Chapter VII: Part II: The First World War (3)

The former Governor of Mogilev, Mr. Pelts, who let my Father use his residence, and others also warned Father of the plot and told him that many officers were approached by Guchkov to carry out the mass murder but they all refused. The secret police were to close in on Guchkov but Father wanted to have more proof. On this visit Granny wanted us children to come to Kiev, but we feared that the murder might be committed while we were away. After the abdication and before Father left Mogilev, Granny came on her train to Mogilev. Even then she blamed the abdication on Mother. Then Father asked her whether she knew of the plan to assassinate him and Alicky, his wife. She cried that she had not known of the plan to murder but had encouraged the abdication. With these words they parted forever. No matter what, Father was condemned from the day of Lenin’s brother’s execution during the reign of Alexander III, and also from the day of the execution of Trotsky’s brother who was connected with one of the most dangerous revolutionary organizations during the Japanese war.

Father occupied a section of one floor in the Governor’s home in Mogilev. Built on a wooded hill, it enjoyed a magnificent view of the broad Dnieper River. Father had two large rooms, one being the bedroom he shared with Alexei. In it, two iron beds stood side by side, separated by a little table on which was a Bible and an icon. There were also a mahogany dressing table, a wash stand, a settee, and a bookcase. The windows of this room faced the river on one side, the garden and the parade grounds on the other. The adjoining room was Father’s office with windows facing the parade grounds. It held a large Victorian desk fully equipped, some photographs of the family, several barometers and a floor lamp; also Alexei’s desk used for his school work, a settee, and a bookcase. Next to the office was a large anteroom with two big portraits of Father and Mother, plus a couch, a piano, and numerous chairs. Next was a large, gloomy dining room. The entire suite had parquet floors and fine carpets.

Some of the upper and lower floors were occupied by Father’s staff: General Voyeykov, Count Benckendorff, Prince Vasily Dolgorukov, A.D.C. Nilov, Dr. Fedorov and Dr. Derevenko, now in charge of Alexei; Prince Igor Constantinovich often came here. With Father was also General Dubensky, a friend of the Grand Duke Dimitri, Count Sheremetiev, A.D.C. Drenteln, and others. Father was accompanied by his rather numerous military escorts and by his tall bodyguard Dendeniev, a Cossack officer, who almost always was at his side. This officer could fire at the smallest flying object in the air without ever missing one shot. Also present was Father’s personal guard, Polupanov.

In Mogilev, we took some short trips, sometimes driving to the beautiful Archayerevsky woods; or we walked in the deep snow, while Alexei played in the park with young cadets.

At some distance from the Governor’s home under the pine trees was the Army field chapel. The General Staff office was within a short distance of the house. Due to the shortage of houses, all government buildings and some private residences were converted into living quarters for the military staff and hospitals. In the winter Father had his luncheons in the dining room at the Governor’s house. The General Staff officers and officers on duty from the front were usually asked to join him at the noon meal. At these meals no military business was discussed. Discussions of such matters took place every morning in the Supreme Command office near by. Father disliked sitting at the table longer than necessary and, as soon as the meal was over, he rose from the table and his guests followed. During the summer, the luncheons were held in a large tent on a hill in the pine woods.

In the evening, when we were there, Father tried to be with us on our train. He poured the tea himself with only the family present. Father’s train stood on a sidetrack in the woods, his study was at the end and two strong Cossacks stood always on guard.

On one visit, we saw General Hanbury-Williams. He spoke to us about his children, especially his two sons who were actively engaged in the war. The General and Alexei became great friends. He and General Rickel both spoke to Mother about the boy, saying that his presence made them forget about the war and that Mother should leave him in Mogilev. My brother remained at G.H.Q. General Hanbury-Williams was often invited to dinner with Father and Alexei.

We left Mogilev. When we arrived at Tsarskoe Selo, we found one of Mother’s ladies in waiting, Princess Sonia Orbeliani, critically ill. This young friend of ours had suffered some years earlier a back injury caused by a fall from her horse. Now the spine began to trouble her seriously. In the end she was totally paralyzed. We had a special nurse for her, and she continued to stay in our house. Her room adjoined our rooms, and Mother went to see her every night to make sure that she was comfortable. Having her in our home caused a great deal of jealousy among the other ladies in waiting and our staff. Sonia, herself, was jealous of Anna Vyrubova, who in turn quarrelled with her. Poor Sonia was still young when she left the world. Several times during her illness, before the war, we took her to the Crimea and we sisters pushed her about in her wheel chair. Fortunately for her she passed away quietly before the fear of devastation settled over our family. Father returned home with Alexei just in time to attend Sonia’s funeral.

Father was home for a few days only. He wanted to have a quiet evening with just the family. Anna invited herself the very first evening. This upset Mother so much that she said exasperatedly, “I hope Anna can live one day without seeing me!”

We sisters and brother left Mother’s room early, hoping that Anna would do the same, but Mother told us the next morning that Anna had continued to stay until very late. Father told Olga that after the Christmas holidays, he would keep Alexei at G.H.Q. most of the time in order to avoid having Rasputin called in the event Alexei should become ill.

While home Father told us of a report that in one of the military hospitals a wounded soldier who had been decorated for his bravery with the St. George Cross--one of the highest decorations in the Russian army--had asked for and received photographs autographed by each member of the Imperial family. After he was discharged from the hospital, in his bedside table drawer was found a German code. It was intended to use the pictures signed by us in propaganda leaflets which were to be dropped in the Russian trenches. This soldier was identified and he confessed. There were important names involved in the plot. He was executed, and his Latvian mother was placed under surveillance.

Meantime Father investigated everything in the palace. To his great dismay and disappointment, he found disloyalty. German machine guns were found hidden near Peterhof, and in the outskirts of our farms at Dudendorff near the Swiss chalet. No one knew how these were smuggled in. Our own family was now being exposed to danger. The propaganda having failed at the front, it started to penetrate into homes, schools, hospitals and elsewhere. One day a folder was found on our library table. The headline said, “Germans are killing the Russian peasants, confiscating their cattle and taking everything for themselves.” The article went on to say that Mother was a spy and was collaborating with German agents. How this folder came to be placed on the table remained a mystery. Mother’s real sorrow was that now Russia had begun to believe these unfounded lies. At this time, King George of England wanted Mother to come to Sandringham for a rest, but she refused to hear of it. “I shall rest when the war is over,” she said.

Father also discovered that many peacetime guards had been removed from duty at the palace and sent to the front without his knowledge, leaving the palace guard insufficiently manned. Father ordered additional guards to be sent from the mixed regiments but his orders were disobeyed. Instead, revolutionists were assigned to guard the palace.

The last time we saw Granny was in Kiev some weeks before Christmas of 1916.

Our last trip to inspect hospitals was shortly before Christmas. Accompanying us was Anna Vyrubova. More and more we discovered how much, under a superficial politeness, Anna was hated. She was aware that her friendship with Mother caused Mother a great deal of suffering. It was at this time that we went to the old city of Novgorod. At the station we were met by the Governor with bread and salt and his family presented us with flowers; greetings came from a squadron of Mother’s own Uhlan Guards. Both sides of the streets were lined with military men, school children, and civilians. With cheers and “ura” they threw their caps into the air, waved their handkerchiefs, and pelted our limousines with flowers. At last we reached the cathedral where special carpets were stretched and the church was packed with well-wishers. Princes Igor Constantinovich and Andrei Alexandrovich came from nearby. At luncheon Igor remarked, “The people most assuredly displayed great joy and devotion to you.”

In the afternoon we went to the hospital and Mother was touched by the kind reception. It gave her courage and strength. To everybody’s surprise she was able to walk to the second floor to see the sick men. Here, too, we were given money to aid the wounded. At twilight, with music, our automobiles were escorted to the station. We reached home late that night. This trip gave Mother a lift and confidence and for days she carried a smile of contentment, thanks to the people of Novgorod.

The Christmas of 1916 stands out brilliantly in contrast to the Christmas that followed. None of the secret joy was missing. Before the war, when still quite young, we children used to be sent on a long drive as the Christmas Eve dusk gathered. Oh, the thrill of watching the daylight merge into night’s cocoon, knowing the excitement that would come with darkness! At last the drive was over and we stood on the very threshold of the mysterious room where Christmas Eve was to be celebrated. From somewhere nearby Christmas carols were wafted up to us. As the door opened, there stood the glittering tree, each year more beautiful than any before. The room was filled with people: family, friends, and the palace staff. From the highest to the most humble servant, everyone gathered around the tree. Each was remembered with a gift, no one was forgotten. For weeks my sisters, with the help of ladies of the court, had wrapped the presents, each looking like a gleaming jewel. The day before Christmas, most Russians take no food, only water, until the first star appears in the heavens. This year, in the early morning, we went to a service at the Feodorovsky Sobor, and at dawn the Christmas trees were lighted for us, the officers and the guard. We sisters had helped to decorate the trees.

The fast was followed by the Christmas Eve dinner of twelve courses, representing the Twelve Apostles. No meat was served, but there were many kinds of fish, each course having a symbolic meaning. There were hors d’oeuvre, soup, mushrooms, fruit and nuts, etc.

We decided to keep our own tree, set up on the second floor, until late after the New Year. The flames of war and intrigue hissed and sizzled but could not outshine the glow of Christmas. First of all there were plans for the hospitals and orphanages, great effort being put into the personal cheer of each invalid and needy person. There were sparkling trees decorated by Mother’s own hands, with white and silver ornaments. With the hospitals full of wounded men and the tense condition at the front, every one made a special effort to effect a semblance of gaiety. On Christmas day, in the early afternoon, the tree was lighted for the Guard, the regimental orchestra played, and the Cossacks danced and sang. Everyone stood around the tree and Olga, acting for Mother, presented the gifts. Our gifts were usually simple and useful.

Although that Christmas had the familiar setting, it did not have the customary joyous spirit. First of all, Father’s duties claimed his time with heavy responsibilities. I remember that the day before his departure for Mogilev, he was discouraged and upset. He had a long talk with Olga in his study before he left. Asking her to persuade Mother in some way that she should not write him daily long letters, he relied on the help of our oldest sister. For these letters, telling Father what should be done, were resented by him. He was especially annoyed when Anna sent along her own naive suggestions; these he called stupid. “Everyone is issuing orders and I have to listen to them,” he said. He also asked Mother not to talk with her friends regarding matters they knew nothing about. That, he pointed out, was the Ministers’ business and no one else’s. Father himself had asked Mother not to do this. He was tired and worried about the things she mentioned, long before she was aware of the fact that Father’s replies to her were short and concise. Mother felt surprise that he made no comment on what she had written. Then she decided to go and see Father in Mogilev.

Mother was a great thinker and a reader of scientific books, natural science, religion and astronomy. She could solve the hardest mathematical problems. She spent many hours in her small library next to her sitting room, reading her rare books on Indian philosophy, given her by the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nicholaevna, the divorced wife of the Duke of Leuchtenberg and later the wife of the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich, who himself was also a scholar of Persian and Indian history. Mother never wasted one minute. Everyday she spent many hours with her secretary on reports. Her mail was enormous. She wrote beautifully and her letters were sad and touching. She cared little for wealth. She left behind in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd, Livadia, and Alexandria items of immense value--her platinum, rock crystal desk set, and a gold one; her dressing table accessories; her collection of crosses and boxes; the dozen genuine blue sapphire, gold-rimmed glasses (the work of Bolin) given her one at a time over a period of years by Father; valuable laces; and over 300 Easter eggs. She took with her only a few keepsakes; many of the most valuable items were left in Tsarskoe Selo in the care of Count Benckendorff.

At the end of the holiday week there came a great change. On December 30th, 1916, Olga came to us excitedly and whispered: “Rasputin is missing!” His daughter had just telephoned Anna that he had not been home all night. This had alarmed Anna who had seen Rasputin just the previous evening, in Petrograd--for a few minutes only, in order to avoid further talk. Anna remembered that Rasputin had told her then that Prince Felix Youssoupoff was to call for him late in the evening to take him to his home to meet his wife, Irina. Mother was sure that our pretty cousin, Princess Irina, was in the Crimea and ill at that time. Irina was the daughter of Father’s sister, Xenia, and the Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, the grandson of the Emperor Nicholas I, and Father’s favorite cousin and his brother-in-law.

Olga and Tatiana left to attend to their work in the hospital as usual, while Marie and I reluctantly went to the schoolroom. After classes we joined the family and found, to our horror, that suspicion of Rasputin’s disappearance pointed not only to Prince Youssoupoff but to our own cousin, the Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich. After a thorough investigation by the police, it was established that Rasputin had been murdered, his body wrapped in a military blanket and thrown into the Neva river in Petrograd.

The frozen corpse was found two days later, under the ice. It was assumed that the body had been carried in a Red Cross car, then thrown into the river from the bridge. Inasmuch as a Red Cross conveyance had been involved, it came as a sickening shock to learn that the murder was linked to these two young men with the knowledge of the Commander of the Red Cross, Purishkevich, who was a member of the Duma. Several previous unsuccessful attempts on Rasputin’s life had been made. Once he was stabbed by a young woman in Siberia and another time deliberately run over by a carriage. Each time he had escaped serious injury.

It was especially shocking to find Dimitri Pavlovich involved for, ever since he had been a young man, he had had a room in our home in Tsarskoe Selo and in the Crimea. His sister, Marie, had also spent many happy days with us. Aunt Ella had brought him up as her own son after his widowed father married a second time and left Russia for a while. Dimitri was considered a member of our family and we all were extremely fond of him. It was almost impossible for us to believe that he could be implicated in the murder of this much despised man. Later we heard that his role in the affair was very minor.

Suddenly the news came that General Hanbury-Williams’ son had gone down with Lord Kitchener on the torpedoed “Hampshire” in the North Sea. It was such a blow to our family that we all cried on hearing the tragic news. Mother sent some orchids to the General with our profound sympathy. Later, Alexei told us that, when the General appeared that evening for dinner, and when they greeted each other, the General threw his arms around Alexei in tears. Alexei said: “My heart went out to him.” After dinner, they kissed each other, the General calling Alexei the most loving child as he departed for his quarters. The next day General Hanbury-Williams once more joined Father and Alexei at dinner.

In the meantime, Father had received a telegram announcing that Rasputin had been killed. Father and Alexei left for Tsarskoe Selo, and Alexei never saw the General again. Painfully Alexei described to us the last evening he had with the General. Alexei, sympathetic and sensitive, suffered with him and felt he, himself, should return to G.H.Q. as the unfortunate General needed someone to comfort him. The General later sustained another sad blow, upon learning that his second son had been wounded. We all felt his tragedies as though they were our personal loss.

Father posed for a moment only for a family picture beside the tree. Then he read the report of the Rasputin murder. His reaction was: “To think that a member of the Imperial family could commit such a crime as to kill the Starets. I am ashamed to face the peasants who are fighting valiantly for Russia, and many of whom have died. And yet these boys find time for murder, as though there is not enough crime in the world.”

Those who committed the murder should have been at the front. How unjust to kill a man without a trial and without an opportunity to defend himself. It may be these young men imagined themselves to be patriots in killing one who had repeatedly prophesied future reverses for the Empire. If this despised man was undermining the foundation of Russia by promoting a dishonorable peace with the enemy, then he deserved even a greater punishment. But there was no proof. Father did not come home because Rasputin was killed but because our two relatives were involved in the crime, and the punishment had to come from him only.

Because of Rasputin’s death, a great rejoicing had swept over Petrograd. There were telegrams of congratulation for the illustrious deed, toasts with the touching of glasses filled with champagne. No one could foresee that these toasts, with glasses “bottoms up”, were for their own funeral.

Father struggled with the problem of how to punish the young men. He ordered Felix to be exiled to one of his estates in the province of Kursk. It was during my escape in 1918, when I set foot there, that the whole picture seemed to come into focus before me: Mother, Dimitri, Felix. It must have been a great shock to the quiet, beautiful, young wife, Irina, who was deeply in love with her husband, Felix. Most of the people thought of this Oxford graduate as a fascinating handsome man, having a great deal of humor, one who could never do such a terrible thing. But he believed that this was the solution to save Russia. Dimitri was sent to the General Staff on the Persian border, where the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was. Luckily Dimitri escaped the fate of his father, his half-brother, his cousins, and other relatives who were killed in 1918-1919. Immediately, his relatives tried to intercede, as had been done at the time of the coronation disaster, which it was claimed, was the result of the negligence of the Grand Duke Serge Alexandrovich.

It was a blow to Father himself, since we all were so fond of Dimitri. Besides he was Father’s ward and like a brother to us. On account of Dimitri’s poor health, after having spent several months at the front early in the war, he was sent back to Petrograd and, since then, he had spent his time there without occupation and so had become involved in this crime. His own father, the Grand Duke Paul, expressed dissatisfaction. Even though the punishment was light, still the relatives resented it and expressed coolness towards us. The Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, Father’s brother-in-law, came to see Father but to no avail. Father said forcefully: “No matter whether it was a Grand Duke or a peasant, the law is the same for all.”

Almost the whole Romanov family, led by the Grand Duke Cyril, his mother, Marie Pavlovna, and his brothers, Andrew and Boris, signed a petition in which they asked for the release of the two young heroes. My father was so angered by this, he said: “They would never have dared ask such a favor from my austere father, Alexander III” and “No one has the right to commit a murder, especially in time of war and within my realm.”

The Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna (née Duchess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin) being successful in turning almost all the relatives, as well as many influential friends, against my family hoped by this division of the family to bring the crown to her son. She invited to her parties some mutual friends and continued her slander against my family. Among these courted guests was Rodzianko, President of the Duma. Some of these could no longer tolerate her scheming and, to her amazement, they asked to be excused and left in the midst of the conversation. The most damaging effect, due to this division of the Imperial family, was the plot organized by the Grand Duke Cyril to kill Mother and Father. The planning had taken place at the Imperial Yacht Club in Petrograd, of which my Father and all the relatives were members. Many friends also belonged to it.

They were given a warning to discontinue making trouble while other men were dying in the trenches. Father gave orders to separate them, and they were to go to their various estates. This blow was more than they could bear. No matter what the cost, they were determined to uproot this man who was a thorn in their side.

After the sad parting of the two sisters in Tsarskoe Selo, Aunt Ella’s bitterness toward my Mother increased. I was told that she knew then that there was to be an attempt on the life of Rasputin, yet she did not discourage Dimitri from taking part in it; instead, she spent her time in a convent where she met one of her friends, and prayed on her knees in this convent while the murder in Petrograd was being committed. I wonder now whether she was praying for her own soul. To my sorrow her life also ended very painfully in 1918.

XII REVOLUTION

Mother once thought that, if Alexei could not be spared, Dimitri might marry one of her daughters in order to carry on the Romanov line. Now she had to take Rasputin’s death philosophically. At the same time, she grieved over the mistake of the young men, especially the one whom she had loved as her own son. Unfortunately, the Emperor Paul (1796-1801) had decreed that no female be allowed to succeed to the Russian throne. I think that, in case of political turmoil, the decree could have been set aside. Olga would have made a wonderful Empress. She was intelligent, well-read, had a kind disposition, was popular among her friends, and understood human nature. She was a true Russian in heart and soul. She could not have been easily deceived. I am sure that she would have ruled wisely in the interest of her people. Father had inherited from his father, Alexander III, the autocratic form of government which contributed in part to the downfall of Russia.

Father stayed on but we hardly saw him, except at mealtime. He left the table hurriedly and buried himself in state papers and military problems. It was a great comfort, nevertheless, to have him with us.

The Germans reasoned that Rasputin’s death would remove one of the most fruitful subjects of their propaganda. Consequently they hastened to push forward another subject. German agents dropped leaflets into the Russian trenches stating that the Tsar was about to sign a separate peace treaty with Germany. It was also said that Mother, while she visited Father in Mogilev, had entertained Generals Ludendorff and Hindenburg at night and received letters from her brother, Uncle Ernest. Another rumor had it that the Russian officers of the General Staff and the Grand Dukes were gambling and wasting their time in cabarets while Russian soldiers were dying in the trenches.

The patriotic army was not taken in by this propaganda, because they had seen Father’s devotion to the cause of Russia. But General Ludendorff and the Kaiser intensified this propaganda because they knew it was impossible to defeat the brave Russian army without the connivance of a revolution behind the lines. The idea was to divide, conquer, poison the mind of the Russian people and weaken loyalty to the Emperor. Mutiny was feared at the front since Father was away in Tsarskoe Selo, not because our troops were inadequately fed, clothed and supplied with arms. On the contrary the troops, Father said, were never so strong and well-fed, and our military strength was now greater than at the beginning of the war. But the supplies were deliberately delayed by the merchants who received bribes from German agents while Father was away. So the goods were withheld from the markets by the merchants. Ten million rubles were spent to overthrow Russia by revolution. It was this money that originally had been intended to be used to improve the conditions of the Russian prisoners of war in Germany. Father’s presence was needed at General Headquarters. In spite of Alexei’s symptoms of measles and the fever that raged in him, Father left for G.H.Q., promising to return soon. For Mother, always apprehensive of Alexei, had begged Father to stay home a few days until the boy’s condition could be better determined. But Father’s plans had been made some months ahead for a surprise attack on the enemy and could not be changed.

Father had hardly departed before riots and strikes became a common occurrence in Petrograd. Shortages were reported; there was plenty of bread, even though it was not available in the stores. However, many merchants--some were foreigners and some were not--hid the products or raised the prices so high that the poor could not purchase any meat, butter, or other essential commodities. Train loads of grain stood on the tracks until the grain became mouldy and unfit for human consumption.

One morning Mother entered her room to find Father’s picture lying on the floor. The glass covering this picture, taken recently at the trenches, was broken at the position of Father’s neck in the photograph. Immediately Mother’s superstitious nature reappeared. There was, she felt, something wrong with Father. This breakage could have been the work of a hostile servant but, more likely, the wind had done it. To Mother it was a bad omen. Again her anxious mind went back to the large cross she saw in the sky as they crossed the Troitsky bridge a few years before. Did these signs indicate that Father was to bear a heavy cross in the future?

Then she had a dream which increased her anxiety. In it she saw the Grand Duke Serge, who had been blamed for the coronation disaster and had been dead for years, come to visit us; suddenly he began to dance and wave a chiffon veil. Father sat and watched him. All at once the Grand Duke came to the end of his little dance, and the veil he was waving caught on the stone on top of the crown on Father’s head. A quick move of the Grand Duke and the crown was off Father’s head and dashed to the floor. Seven of the large stones seemed to disappear, only one being left. Soon that, too, began to evaporate slowly until it became a tiny pebble and finally vanished. The dream haunted her. Did it mean that the crown would be lost? The little stone that vanished--did that indicate that Alexei might be taken away from us?

Another bad omen! The chain which held the cross and the ruby ring (actually it was a red diamond) which Father had given to Mother and which she lately had been wearing around her neck, had broken. These she had always considered her good luck charms. She often placed her ruby ring on the chain with the cross and now, when the chain broke, the ring rolled one way and the cross another. Did this have a meaning in relation to Father’s safety or did it indicate a rift between Father and the Church? Later this same ring was taken from Mother by Voykov several weeks before the tragic night at Ekaterinburg; he wore this red diamond on his little finger. Mother and I, myself, were great believers in dreams; I still believe in mysticism.

Mother had not heard of Father’s safe arrival at G.H.Q. Finally we received the news that he had reached his destination. Serious disorders in the streets of Petrograd began two days later and lasted for about ten days. While the air was thick with suspicion, strikes, riots, and accusations, we children were seized with measles. Alexei had been ill before Father left; next Olga was stricken; then Tatiana; and, at last, I caught the disease. Marie helped Mother to care for us, but not for long because she, too, fell ill. Then both she and I contracted pneumonia and had to be placed in oxygen tents.

Early in March, we heard through General von Grooten, assistant to General Voyeykov, Commandant of the Palaces, and at that time with Father at G.H.Q., of the conversation he had had with the military commandant in Petrograd, General Belyayev. He had, himself, been able, through General Voyeykov, to speak to Father and tell him of the true state of affairs. Rodzianko had wired His Majesty that everything was quiet. The General had acted on his own initiative because he could see the critical conditions in Petrograd and in Tsarskoe Selo. Father was relieved to hear that we were alive. Through General Belyayev, Father sent word that we should do nothing until he returned home. But we must be ready to go away at a moment’s notice. He had also been informed that we all were ill, but he hoped that, when he arrived home, we would be well enough to leave. He did not know that Marie and I and several others at the palace had pneumonia.

At this time Rodzianko called the palace to say that Father was well but we were in great danger and should go at once to Gatchina Palace, about thirty miles southwest of Petrograd. Uncle Michael also had his residence there, and many other relatives of the Imperial family maintained villas in the park. Had we gone there, we would have had more freedom. Two parallel wings, connected by a third, were almost completely enclosed. Each wing had more than several hundred rooms, and the grounds held a fair-sized lake in the middle. The estate included thousands of acres of gardens, forest and ravines. We might more easily have escaped from there abroad.

There were rumors that Uncle Ernest was hiding in a tunnel. People probably confused a tunnel at Alexander Palace in Tsarskoe Selo with a natural passage at Gatchina. This natural passage could be entered from the stairway of the palace into a dark narrow hall, the exit of which led to the bank of Silver Lake adjoining the Baltic Sea. This spooky tunnel was cold, damp, and had a mournful echo. All these gruesome things came to my mind. I could see the statue of Paul I in front of the palace. His clothes, which were brought into his room after his assassination, remained there undisturbed as on the day he left the palace. There was a belief that Paul’s ghost walked at night about the vast rooms, corridors, and terraces. Others even claimed that they had heard him calling in the tunnel, and some servants were afraid to leave their rooms when the clock struck twelve midnight. This palace was my Grandfather’s favorite residence.

In Tsarskoe Selo there was a tunnel or passage through one of the park entrances. This entrance, with a stone structure over the gate, was carefully watched, and was used by the workers--delivery men, repair men, cooks, maids, gardeners and others. No one could enter this passage without showing his or her pass and the picture on the pass had to correspond with the one in the book which was at the disposal of the guard. When these workers reached the inner end of the tunnel, they were in the English basement of the palace where there were a number of rooms set aside for their use. These included a lounge, dining rooms, etc. In another section of the basement were rooms for the officers, including a dining room which was below Mother’s bedroom. Five or six hundred workers used this tunnel daily. It was one of the busiest and most widely used entrances. Practically all these people using this gate had been known to the guards, inasmuch as they had used this entrance for many years.

We heard that the soldiers were breaking into stores, getting drunk, and even becoming intoxicated on wood alcohol. As a result, some were poisoned and died. These deaths were blamed on the palace guard.

Mother was on duty with us children all night for several nights. Although she made frequent changes, she appeared constantly in her nurse’s uniforms. She rested on the sofa in order to be near us. The trials my Mother endured during these turbulent days are beyond description. One of the first things Mother did as a prisoner was to go through her personal letters. She burned some of the intimate ones she had received from Father during their courtship. Other letters which she destroyed were those from her Granny, Queen Victoria. When Mother was a young bride, expecting her first child, her Granny gave her useful advice. All letters written by the Imperial family were almost always numbered and dated so that it was easy to know whether any were missing. When the palace was searched by the commissars appointed by the Provisional Government, they noticed the paper ashes in the fireplace. They accused Mother of having burned important evidence. She could not change their suspicion that she had burned more than personal letters of sentiment. When she was through burning them, she said; “All is dead--but not my memories. No one can take them from me.” Then she buried her face in her hands, resting her arms on the mantel of the fireplace where she had burned her Granny’s own handwritten, cherished letters. She wept bitterly over the flame that carried Queen Victoria’s precious words into smoke.

The authorities now read all the remaining letters of my Father and my Mother. When they were unable to find anything detrimental with which they could accuse them, they fabricated all kinds of lies in order to deceive the general public. They even forged Mother’s handwriting and signature and published all sorts of atrocious lies against my parents. Several of those “letters” we saw later in Ekaterinburg; the handwriting was very much like Mother’s. Mother was accused of pro-German sympathies and actually of being a spy. What would it have mattered to the traitors if Mother had been a spy? But she was not. It was purposely done with a view to putting the blame on someone who would have produced the most damaging results to the country. It was all a part of the traitors’ pattern of intrigue to wreck the country and to weaken the Russian government, if necessary by revolution.

All these accusations were a betrayal and deceit. They sprang from the rumor that Mother, with the help of her brother, was seeking a separate peace with Germany. Mother was falsely accused, had absolutely nothing to do with it. It was caused by the actions of Princess Maria Vasilchikova, of whom I have written before, who also knew Uncle Ernest. She came from a Russian family who were also friends of Aunt Ella. She had known Mother for some ten years. She was a friend of the Imperial families of Austria and Germany, and, just before the outbreak of war in 1914, she was in Austria. Sometime in 1916, she had been persuaded by the Austrian and German Governments to write letters to Mother in which she stressed that both Governments had always been friendly with Russia, that they wished to renew this friendship, but that they did not put much faith in the alliance with England. Three or four such letters came to my family. These letters were known to all the High Command, the secret police and to the Minister of War. Father did not answer them. Both Governments, he said, should have known better. Instead, they waged war rather than take Serbia to the tribunal at the Hague.

Father was angered when he heard that Maria had been to see the Russian prisoners of war in Germany, expecting that they would put pressure on Father to agree to a truce. He had received information that these prisoners were well cared for, but the subsequent report from the Red Cross proved that was not true. In one of her letters Maria stated that, if the treaty were not considered, all Russia would be endangered. Evidently Maria well knew the aim of the enemy: fostering revolution. She also went to see Uncle Ernest, and subsequently a letter came from her and Uncle Ernest, addressed to Mother, sent by way of Sweden.

Mother was very angry and terribly upset about Maria and Uncle Ernest, particularly that he would even think that Father might conclude such a treaty. She said that she never wanted to see her brother again. She answered this letter herself and emphasized that no separate peace treaty would be signed with Germany. Because Mother sent this letter without Father’s consent, he was greatly upset.

Then a letter from Wilhelm II came to Count Benckendorff asking him to encourage Father to sign a separate treaty. Father said, let him write such letters to all my Allies, but a separate German treaty with Russia only, will never take place.

Still later a letter came from Petrograd from that same Maria, enclosing a note from Uncle Ernest. She begged for an audience with my Mother, who refused to grant her request but, instead, referred Maria’s letter to the proper authorities. Her appearance in Petrograd stirred up considerable trouble because it made people believe that she had been to see Mother. Then she wrote to Aunt Ella and, when Aunt Ella did not answer, she went to see Minister Sazonov. He, too, angrily said: “There will be no separate peace with Germany.” All the letters were turned over to the secret police who were especially furious at her saying that her estate in Austria would be confiscated. At this, Mother remarked: “Why should Russia be held responsible because Maria’s estate will be confiscated?” Father ordered that Maria be sent to her sister’s estate. Father was very angry, saying “Wilhelm must be mad.” How could anyone forget the actions of the German and Austrian Emperors which brought on the war and resulted in the loss of thousands of Russian lives, widespread suffering and enormous destruction of property, especially in the Ukraine.

How absurd for anyone to think that Mother would spy for Germany. For she had waited so long for a son to fulfill the need of the country when Father’s time was to come. How could she betray anyone she loved dearly, her husband, her son, or her adopted Mother Country! Anyone believing such illogical and unintelligent propaganda was not a healthy thinker.

One day the commissars, in searching the palace again, discovered a secret panel cupboard. No one knew how they discovered the secret door as it was so well concealed in the wall. This secret closet contained a number of Mother’s treasures of various kinds. There was a keepsake of no value, an accordion-pleated fan which had upon it pictures of Mother and Father when they were young. It had been presented to them on one of their visits to France. From one angle, when you looked at it, there appeared a picture of Mother; from another angle, it showed a picture of Father. At this time, some others of Mother’s keepsakes were removed. One, especially beautiful, was a fan with a tortoise shell handle, jewelled with emeralds; the pleated lace was studded with tiny, double eagle, gold sequins. There were many other items of great value.

As we lay in our darkened rooms trying to recuperate, we kept asking why Father did not come. Five invalids at once! When Madame Lili Dehn, the wife of Charles Dehn, the captain on our yacht and a friend since our childhood, received the news of our illness, she left her little boy with a nurse and rushed to help us, but the day of her arrival she became a prisoner in the palace with the others. She brought us the news that shops had been plundered, and that serious clashes had arisen between rebels and police. Dr. Derevenko brought news that the Liteiny Arsenal in Petrograd was in the hands of the rebels, that explosions in factories were taking place and that soldiers had been deserting their posts in panic.

Princess Obolensky, Olga Butsova and Princess Dundakova, once ladies in waiting, and the brother of Captain Charles Dehn likewise offered their assistance, but were denied entry to the palace. Mother had so wished that they could be with us, because they had always been faithful to us. Countess Anastasia (Nastinka) Hendrikova, a lady in waiting, heard of our illness and she left the Caucasus and came to Tsarskoe Selo to offer her assistance.

To Mother’s distress she found that many of her servants had contracted the flu as the epidemic swept the palace and some had run away in fear, including Derevenko, the sailor, Alexei’s servant. He told the other employees that he might prefer to serve the new regime; he was finally arrested by order of the Provisional Government, which had found stolen property on him.

We could hear the clashing of the mutineers, the screams and the shouts and some shooting near the palace gate. Mother was shocked to find there were so few soldiers on duty. She hurried to the phone to speak with the officer at the main gate, but there was no answer. She phoned the other entrance and the officer on duty informed her that many guards had deserted their posts, only a few being left to guard the palace.

A cannon was brought into the courtyard in readiness, but Mother begged the guards not to fire even one single bullet into the crowds. No matter what the consequences, she wished no blood shed on account of her family.

Mother heard noises in the officers’ room below her bedroom. She went down personally with Marie. She requested one of the officers to accompany her to the section where the guards came in to warm themselves. Mother ordered that hot tea should be served to them as often as they came in, because the temperature had dropped to 18° below zero.

Dr. Botkin was announced and when he entered our rooms he looked pale and distressed. He told Mother of a rumor that Father had been shot. But Mother refused to believe this. With the world collapsing around her, she crept back to her children. This good man, who was Mother’s personal physician, offered to care for the five invalids. Because of the emergency he even helped to change our garments, although there was a rule that no man could render such assistance.

Some time after the New Year, the Grand Duke Paul, in spite of his failing health, took command of the regiments in Tsarskoe Selo. This was most encouraging to us. All became quiet for a short period. The Grand Duke came to the palace and talked with Mother at some length. Marie heard raised voices in the next room. The conversation was mostly about Anna Vyrubova. The public objected to her staying in the palace. At this time her parents, the Taneevs, came from Terijoki on the Gulf of Finland to be with their daughter during her illness, as she demanded so much attention. Everyone thought that Anna with her measles required more care than all five of us put together. So her parents continued to stay with us until Anna had recovered. This increased the public’s resentment.

We had known for a long time that an attempt had been made on Anna’s life, in her own home, so, in order to prevent another crime, she had been asked to stay with us. Mother became resentful toward the Grand Duke Paul, who warned her that the palace would be stormed and that Anna would be carried away dead. Mother indignantly said that it was no one’s business whom she had in her home and that she had the right to keep anybody she wished in the palace. Mother and the Grand Duke parted in hot anger. It went on and on, so that this talk left Mother in an agitated mood.

Anna was told by the others of the unpleasantness Mother had on her account with the Grand Duke Paul. Mother had suffered many such experiences before, just because of her strong will; she always defended this friend from jealous creatures. Several servants, because they so despised Anna, later reported to the Provisional Government everything that took place in the palace; they even told about the letters that Anna suggested be burned. They were dismissed and, before their departure, they asked to speak with Count Benckendorff. But this was denied them. However, no one could convince Mother that Anna’s presence in our home caused a great deal of trouble and, at the same time, endangered our lives. Even after she had recovered from her illness, Anna continued to stay with us.

When we were little girls, Mother resented Anna’s intrusions, but when Anna confided in Mother that her parents were harsh to her, Mother felt sorry and took the girl under her wing. Mother told Madame Zizi Narishkina that she remembered how unpleasant her own life had been when her own brother, Ernest, was first married. At the time, she could not even speak to her brother and, in order to avoid conflict, with her new sister-in-law, she spent her days in her rooms. Subsequently, Granny took her to England.

Anna continued to come to the house on the pretense that her husband was away. At the same time she was telling her husband that she was being called for duty at the palace. When Mother found out that Anna misrepresented the facts, she became so upset that it caused her first heart attack. At the same time, Mother’s personal physician resigned his post because he felt that the heart attacks would continue as long as Anna was present. Mother never told us children about this, but we learned about it from Madame Narishkina. However, to my Mother, no one could say one word against Anna and many felt that she had some undue influence over the Empress.

We sisters became aware of the general feeling of the greater danger we were facing. So we displayed coolness toward Anna. That again displeased Mother, and she insisted that we be friendlier to Anna. She reprimanded us in spite of our weakened condition. She became angry with Olga and Marie, and said, “I will not allow anyone to criticize my friend.” Olga however said; “Anna, with her petty talks has made herself indispensable to you.” This, though true, so agitated Mother that we were sorry Olga ever brought the matter up. Even Dr. Botkin felt that, for the sake of the children, Anna should be sent back to Terijoki in Finland.

Now all who entered the palace were searched, the women by a woman, and the men by a guard.

XIII ABDICATION

At Mogilev, Captain Nilov, Major General Prince Vasily Dolgorukov and others with whom Father discussed the matter agreed that he should leave immediately for the capital. He was then ready to grant the Constitution. Mother also wired him to this effect. Soon afterwards a telegram was received informing Father that the revolution in Petrograd had been crushed. The news displeased General Ruzsky, who at that time was the Commanding General of the Northern Front. He and others were afraid that people would accuse the Duma and himself of treason, so they made one last attempt to damage the standing of my Father. At the same time they knew that our troops were strong, were well provided for, and eager for the spring offensive, for the last surprise attack, which was to bring a complete victory to our armies within three months.

Ruzsky disliked General Alexeiev and his son, and openly displayed hatred for them both. He did everything to separate Father and General Alexeiev, whom Father had known for some time and found most capable. General Ruzsky also had an animosity toward Count Fredericks because he knew that the old Count was suspicious of him. General Ruzsky wanted Father to relieve the Baltic Baron from his post as Court Minister, saying that the people resented anyone with a German name in a high position. When Father took the Supreme Command of the Armies in the Field, the Count had warned him that Ruzsky was a dangerous man and would inevitably weaken Father’s position among the people. Granny too tried to discourage Father and felt that Alicky (Mother) was responsible for this appointment. But Father was determined to correct the inefficiency and raise the morale of his army.

It had been reported the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was inclined to favor one officer over another with resulting injustices. General Krymov told Prince Dolgorukov at the time Father took the Supreme Command that there was great rejoicing among the officers and soldiers. They knew that from now on there would be no favoritism shown in the army. The effect of this new spirit was shown in the victories that followed when thousands of German and Austrian soldiers were captured, together with vast quantities of ammunition. Every night thousands of the enemy soldiers escaped across the border and sought sanctuary in Russia. The German High Command indeed had a good reason for ordering Princess Vasilchikova to write numerous letters suggesting a separate peace treaty.