Yurovsky, unlike other Commissars, constantly followed us. We were conscious of his presence and could not ignore him. He was surrounded with guards mostly of foreign origin whose breath reeked with alcohol, though he himself did not appear to take any. He told Dr. Botkin he had had pneumonia a year before and since then his doctor forbade the use of alcohol. We felt that the new guards were dangerous men.
One of them, a German or Austrian, whose name was Mebus or Nebus, said he was sent by Trotsky to search the house. He must see everything of value. He rifled through every drawer, suitcase, bed and mattress and cushion. Among the medicine bottles they found one bottle with Persian grey powder. They took the bottle, saying that it was dynamite. Dr. Botkin was present when they sent this dangerous explosive to be analyzed outside, in spite of his explanation that it was a powder prescribed for Mother to be used in a vaporizer for her sinus trouble. Shortly thereafter it was returned, having been found by the chemists to be a harmless powder.
After his initial haul, Mebus returned, saying he had been searching in the bathroom, and announced that he had found some bullets wrapped in a woman’s garment, also some guns hidden under something, God knows where. We saw that the garment in question was a blouse belonging to one of us sisters, probably taken from the trunks in the attic, but we had not seen these trunks nor the garment since we left Tobolsk. The keys of these trunks and our money had been entrusted to General Tatishchev, but upon our arrival in Ekaterinburg we were separated from him. The Commissars probably confiscated the General’s belongings and thus found the keys, which they must have recognized as ours by special markings upon them.
We did not know where the entrance to this attic was. As to the blouse, it was originally sent to us in Tobolsk by Anna Vyrubova. Nebus or Mebus came in with the blouse, accompanied by a Commissar named Horwath, a Hungarian, and by four or five others who spoke German. When we heard them saying “Kishason” (lady), we knew they were Hungarians. One of these men wore an open shirt, and from his neck hung a black cord, a cross and a small square bag of soiled white cloth with something in it.
Thousands of these prisoners of war had willingly joined the Cheka, some for political reasons, others for religious reasons—or lack of them—and still others for loot. Horwath’s companions also included two Jews named Beloborodov and Goloshchekin (they had adopted these names). They fixed their eyes on our icons with a remark to which we did not reply.
That same afternoon Yurovsky, Beloborodov, Goloshchekin and Horwath walked through our rooms, demanding that we place all our jewels on the table. At this time we wore only our gold baptismal crosses and silver rings with an inscription “Save and Protect us”. We were afraid not to expose everything, especially with eyes fastened on us girls so suspiciously. They made no effort to examine our travelling clothes and for that we were thankful. They took everything they saw. Yurovsky with the help of others made a list of every item, then gave Father a copy—a scrap of paper—as a receipt, signed by all four thieves. He asked Father to value each item. Father said, “They have great sentimental value to us, since many of them are gifts from my wife’s family and her grandmother—Queen Victoria—and from myself.” Yurovsky asked: “But how much would such a piece cost if purchased today?” Father answered, “I am not a jeweler by trade, I cannot put a value on them.” Their grasping hands trembled when they took our treasures and placed them between layers in a cushioned bag. Later by searching the dining room and among the household things they found some gold-coated candles. They became suspicious and melted some but, to their disappointment, found nothing in them. The clinking of glasses in the office that evening kept us awake until long past midnight. No doubt the jewels were disposed of before our eyes were closed. These stolen and now blood-stained treasures were sold in foreign lands and are no doubt now adorning various ladies in many countries.
Early in the evening of this Saturday, Yurovsky stood excitedly at the door of our parents’ bedroom and said, “Nicholai Alexandrovich, your request is granted. The priest will be here tomorrow to conduct Sunday services.” The same evening we gathered some icons and, with the help of Father’s valet, a table was prepared in the middle of the rear wall and covered with a long white towel. We got everything ready for the next morning and prayed that there would be no unpleasantness between these godless men and the priest.
Sunday morning, July 14th, arrived and as we assembled in our room, Yurovsky came in and asked if we were ready. “Right, we are,” said Father. One of us sisters wheeled Alexei’s chair into the room. He gazed happily around with a greeting to the little group of a few friends who waited for us to enter the big room. However, a mistake had been made in this service. In his note to Yurovsky, Father had requested a service called “Obiednya” at which Communion is administered. We were all surprised to find that “Obiednitsa” was being conducted at which no Communion is administered. It is a service that is held for the dead.
Father asked Dr. Botkin to check with Yurovsky, because he had requested a Communion. Yurovsky motioned to the priest, saying, “A Communion is requested.” Evidently Yurovsky knew that the service for the dead was meant for our own funeral service. No doubt Father must have known that the tragedy was near because he requested the Communion. While the priest made his preparations and covered the wine chalice with a fine embroidered cloth, Yurovsky made an attempt to take the chalice from him to see what was in it. Father Storozhev jerked the chalice away and in a trembling voice shouted, “I will not let you touch this Holy Sacrament with your hands.” The priest stood some distance from us, since we were not permitted to have confession in the usual way. He raised the cross and said, “God shall forgive your sins.” We went to our knees in tears as Yurovsky stood aside watching us. We sisters were weeping throughout the entire service, and, as our hearts were only human, we could not chant during this service. We arose; the priest held the cloth over the chalice and administered the Holy Communion to us, while the deacon sang the creed.
Father Storozhev had brought the usual prosphora—the small biscuit which is given to each communicant—but Yurovsky insisted on breaking each of these into pieces to make sure there was nothing hidden in them. Dr. Botkin and others who until now had maintained their composure broke down. A napkin was brought and the prosphora was broken into pieces by the priest, and the service was concluded. In this dimly-lighted room a rite so divine and profound in our moment of solitude gave us a secret hope in our hearts. After the service Father kissed on both cheeks, according to Russian custom, the few remaining friends—Dr. Botkin, Trup, Kharitonov and the little Leonid. Mother and we sisters kissed Anna Demidova, our faithful maid.