PART II The First World War (continued 2)

Father had taken an oath in his war manifesto that he would never make peace so long as one enemy soldier remained on Russian soil. The enemy knew that only a revolution could defeat the Russian armies, so they spread a network of lies to poison the Russian mind. Their central theme held that Mother was redoubling her pro-German activities. In the Duma attacks were made on Father in an effort to discredit him. Many friends no longer participated at the meetings of the Duma; they could not stand to hear the slander of their Emperor.

These words are painful for me to put in writing, and I shall not further denounce these slanderers, as it would be against my Christian belief.

Word was brought from General Headquarters that Alexei had caught cold on the train during a trip to the front. He had sneezed and burst a blood vessel in his nose. When Dr. Fedorov was unable to stop the bleeding, also fearing that his cold might get worse, he suggested that Father return Alexei to Tsarskoe Selo. He had almost died on his way home because of the jolting and jarring and it had been necessary to stop the train several times at night in order to change Alexei’s dressings. He collapsed into unconsciousness several times and seemed to be on the verge of death. All night Nagorny had to support his head.

Meanwhile in Tsarskoe Selo, we were receiving wires posting us on his condition. Some arrived late in the evening so that Mother sat up all night, fearing that the end had come. At six in the morning Anna called Rasputin and requested him to pray for Alexei. Rasputin replied that Alexei would be better, not to worry, and that the bleeding would stop. Strange as it may seem, the bleeding did stop shortly thereafter. Later we were told that Anna informed the peasant that Alexei was better. Mother went to the station to meet the train and when Alexei was carried down the platform, he smiled at her. She was thankfully relieved. His bleeding stopped. Mother kissed him and he drew her hand to his lips. Father left again for G.H.Q. and Alexei remained at home recovering from his illness.

In spite of my brother’s poor health, our parents insisted that, as soon as his condition improved and the weather permitted, he must return to Mogilev. It was felt necessary that he prepare himself for his future responsibilities, even though his health had been impaired. Father said that Alexei was not to be shielded behind the scenes as he himself had been during the reign of Alexander III. As soon as the war should be over, Alexei, accompanied by his tutors, was to go to England to receive special training. My little brother became nervous under the strain, and we all felt sorry for him. Once, at two o’clock in the morning, Alexei awakened Olga in her room and said, “I cannot sleep; I am worried.”

The fact that I had been asked to share the responsibility with Olga and Tatiana deeply stirred me. They suggested that Mother should not be left alone in her bedroom at night while Father was away even though a maid was in the room next to Mother’s. We sisters decided to take turns spending the nights with Mother, as well as time after school hours. Alexei was hurt, because he was not asked to share this loving trust. He protested: “Am I not a member of the family? I am tired of taking humiliations from you. You seem to enjoy giving me orders.” I explained that he could do his share by sleeping in Father’s bedroom when he returned to G.H.Q. This satisfied him.

I shadowed Mother, amused her, and did everything in my power to make her happy. I did many things by which I hoped to spare her needless steps. I accepted my responsibility seriously and was a little hurt at Mother’s amused surprise at my obvious attentiveness. It pleased me to have Mother call me her little helper, because I saved her many steps. Often Alexei called Mother on the telephone and, while she was talking to him, I would run up and warn him not to call Mother again. I felt responsible for her and at the same time I was filled with a sense of importance while on duty at her side. For some time we thought Mother’s health was deteriorating under the strain of worry and sorrow. Now her heart became worse and she no longer was able to give actual care to the wounded at the hospital.

While Father was home, he had several stories about Rasputin investigated. One report declared that Rasputin had boasted in a restaurant, in public, that the embroidered upper blouse which he wore that evening had been presented to him by the Empress. Father sent for this man, whom he had disliked for so long. He questioned him about his claim. The peasant appeared to be surprised and frightened, but had finally admitted that he had made the remark. “How dare you?” Father looked straight into his eyes. Then, Father pointed to the door and Rasputin was shown out by an aide-de-camp. Olga remarked later to us sisters that the only regret she had was that the peasant had not been thrown out long before this.

Father never liked nor believed in the Starets and neither did we girls. Even Alexei was doubtful about the peasant’s honesty. In our presence, Rasputin was always respectful and unobtrusive. Mother, however, was convinced that Alexei’s life during his most severe attacks was saved by Rasputin’s prayers. Mother was impressed by the man’s simple common sense. He had such a saintly approach that Mother believed that he was a man sent by God. Most of the messages from Rasputin had come to Mother through Anna. It was at Anna’s house that Mother saw this wandering monk and their conversation was always about religion. There was little doubt that he was a healer of a sort which some Christian Churches have always known and recognized. However, many discounted Rasputin’s healing claims by explaining that he always came into the picture when Alexei was already on the way to recovery. When Alexei was previously ill, because some one inserted into his lower body some kind of serum which caused him untold suffering and many sleepless nights, Rasputin was blamed for it. It was Rasputin who made all the nurses and maids go to confess at the church as a result of which it was found that someone close to the family was responsible for this illness.

The attacks Alexei suffered had become fewer and less serious. My parents were hopeful Alexei would eventually outgrow his trouble. Alexei was often puzzled about Rasputin, whom he considered to be a healer. One day he asked, “Tell me, Mommy, why is it that God listens to the peasant’s prayers, but not to mine.” Mother honestly believed that Rasputin was sent to save her son. Under similar circumstances any mother would have felt the same.

On another occasion we had Father Vassiliev as our guest. Alexei was just getting over a bad cold. He asked why people said that the peasant was a saint. Papa replied that he would rather have Father Vassiliev explain this to Alexei. The clergyman answered that anyone who does good and lives according to the Holy Scriptures could be a saint. “Then what shall I do that God will listen to my prayers?” asked Alexei.

Father Vassiliev of the Feodorovsky Sobor taught Alexei religion. Alexei was deeply attached to his instructor, who was very religious, had a kind heart, loved people, made friends easily and was loyal and defended them when they were in trouble. Alexei was bright, lively, had a quick mind, delicate features, a white, clear complexion and coppery, auburn hair. In secret among the family he was called “Ruchka” (the hand). This he knew, although we did not at first know it.

XI OUR LAST AUTUMN IN TSARSKOE SELO

The fall of 1916 was a beautiful one, with the brilliant flames of orange oak and russet beech trees, elms and avenues of lime trees all fused harmoniously as in a painting. It was our last autumn in Tsarskoe Selo. Again, Alexei joined his Father at G.H.Q. and both went to review the troops at the front. As usual, Father inspected the field kitchens and tasted the food to be sure that it was kept up to the prescribed standards. Then they visited the hospitals in Kiev, at the same time spending several days with Granny who had been living there in the palace near the beautiful Dnieper river for the duration of the war, in order to be near her daughter Olga.

Upon their return to G.H.Q., Alexei sent a note home to say that Father was distressed after having had a talk with Granny; she had changed. Alexei, although a child, was conscious of the fact that this disquieting conversation stemmed from Ruchka’s illness and the peasant. Granny did not know that Alexei knew that in secret he was called “Ruchka”. There were other relatives present at this discussion, one of them being Uncle Sandro (Alexander Mikhailovich). He was the head of military aviation and was stationed in Kiev.

During this conversation, Aunt Olga defended Alicky (Mother) whereas Granny blamed everything on her. Grandmother openly predicted then that all would end in disaster. Alexei promised Mother that he would never cause Father trouble, and would be careful of his own health. He told us later that he had cried on the train while Father was in his study, and that he no longer loved his Granny as he used to. At this time Aunt Olga was happily remarried. Her husband was the handsome officer of the Guard whom she had known for a long time, Colonel Nicholai Koulikovsky.

Soon Mother and we sisters went on another tour to the hospitals and were greeted enthusiastically everywhere. We received big donations for the hospitals. During this tour we stopped for a several days’ visit with Father. This was to be our last trip to G.H.Q. We knew right away that something connected with Rasputin was troubling Father, as a result of his last visit to Kiev.

Now Father asked Granny to leave for the Crimea in order to end the gossip, which without Granny’s encouragement would never have taken place. Later even Olga wrote her asking for God’s sake to leave for the Crimea. But all was in vain.

At this time Uncle Sandro, the husband of Aunt Xenia, proposed to Father that he should promulgate the constitution on his name day, December 6th, but Father said it was impossible because at the coronation he had sworn on the Bible to uphold the autocracy.

Now we already knew of the plan to assassinate Mother, Father and many of his aides, especially Prince Dolgorukov, Captain Nilov, A.D.C. Mordvinov, Count Fredericks and others. It was organized in Kiev by Guchkov. Granny and the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich in Caucasia supported the idea, but Granny confessed to Father, during her last conversation with him, that she did not know that the Guchkov plan was to assassinate Father and the others. She believed that they were working towards Father’s abdicating the throne to the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich.

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.

Going back to General Ruzsky, the officers became suspicious of the old General. Knowing that Father disliked gossip and accusations, they were so secretly enraged with Ruzsky that they were ready to kill him. Later, Prince Dolgorukov told us that Captain Nilov, at the time of Father’s abdication, became so furious at Ruzsky’s attitude that he angrily struck the table with his fist and declared; “His Majesty must not abdicate! He has the Army and the peasants with him. Ruzsky will destroy the Empire and the Emperor, but I will have the pleasure of killing him with my own hand.” However, the rapid progress of the revolution deprived him of this privilege, and the General’s life was spared by a narrow margin. Whoever would suspect that this near-sighted man with thick glasses, this short, insignificant, old man with a wrinkled face whose gray hair stood up like the bristle of a stiff brush was capable of spying? Even his epaulets, his sloping shoulders, were not commensurate with the military bearing one expected of a general. He was well aware of the rapidly changing conditions in Petrograd. This was the man of whom Father said; “I can never forgive Ruzsky because, as a Russian general, he committed the most terrible crime against his country.” During one of our visits to Mogilev, General Ruzsky was there. He acted strangely toward Mother, trying to avoid her eyes. His nervousness indicated that his conscience was bothering him.

About this time Father received a telegram from the Caucasus from the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich suggesting that Father abdicate. This was a disheartening blow to Father. He knew however it was a deliberate gesture of revenge, because Father had found it necessary to relieve the Grand Duke from his supreme command in the field. At the same time, Father had relieved Prince Orlov (Fat Orlov), who had held the position of Director of Chancery, and had sent him to the Caucasus with the Grand Duke. While Nicholai Nicholaevich was in Tiflis, he made a great impression on the people with his enormous height and his thunderous voice. His great physical strength and enthusiastic manner, as well as his skilled horsemanship, added to his personal popularity.

Meanwhile General Ewers and General Ivanov were ready to send troops to Petrograd to crush the riots. But Ruzsky wired Rodzianko, asking him to take no action. (Rodzianko was related to Prince Youssoupoff by marriage.) Still another blow Father received was that the Litovsky and Volinsky regiments, constituted of recruits, had capitulated to the revolutionists. On top of this, Father was misinformed that Mother had been killed and that the children who had been ill were in grave danger!

About this time, Father still at G.H.Q., felt that there was still time to avert the revolution if he could get support from the people of Petrograd who would recognize that the coming spring offensive would defeat Germany. He discussed this with his Chief of Staff, General Alexeiev, who had confidence in the strength and loyalty of the Army. They decided that Father should leave for the capital where he was to grant the Constitution. But Ruzsky, Shulgin, and Guchkov prevented Father’s reaching the city on time. Purposely, by direction of the Duma, the train was shunted back and forth until the revolution had taken a stronger root and the abdication, which Father had so stubbornly resisted all night long, was finally forced upon him.

Before Father left G.H.Q., he wired to General Khabalov in Petrograd that riots during the war were not tolerable, and must be crushed at once. But the General wired back that it was all too late; that his barracks were already deserted, and that the two companies of Life Guards, commanded by my paternal cousin, the Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich, had marched through the city, led by the Grand Duke himself with a red band on his arm and a rosette on his chest. This act alone gave untold encouragement to the revolutionists. Cyril thought that this was the opportune moment for him, with the help of various members of the Imperial family, to seize the Crown.

At this time the Grand Duke Michael (Uncle Misha) who was being held at the Tauride Palace (the Duma), knew what Cyril was trying to do and refused to see him. Uncle Misha had been called from Gatchina to discuss the possibility of becoming Regent. The problem was complicated by the poor physical condition of the Tsarevich who, Uncle Michael felt, could not assume the heavy burden of rule in view of the condition the country was in and in view of his lack of experience.

Meanwhile Cyril Vladimirovich was seeking to establish good relations with the newly-formed government. But, even now, Rodzianko had begun to doubt the Vladimir family. All this was told to Mother by the Grand Duke Paul Alexandrovich himself.

Cyril proceeded to the Duma and handed over the troops under his command to the new regime. This was a deliberate revenge against my Mother. Previous to this, Cyril and his German mother, Marie Pavlovna, the elder (née Duchess of Mecklenburg), the widow of the Grand Duke Vladimir, Father’s deceased uncle, had often spoken admiringly of Bismarck, who had once been German Ambassador to Russia. They had also praised Kaiser Wilhelm, in spite of the fact that the countries were at war. The Grand Duchess had made no secret of her sympathies. She and her son had given huge parties to which they had asked many influential friends. We heard that among them were General Ruzsky, Princess Radziwill and Sir George Buchanan, the British Ambassador. We heard also that they also entertained many revolutionists and German agents who no doubt gained much valuable information as they mingled with other guests. Father received this report after our arrest in Tsarskoe Selo. The invitations to these parties were most extravagant. The double eagle and the crown were embossed in different shades of green, yellow, and blue with real gold sheets or red and blue enamel, pressed into the finest grade of paper.

This attractive plotter, Marie Pavlovna (the elder) was a charming personality and an excellent conversationalist. She did everything in her power to tarnish the names of my Father and Mother. Her son Cyril had married the Princess Victoria Melita of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, granddaughter of Queen Victoria and divorced wife of Mother’s only brother, the Grand Duke Ernest of Hesse, who was a grandson of Queen Victoria.

Mother had had a sad experience when Victoria became Ernest’s wife, because of Victoria’s jealous disposition. At the time Mother had had no choice but to live in the same home with the unhappy couple. Fortunately, the benevolent Granny, Queen Victoria, soon took Mother to England. Then, when there was no sister-in-law to pick at, Victoria made Uncle Ernest’s life miserable, and their marriage ended in divorce several years later. Subsequently, Victoria married Cyril, and they were banished from Russia, but had returned just before the outbreak of World War I. Cyril expressed malicious joy when four daughters in succession were born to the Imperial couple; and later, when it became known that the new heir to the throne, Alexei, was afflicted with haemophilia—which might kill him early in life—Cyril had felt that the throne was already within his grasp. This was especially true when Uncle Michael was banished from Russia, after having married a divorcée. Now Cyril’s hopes for the Crown were redoubled and his mother held, practically, a court of her own. But these relatives of ours lived long enough to see the catastrophe in which they plunged their country.

When the secret of Alexei’s haemophilia had been learned by Cyril’s mother, she suddenly, after more than thirty years of indecision, decided to adopt the Russian orthodox religion in order to strengthen her son’s potentials for eligibility for the throne. Such maneuvering was entirely in vain, inasmuch as the church would never have accepted, let alone crowned, as Tsar a man whose wife’s first husband was still alive. This same factor of marriage to a divorced woman also affected the eligibility of Uncle Michael to succession.

Now at last Mother agreed to the suggestion of men who had stood by her during the trying times: General von Grooten, Prince Putiatin, and her secretary, Count Apraxin, who came by foot from Petrograd in the winter cold solely to tell Mother that Father was to arrive the next morning; also Count Adam Zamoyski, A.D.C., and General Dobrovolsky. Their suggestion was that she visit the troops assembled in the courtyard. Mother and Marie, accompanied by Count Benckendorff and Count Apraxin, greeted and thanked them for their kind services. At this time Mother could see no noticeable difference in the men’s behavior. Count Apraxin was a devoted friend of my parents and loyal to the end. He was deeply religious, encouraged culture and the arts, and had a knowledge of conditions in the country.

Before the abdication, an ukase was signed by Father dismissing the old Cabinet and appointing Prince George Lvov as Prime Minister. By it the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was to resume his former position as Commander-in-Chief of the Army. In spite of Prince Lvov’s protest, all the old Ministers were arrested by the Provisional Cabinet, then still under his direction. The pressure came from Kerensky, Shulgin and Guchkov, the latter a bitter enemy of Mother’s. He was, it was said, influenced by traitors from abroad.

There now was an epidemic of measles, flu and pneumonia in the palace. Twice a day additional doctors were permitted to attend all who were ill, officers of the guard standing behind them during all examinations. It was embarrassing to the patients to have these strange men in their bedrooms. Count Benckendorff spoke to the commissar, asking that the guards remain in the hall. No extra nurses were permitted to help care for the sick.

We heard that Countess Fredericks had contracted pneumonia and been taken to the English Hospital, then under supervision of Lady Georgina Buchanan. But the Ambassador, Sir George Buchanan, ordered that she be removed at once. He expressed himself as being averse to helping any one of the old regime, because he believed in the new social order. In the midst of bitter cold, they carried her out on the street, but a good Samaritan gave her refuge. Her crippled daughter, Emma, our friend, was taken before the Duma, where her jewels were confiscated. The rebels wanted to arrest the old Count but not finding him at home they set his house on fire, destroying not only his residence but his valuable family art collection as well. Strange to say, we knew that Sir George liked us personally and also enjoyed his life and women in Russia. He had known Mother and Uncle Ernest for a long time. He had been in our house many times enjoying meals with us, and often came to see the newsreels of the war which were shown in our palace. This middle aged Ambassador was admired by many women and through them he gained popularity in Petrograd. It was said that he accepted hospitality from the highest to the lowest women of all kinds of character and position. At the end he became hated by the jealous husbands who were at the war. Later he regretted his mistakes and praised Father’s loyalty to his Allies.

Father was disturbed when he heard that Sir George said he would not care if Germany would invade his own country, England. Especially when Sir George helped to spread untrue stories about Mother, which disturbed Princess Victoria of Battenberg, Mother’s older sister, who wrote Mother an upsetting letter. Father requested the Grand Marshal of the Court, Count Benckendorff to write King George to recall Sir George from his post. At the same time Father ordered Peter Bark to withdraw all his personal money from the banks in England; the rapid progress of the revolution made the withdrawal impossible.

In contrast, Sir George’s wife, Lady Georgina, was most energetic in the war work, and Father presented her with the Order of St. Catherine. She supervised a sewing group at the Embassy, also the Anglo-Russian hospital on the Nevsky Prospect, and was the head of the British convalescent home.

The Provisional Government sent General von Grooten, Commandant of Tsarskoe Selo, to prison. It also placed under arrest Colonel Girardi, Chief of Police, General Resin, once the Commandant of the Combined Regiments, and Prince Putiatin. Mother sent A.D.C. Captain Linevich, one of Father’s closest friends, to negotiate with Rodzianko but we never saw him again. He too was arrested. About this time we were told to have our bags ready to leave Russia at a moment’s notice. Our suitcases and our trunks were brought from the storerooms and were placed upstairs in two rooms. Mother, when free from nursing duties, selected the most important articles to be packed. But everything that went into these trunks later was checked by the new masters.

We heard that two revolutionary divisions were marching toward Tsarskoe Selo with tanks and armored cars, to storm the palace, but the harsh wintry weather prevented them from reaching the village. One night, soon afterwards, all the lights went out for about twenty minutes. The courtyard, the park, the gates, everything was dark. Then our water supply was cut off, but fortunately it was soon restored. Also the lift at the end of the hall was put out of commission and Mother had to be carried to the second floor. All these events kept us in a continual state of apprehension, and we became frightened, thinking that the rebels were trying to get into the grounds.

Later we were told that on this dark night, the rebels had attempted to remove Rasputin’s body from the grave, by order of the Provisional Government. Not knowing the exact location, they dug up the body of our old butler, who had died about the same time as Rasputin, and burned his remains in the Pergolovo forest. It was this faithful butler who carried my great-grandfather, Alexander II, into the Winter Palace the day he was killed. Since then he had continued as a family butler until, years before, illness overtook him, after which time he was cared for by the family.

The rumor which said that Mother had ordered Rasputin’s body to be buried in the park in Tsarskoe Selo was not true. She had nothing to do with his burial, although she had sent a message suggesting that his body should be shipped to his family in Siberia. It was Anna Vyrubova’s desire to have this man buried on the property she owned on the other side of the Alexander Park gate and the Alexandrovka village, near the woods on the high road to Viborg. Anna believed that he had saved her life and she paid the expenses of the funeral, which was officiated over by Father Vassiliev. The gossip continued that we had signed an icon especially to be placed in Rasputin’s coffin. It was true that shortly before his death we had signed an icon which was for the coffin of one of our tutor’s sons who had been killed. But as Father had already sent one for the tutor’s son’s coffin, the other icon that had been signed was placed in the butler’s coffin.

The first unfounded rumors about Rasputin started a long way back. There was a foreign representative who antagonized the Christians in Persia. My Father—defender of Christianity—was informed about this man’s malicious actions and used his influence to have this instigator removed from his diplomatic post in Persia. Since then this man was looking for an opportunity to strike back at the Imperial Family. With the help of a collaborator he wrote a book most insinuating in its nature and based on malicious lies. The collaborator demanded $60,000 from my Mother to prevent the publication of this slanderous book, but Mother ignored this threat, and refused to be blackmailed, for there was absolutely no truth in their accusation. During the war the contents of this book was circulated throughout Russia, thus poisoning the minds of the people against my Mother. With their first venture a success, they now started a vicious campaign against Father by picturing him as weak, irresponsible and incapable of holding the Crown, and by so doing they rendered the Bolsheviks a most useful service. Yet none of these instigators knew Father personally for they had never had an opportunity to set foot inside the village of Tsarskoe Selo.

One afternoon at home the mutineers insisted on seeing Mother and Alexei, because of a rumor that Alexei had died or escaped. Mother, accompanied by Count Benckendorff and Marie, went out on the balcony. In a voice, clear but weak, she said; “I hear you want to see me and my son, but why? My son is critically ill, and he must not expose himself to cold. To see him is impossible at this time. For myself I am only a mother who is nursing her sick children.” They left without a single word. That same unlucky evening, March 13th, Marie became ill and was taken into the sick room with a high temperature. With the help of Baroness Buxhoeveden, Madame Dehn, Dr. Botkin, and several nurses and maids, Mother managed to take care of all the invalids.

In the midst of this confusion, word reached Mother of Father’s abdication. Then later in the same afternoon the Grand Duke Paul returned, with a bulletin announcing Father’s abdication. He expressed sympathy for our plight and suggested that we leave Russia as soon as possible. Mother burst into tears saying, “Russia is lost; Russia was betrayed.” Mother could not bear to convey this news to Alexei, and asked M. Gilliard to do so. Alexei’s reaction was to say; “How can that be? Father promised Alexander III that Russia would always remain an autocracy, and Father had to swear to uphold this type of rule.” It did not occur to him that Father no longer was the Emperor and that he himself no longer was the Tsarevich. He was thinking only of the life of Russia. With all his troubles, he never thought selfishly of himself. To us sisters, Mother with quivering lips gave details of the recent happenings. Soon afterwards, boxes containing Father’s various documents, including the abdication papers and the speech he had delivered to his beloved army, arrived at the palace.

We knew that Mother had been tortured with the thought that Father had been shot; now we learned that Father too had been tormented with the rumor that she had been murdered. But soon we heard that Father was on his way to Petrograd; that when he was about to leave, Shulgin and Guchkov arrived in Mogilev. Father was surprised when he saw how Ruzsky received these men with the warmest greetings. Father knew then that they were bosom friends and that Ruzsky was a spy.

Six men were responsible for the delay which prevented Father’s train from reaching the capital. The train was delayed by the railway officials on orders from the Duma, in order to give the revolution a chance to become solidified. Kerensky worked from Petrograd; Guchkov, Kalenin, Gribushchin and Shulgin were on the train with Father; and at the other end was General Ruzsky, Commander of the Northern Front, located in Pskov. When Mother heard this, she said; “I urged Father to close the Duma long ago. Before Papa left for G.H.Q., he was discouraged with the Duma and left a signed order with the Premier, Prince Golitsyn, to dissolve it at once, but the Premier failed to carry out his orders.”

Immediately after Father’s abdication, two of his close friends came to see him. One was General Count Keller and the other was General Khan of Nakhichevan. Both were Generals of the Guard and had known Father for many years. They asked Father’s permission to send their troops to Petrograd to suppress the revolution. Father was in favor of this, but since he was no longer in power, he suggested that they make this proposal to the Provisional Government. No doubt General Ruzsky received the offer of these two generals, but purposely tabled their suggestion.

From Pskov Father’s train went back to Mogilev to enable him to take leave of his beloved Army. Here once more General Count Keller came to see Father. He kissed his hand, saying; “Your Majesty, I would rather be dead, before I would serve any other government.” Later, I heard, he shot himself or was shot.

In Mogilev, General Alexeiev, Father’s trusted friend, now made known that Father was a prisoner. Present were a number of generals and the committee of the newly formed government, and several grand dukes, including Boris Vladimirovich, Cyril’s brother, who wanted to see Father, but General Voyeykov said that the Emperor could not see him.

Soon after Father’s farewell speech to the Army, the General Staff took the loyalty pledge to the Provisional Government, which then ordered that Father’s initials be removed from their epaulets, but these men refused to remove them, saying that they would kill the traitors before they would do such a thing. And Father said, “Now, it is too late.”

Prince Dolgorukov later related to us that Father’s tears were streaming down his face and that he turned away from the window of his study which was facing the parade ground. He could not see this painful performance inflicted upon his beloved Army. Before he left G.H.Q., he received the news that Granny was on her way to Mogilev. He dreaded a meeting with her, as she usually distressed him so much that he found her harder to handle than all of his ministers put together. He saw her on the train; she blessed him and they parted forever.

Later after several days aboard the train, Father finally reached Tsarskoe Selo, on March 9/22, 1917, at 11:30 A.M. Here at the pavilion (station) many of Father’s lifelong friends his trusted officers and his favorite aides-de-camp, who had come on the train with him, departed in an effort to save their own lives. It was said, though no one ever will know whether this really was true, that on the train that same morning before they reached Tsarskoe Selo they were told that if they stayed with Father they would be shot. “They deserted me in my saddest hour,” said Father. Among those of whom he spoke were Cyril Narishkin, chief of his mobile secretariat, the son of our dear Zizi Narishkina, the Mistress of the Robes; and also Count Grabbe, an A.D.C., whom we had known since our childhood. I remember when he accompanied us sisters on long walks on the shore in the Crimea and the time when I, in mischievous play, poured sand down his neck. Others who deserted Father were a Duke of Leuchtenberg and our friend A.D.C. Mordvinov whose daughter I knew and liked, and Sablin, whom we children loved like one of our own, once a lieutenant on the “Standard.” All of them had been close associates and friends. Captain Drenteln, a most beloved friend and a member of a battalion of Father’s own Preobrazhensky regiment, also disappeared.

Father came directly upstairs to Mother. He found Marie and myself desperately ill; I was only partly conscious. At first I thought that I dreamed of his being home. A few days later I realized how bad he looked. He was thin and his eyes were sad. His left shoulder shook nervously, much more than before. Only later Prince Dolgorukov told us of the unpleasant experience Father had upon his arrival at Tsarskoe Selo. Father had left the pavilion (station) and had received a shock upon seeing that his chauffeur was already dressed in civilian clothes. An even greater shock awaited him: although all the guards on duty, both at the outside gate and at the Palace entry, had been informed of the exact hour for the arrival of the Emperor, they showed their newly-acquired importance by asking the chauffeur over the phone for the identity of the occupants of the car. Both times the chauffeur replied, “It’s His Majesty.” With deliberateness, they replied, “Let Nicholai Alexandrovich pass through.” Father was very angry at this curt treatment and was surprised to see the antechamber packed with people, only a few of whom he knew. He passed by without saying a word. When Mother heard of his arrival, she ran breathlessly down the stairs and the full length of the long corridor and fell sobbing into his arms. Both of them came directly upstairs.

We were told that the same afternoon several men from the Provisional Government appeared to question Father at length.

At this time these terrible men ordered the staff wearing Father’s badges on their shoulders to have them removed, without Father’s consent, and to have Father and the family placed under arrest. Now Mordvinov wanted to come to the palace, but the Government forbade it.

Father brought home copies of his abdication and his farewell speech to the Army. We were able to learn more about the abdication which had taken place at 3:00 P.M. on March 2/15, 1917, in the study of his private train at the railroad station in Pskov. Later after talking with Dr. Fedorov, Alexei’s physician, Father abdicated also on behalf of the Tsarevich in favor of his brother Michael, although Father knew that the Holy Synod of the Russian Church would not recognize Michael as Heir to the Throne. But he did so, in order to avoid a bloody revolution. We were also told by those who had been with Father on the train, that General Ruzsky threatened Father, saying “If the Emperor will not sign it now, I would hate to say what may happen to his family.” With swimming eyes we read the touching words in which he asked his people to uphold the Provisional Government and to try to be loyal to it. Following is my Father’s farewell address.

Leave of the Army

I address you for the last time, soldiers so dear to my heart. Since I have renounced in my name, and that of my son, the Throne of Russia, the powers I exercised have been transmitted to the Provisional Government which has been formed on the initiative of the Imperial Duma.

May God help it lead Russia on the path of glory and prosperity.

May God bless you also, glorious soldiers, to defend our native land against a cruel enemy. For two and a half years you have in every hour undergone the fatigues and strain of a wearing campaign, much blood has been spilt, great efforts have been crowned with success, and already the hour is at hand when Russia with her splendid allies will finally crush by one joint and daring effort the last resistance of the enemy.

A war such as this, unknown in history, must be continued to the final and definite victory. Whoever dreams of peace or desires it—at this moment—is a traitor to his country and yields it to the enemy.

Carry out your duty, protect our beloved and glorious country, submit yourselves to the Provisional Government, render obedience to your chiefs, and remember that any slackness in your service means a gain to your enemies.

With the firm conviction that the boundless love that you have for our great country will ever remain in your hearts,

I pray that God may bless you, and that St. George the Great Martyr may lead you to victory.

(Signed) Nicholas

(Countersigned) Alexeiev, C.G.S.

Father’s speech was a heavy blow to his men; they were stunned from the shock. One of his personal guards had a heart attack while Father was speaking. Father urged the troops to continue the war, at any price, until victory was complete. The hour was at hand, he said, when Russia would finally crush the last resistance of the enemy. But this resistance did not materialize, nor, in fact, did the Emperor’s own planned powerful attack. Some people of the upper classes in Petrograd failed to support him in regard to this final blow against the enemy, designed to win the war within three months, as Father had promised in his last speech before the Duma in Petrograd a short while before. It was not Father’s war, but the war of the nation. When Uncle Michael came to urge Father to return immediately to G.H.Q., he found Father on the verge of departure, despite the serious condition of Alexei.

The current malicious gossip was more important to the political leaders than was the destiny of their country. These same leaders afterwards criticized Father, saying that because he loved his family so much, fear of having his family killed caused him to abdicate. The killing of his family would not have solved the problem, which would have been solved easily by the leaders themselves had they not supported the traitors and not spread unfounded lies, especially about my Father, whose men were shedding their blood at the front. If I may ask, in what had we children sinned before our people that we should have to give up our lives—we children who, from the oldest to the youngest, denied ourselves all amusement and devoted our energy to the war effort? Should we children have had to pay the penalty of death? Why did not those busy conspirators take their weapons and go to fight the common enemy?

They could not say anything against my older sisters, upon whom they had never had an opportunity to lay their eyes. What they said about me, because of my innocent jokes and pranks, I have never given a rap about.

When Dr. Botkin read Father’s last addresses, his eyes moistened and he added, “Only His Imperial Majesty could speak such deep words.” Father repeated the words of Tsar Nicholas I: “Gde raz podniat Russkii flag, on uzhe spuskatsia ne dolzhen.” (Where once the Russian flag is raised, it shall never be lowered.)

Little by little we received more details. At first Father abdicated in favor of Alexei, with Uncle Michael as Regent. But after consulting Dr. Fedorov about his son’s delicate health, Father abdicated also for Alexei in favor of his brother Michael, who was called in from Gatchina to Petrograd, to accept first the Regency, and then the Throne. To Father’s intense disappointment Uncle Misha, after accepting, soon abdicated because of pressure by the Provisional Government, in whose hands the nation’s fate then rested. This new government placed under arrest many ministers and high officials, because they refused to sign the loyalty pledge to the Provisional Government. What was happening in Petrograd at this time Father did not know until he reached home.

General Ruzsky and others, in order to hide their crime, spread the most heartless rumor that Father had been drinking wine before his abdication. However, Father was not alone during this painful ordeal. With him on the train was his friend, the Minister of the Household of the Court, Prince Vasily Dolgorukov; Flag Captain Nilov, A.D.C.; General Voyeykov, Chief of Administration of the Palaces in Tsarskoe Selo; Count Vladimir Fredericks, Father’s Chamberlain; and the latter’s assistant, General Mossolov. Others present on the train were A.D.C. Count Grabbe, Commandant of an Escort; A.D.C. Captain Drenteln; A.D.C. Cyril Narishkin, head of the Chancery; Colonel Mordvinov and General Dubensky. The Provisional Government was represented by Kerensky’s friend, Vershchinin, and others.

Prince Dolgorukov spoke to us of this merciless rumor, saying that Father at the time drank only tea and paced back and forth in his study. Father’s valet and his butler, after reading this lie, saw Count Benckendorff and in tears said that those who spread such a lie had committed a great sin toward their Emperor. It was also said that during the last night on the train Father sat up all night in his study. At midnight one of the engineer officers, who previously had conducted many trips during Father’s travels, asked to see Father and was received. He sank to his knees, kissed Father’s hand and tearfully said, “Your Majesty, I will never serve these bandits. It is the end of my life.” After the train reached the pavilion in Tsarskoe Selo and just as Father was getting into his automobile and as the standing officers were saluting Father for the last time, a shot was heard and the engineer officer fell dead.