cared for them after the unfortunate incident which occurred during her early married life. At that time Granny felt that she still was entitled to wear the crown jewels instead of the young Empress. In the underground vaults in the Winter Palace there was a section where Mother kept some of her personal jewels. Any time she wished to have them, she notified the court chamberlain, Count Benckendorff, who sent several responsible persons with papers to fetch the desired pieces which were then brought under guard to Mother.

After the anniversary festivities we never spent another night at the Winter Palace, our childhood home. But during the war my sisters often stopped in the rooms for a glass of tea, after various charitable meetings. It is sad to think what became of the treasures stored in those vaults and elsewhere for generations, belonging not only to the Imperial family but to the Russian people as well. These treasures, worth billions of rubles, were held until the leaders of the revolution, Lenin, Trotsky (Bronstein), Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld and others got their clutches upon them. It was rumored that much of it was divided among their relatives who came to our country for that purpose and to kill and loot. These people and their successors have been exporting our Russian national treasures, so long guarded by the Imperial family, and selling them to foreign countries.

From Moscow we went to Vladimir, then to Nizhni Novgorod and to Yaroslavl. The latter--an old historic city with a view of the wide river--was a charming sight. I cannot even begin to describe the enthusiastic reception. Throngs of children, cadets, the nobility and the townspeople lined the streets right down to the dock. What a rich sight from the river--this beautiful city on a little hill! The bells were still ringing until we could no longer hear them. We passed an expanse of meadows, shimmering fields, and the breeze was sweeping like a soft veil over that heavenly country.

In every city there were similar festivities, and dinners with many guests who had been especially selected to honor my Father and my Mother. Father’s guests at dinner were mostly men, and Mother entertained ladies in separate drawing rooms. The famous Plevitskaya sang again and bowed gracefully before the appreciative audience. There were many outstanding entertainments at which we made many new friends.

We were so tired at the end of our trip that Tatiana, in this mood, said: “People and more people--I am tired of them!” Mother, overhearing her say this, reprimanded her.

On our way to Kostroma we sailed on the Volga. People lined the shores, some even wading into the water up to their waists. When our boat developed some trouble and while the repairs were being made, the people thronged the shores and sang “God Save the Tsar.” The Imperial party was delayed in reaching Kostroma. It was in this terraced city overlooking the Volga River that the Romanov dynasty had its official beginning, and now a special ceremony was to be held to celebrate the three hundredth anniversary of the Romanov reign.

At last we reached the city and proceeded to the monument of Susanin. This was a column on which rested a bronze bust of the first Romanov Tsar, Michael Feodorovich. This column was supported by the peasant, Susanin. The latter was the Russian patriot who deliberately misled the Polish army which had invaded Russia and asked Susanin to lead the way to the whereabouts of the newly elected Tsar, who was in hiding. As a result of Susanin’s false directions, the Polish army was destroyed and was driven out. The plot of the famous opera, “A Life for the Tsar” by Glinka, was drawn from this heroic incident. This opera was one of my Father’s favorites. From the time of Feodor Romanov, a number of the brides of the Grand Dukes upon marriage adopted Saint Feodor and took the name of Feodorovna as a patronymic.

From the monument, the procession continued to the Ipatiev Monastery, where the first Romanov was sheltered in 1613. In the monastery courtyard was the beautiful Cathedral of the Holy Trinity and within it stood the iconostasis and the throne of Tsar Michael Feodorovich. This monastery had been built by a Tartar prince who was the founder of the Godunov family and who was the first to be baptized there.

While in the Cathedral we visited the dark rooms in which Michael once had lived. We sat on the chairs with the beautifully embroidered double eagles on their backs, and drank tea from the original containers at the same table once used by Tsar Alexei. In one of the rooms was a portrait of Michael and Alexei Romanov. Both looked a little like my Father. The legend tells us that Alexei was born on St. Job’s day, and so was my Father. And their experiences were sad, but those of Alexei were not as tragic as those of my Father.

Also, we went to the cemetery and laid an exquisite wreath made of silver in the form of the cap of Monomakh and decorated with jewels on the grave of Michael.

Parenthetically speaking, it was a strange coincidence that, in Ekaterinburg in 1918, in the Ipatiev House, the last Emperor of Russia, Nicholas II came to his tragic end. The Romanov dynasty was born in the Ipatiev Monastery in Kostroma in 1613 and died in the Ipatiev House in Ekaterinburg, three hundred and five years later. History tells us that, at the election of Michael Feodorovich Romanov, a crippled beggar woman who claimed to be a wandering saint had predicted that the Romanov dynasty was born with Michael and would die with another Michael. And so it happened. When Father abdicated, his brother Michael succeeded him to the throne but soon abdicated.

Another strange incident was that a three hundred year old tree of immense diameter, said to have been planted by Michael, had been cut down just before we arrived in Kostroma. We saw it mounted on huge wooden blocks to be preserved as an object of historical interest.

One of the members of our party on this trip was Prince Dolgorukov, a direct descendant of the family that built the city of Kostroma and also the first church in the Kremlin in Moscow. Prince Dolgorukov, faithful friend of our family, followed us to Tobolsk and later to Ekaterinburg where he, too, came to a tragic end.

The year 1913 also marked two hundred years since the seat of government moved from Moscow to St. Petersburg in 1713.

During this entire trip we received many gifts and pictures, and our albums were filled with photographs of historic events. On our way home we stopped at the Nicholas Palace in Moscow. At the functions there, Mother wore the old Slavonic robe and the crown jewels. These jewels she never wore again after the Jubilee celebrations ended. This was a year of many anniversaries and festivities. Several regiments celebrated their hundredth anniversary. The Naval Cathedral at Kronstadt was reconsecrated in celebration of its hundredth anniversary. We attended all these functions.

Soon we were back in Tsarskoe Selo resuming our daily routine. During this busy year Baroness Iza Buxhoeveden became lady in waiting, replacing the young Princess Elizabeth (Lili) Obolensky whose health had become impaired. Lili had taken several trips with us, including the one to England. We had known Baroness Buxhoeveden previously. She had already assumed some responsibilities in the palace. All the ladies in waiting were required to be single and to come from titled families. Mother did not believe in all the old court etiquette with its traditions and restrictions. To her it did not matter whether these young ladies were princesses or baronesses. She selected them on the basis of the best possible ability, education and culture. Baroness Buxhoeveden came from a Baltic family which had produced several ambassadors. Her father had been an ambassador to Denmark.

The position of lady in waiting was an honorary one to which many young ladies looked forward. To distinguish their rank from the other staff, they received badges studded with diamonds, with Mother’s initial and a crown on its top. Some were in silver and some in gold according to their length of service. The ladies in waiting were not permitted to discuss political affairs at any time and all the happenings were to be kept in strict secrecy. They were not allowed to enjoy the company of the officers and aides in the palace.

Their duty was to accept telephone calls for Mother and for us girls, make notations of the calls, note incoming and outgoing telegrams, filing them by date, and make a memorandum of all telegrams and letters. They also were to chaperon us on drives or at any other function. Maids, a footman and a carriage were provided for their comfort. Extra ladies were called to the palace for the day if needed. Later during our arrest in Tsarskoe Selo, our letters and telegrams did not escape from being read. Iza shared our deprivations and followed us later to Tobolsk, Siberia, but was not permitted entry into the governor’s house.