My thoughts came back to Tobolsk. Only recently we had discussed with our friends here the historical background of this town. It frightened me. I thought of the chapel adjoining the Metropolitan’s residence where the Bell of Uglich was formerly hung. This bell summoned the people of Uglich when Prince Dimitri, son of Ivan the Terrible, was murdered in 1591. By an order presumably given by Boris Godunov, this bell was transferred to Tobolsk, where it was damaged by fire and recast. We too were transferred to Tobolsk, by Kerensky.
Father realized what the prison life had done to his family. We once overheard Father saying to Prince Dolgorukov, in the presence of Colonel Kobylinsky, that his heart was aching for his little family whose life which had just begun was about to come to an end. He continued, “During my whole life I tried to serve my country faithfully, and if I have done wrong I am willing to suffer for it. I am not sorry for myself or my wife, but for the children. It is a crime to punish these innocent youngsters. They are so pure and so good. They are the children of Russia.”
On New Year’s morning we went to church. It was one of the twelve holidays on which we were permitted to attend services. The new priest officiated but he appeared nervous. Then we heard that our former priest, Father Vassiliev, who had officiated at the previous service, had been taken away from the Abalak monastery. He was then tied, beaten and thrown still alive into the Tobol River in front of the monastery. It was very cold that morning. The temperature often went down to 25°-35° below zero. The church was unheated but dimly lighted, and we could offer only one candle apiece. Although we were provided with rugs, even then our feet were numb from the cold, but our hearts found comfort, warmth and hope ahead. Due to the extreme cold, my sisters and brother became ill again with the German measles. This time, however, they were not so seriously ill as the previous year.
Through General Tatishchev Father was informed that we could not go to church on Epiphany day, commemorating the baptism of our Lord, which falls some twelve days after Christmas. It was decided to build a movable altar in a corner of the big hall on the second floor, where we took our lessons and gave our plays. Mother busied herself by supervising the placing of the icons in their proper places. The priest and the four nuns came to the house for the Divine Liturgy and the Blessing of Water. Father and we children sang with the choir which consisted of some members of our staff, including Nagorny, Alexei’s servant, who had a very fine voice. At the end of the service, according to custom, the priest dipped the cross into the water and with it sprinkled the water in the air in the shape of a cross. We all kissed the cross but when Alexei’s turn came to kiss it, the priest bent over and kissed his forehead. It touched Alexei deeply. This kindness meant so much to the little, frail boy. To the last he never forgot this courtesy, nor did we. We “broke bread” with our friends in the dining room downstairs.
It was on this day that Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev pleaded with Father to have his epaulettes removed. For the sake of his family, finally Father gave in. Right then and there something died within him. He did keep his St. George’s Cross and the French Croix de Guerre. He was very proud of them. Father told his valet, Chemodurov, that General Tatishchev should remove the epaulettes before brutal hands touched them. With a painful expression the general removed them. I remember when the St. George decorations were given to Father and Alexei. General Ivanov sent Father’s friend Prince (Toly) Bariatinsky to present these decorations while Father was home for a few days.
Practically buried by snow, we were permitted to make a mountain. Hundreds of shovelsful of snow were carried up and covered with water, which froze immediately. The process was repeated until a good sled course was built. We helped our friends, Prince Dolgorukov and M. Gilliard, as well as the soldiers, until we were exhausted.
January 12th/25th was Tatiana’s twenty-first name day. After the Te Deum, which was held in the house, we all extended to her our congratulations. Even the soldiers of the Fourth regiment presented her with various blooming plants and flowers. Except for Mother, we had no gifts for her.
We heard that Felix Youssoupoff was killed. Mother said, “God forgive his mistakes.” Later the rumor was denied.
We had a swing in the back yard, but Nikolsky’s men at night wrote vulgar words on the wooden seat board. We were forbidden to go near it until Dr. Botkin, Colonel Kobylinsky or Pankratov had examined it. Our outdoor exercises were limited to the small space allotted to us. Each day they found something new to accuse us of. One afternoon Alexei was on the front steps before the house, which were protected by a wall about 2-3 feet high on either side. He heard some children on the street and climbed on top of this wall which was about 35-40 feet from the fence. Nikolsky saw Alexei from the window, and like a bullet ran out of the house and loudly reprimanded the little boy, who had done no harm. From then on we feared him.
From the window, hungrily, I watched the children romp and play all wrapped up like little bear cubs in bright red felt boots. They rode around in bright colored orange or red sleds, or were drawn by plucky little horses which reminded me of the Crimea. These ponies looked so warm in their winter “coats” and so alive as they tramped over the packed snow with their bells ringing and jauntily pulled their sleighs behind them. I pressed my face against the window. The jingling bells outside and the icy cold of the window cutting into my cheek inside were cruel substitutes for my great desire to go sleigh riding myself.