One day Olga was found crying. She had been unhappy. She said that she had been observing the developments and believed that we were doomed. Father sent for Colonel Kobylinsky who admitted that danger was creeping upon us. Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev believed she was right and thought we should escape before the new commissar from Ekaterinburg arrived. But our parents refused to leave Russia, and would not think of separation. We humbly bowed our heads and accepted the inevitable.
All of a sudden a change came into our lives. The Bolsheviks turned their binoculars on us. One day Colonel Kobylinsky informed Father that the Imperial family must go on rations, because keeping us was too heavy a burden on the Communist regime. Each one of us was to receive 600 rubles per month, the same as the soldiers. Father knew nothing about the cost of the operation of our establishment. He asked M. Gilliard, who was the most practical of all, to set up a budget and Prince Dolgorukov and General Tatishchev to help him. When they came with figures, it was concluded that ten servants had to be discharged. My parents became terribly distressed and made all kinds of excuses: this one had a sick mother, another had an invalid son, a third was the sole supporter of his motherless children. What would happen to all these families who came here from Tsarskoe Selo? It went on and on. At last Gillek (M. Gilliard) and General Tatishchev made their own decision, and ten servants came to thank us for treating them so kindly in the past. It was sad losing them, though we could not foresee how fortunate they were.
The new commissar from Ekaterinburg arrived and we heard that he had brought with him about one hundred men, all fanatical Marxists. He was a red-faced brute by the name of Zaslovsky, with a bad reputation.
No sooner had the new young men arrived than trouble developed between them and the old soldiers who had refused them entry to our residence. They became angry and threatened to storm the house. Colonel Kobylinsky and Zaslovsky were bargaining all night downstairs. We dressed and sat up expecting trouble. Long after midnight we heard familiar voices in the corridor. Colonel Kobylinsky sent for more guards to insure our safety. We heard some foreign voices coming from outside the gate, then a loud voice saying, “I am following the orders of Colonel Kobylinsky. I cannot let you in. Then speak to him.” As a result of this incident Colonel Kobylinsky wanted to resign but Father persuaded him to stay with us. We felt that his presence was helpful to us, even though we knew that he had no power over the new soldiers.
Father believed that at least ten of the new men were disguised former officers. However, if they were former officers they were helpless, because Zaslovsky ordered more men from Tomsk. These men boasted that they had killed the director of the Cadet School and destroyed the headquarters of the Fourth Siberian Army Corps stationed in Tomsk. They said that they had burned the house on Father’s estate in the town of Bernaul on the river Ob and had killed the superintendent in charge. Father had inherited several big estates with large milk and cheese plants in Siberia. Tons of these products were distributed every year to different charitable institutions. Father had visited his estates during the construction of the Trans-Siberian railroad. Zaslovsky bragged that they had already destroyed the gold smelting works and had taken away all the available gold. They also tried to plunder the monastery at Tomsk but were driven away by the monks. This is the monastery that was referred to previously.
Zaslovsky brought us much misery and inexpressible horror right from the start. He ordered us to keep from five to six feet away from the fence, and to go out only under guard and only for thirty minutes twice a day. Our outdoor exercise consisted mainly of cutting wood. We performed this humble work in the back of the building cheerfully and without complaining, and by so doing we helped members of our household whose duty it was to supply the house with wood. Zaslovsky had our house searched and several items belonging to Father were taken away.
Each day brought some new deprivations or restrictions and some fresh heckling by the guards who took pleasure in humiliating us. In return we acquiesced in their demands, disarmingly, at least outwardly. Following Father’s example we accepted everything. Among the soldiers only a few good men were left. In the past, each relay of guards had started out to be severe, then gradually softened. But not these men. They were a dangerous lot. In order to avoid trouble Father and his friends—all of them understood carpentry—had earlier built a ladder which led outside to the top of the roof of an unused greenhouse, which had already been converted into a chicken coop. They also built a platform where we could sit in the sun without being seen from the street.
More restrictions were put on us. The last two days before Lent are by custom days of merriment during which the people enjoy themselves at concerts, balls and in many other ways. Zaslovsky, fearing riots by the people, forbade us to leave the house during those two days. The schools were closed and there was a constant flow of students from the gymnasium. They were gay; we heard the bells ringing; the children were expecting to see the monkey and to hear the organ grinder, who had stopped before the house for Alexei to witness the spectacle and to hear the children sing and play. But Zaslovsky had locked the balcony door and had taken the key back to the office. We heard loud voices outdoors; the guards were driving the students and the youngsters away with the butts of their rifles. The youngsters ran and the students cried: “Go back from where you came, you unwelcome guests.” Zaslovsky said he would shoot anyone who came near the fence. In spite of the warning, the passers-by continued to walk past the house, even more than before. When the people saw us in the window, they always removed their caps and bowed low.
Sorrow and dread were our constant companions. We woke up with sadness, and went to bed in sadness. Father tried to read to us, but the silent interchange of fear muddled the thread of the story he read. He tried to make his voice firm and hopeful but it did not have the ring of former days.
Up to now we were able to send and receive some letters from our relatives in Ai-Todor in the Crimea. Now we heard that the mail service was being discontinued. However, we continued to receive some letters. Since Zaslovsky’s arrival we had stopped writing letters as we knew that they would not be mailed. The last letter we received from the Crimea told us that the family there had been separated. Aunt Xenia with her family and Grandmother had been moved to the chateau of Dyulber, belonging to the Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevich. Though they were not far from the Youssoupoffs at Koreiz, still they could not see each other.