Mother often played and sang with Countess Emma Fredericks, the daughter of our chamberlain. She, too, had a beautiful voice; unfortunately she was a cripple. I often wondered what became of her when misfortune swept the country. Another musically gifted friend was the lady-in-waiting, Baroness Iza Buxhoeveden. All these people contributed considerably to Mother’s happiness. Alexei’s illness in 1912 aggravated Mother’s heart condition and forced her to withdraw considerably from her hitherto enjoyed pleasures. When the war came, she stopped singing altogether, though she did take part in chants during church services, especially when we were under arrest.
Father encouraged all sorts of artistic endeavors. He wished to give an opportunity to all the poor to hear the best of concerts and see the plays and cinemas. The year of my birth he sponsored Narodny Dom, a cultural center in St. Petersburg, not far from the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul. This included large concert halls, a theatre and a cinema. The same artists who performed at the Imperial Theater were heard and seen in this cultural center, at the cost of only a few kopecks.
Never did Livadia seem more magical than at the time we arrived to find a beautiful new palace replacing the old wooden structure which had stood for generations. The new palace construction began in 1910 and was finished in 1911. It had forty or fifty rooms. It rose naturally from its surroundings as if it had grown out of the fertile soil itself. The old palace had been torn down because it developed some kind of malodorous mushroom which was hazardous to our health; so now only a memory existed in our minds. This was in contrast to the new building, so full of light and air, which was constructed of steel and of native, white Crimean Inkerman stone. It was quite as dazzling, in the sunshine, as the sea itself, and, indeed, cheerfully different from anything we had ever lived in. It did not seem like a palace, least of all ours. Mother was charmed, especially with the harmonizing colors; her pleasure made a home of it immediately. She was everywhere, supervising the putting up of different pictures or icons, or the placing of vases (designed by her) of exquisite blossoms on various tables. Father had made plans with the gardeners to make sure there would be plenty of Mother’s choice, favorite flowers. Her greatest favorite was lobelia. She loved its purplish-blue hue so much she requested that the same shade of velvet be set into the stair rail, next to the Byzantine-style chapel leading upstairs to the second floor apartments.
This time the old porcelain stoves were omitted and the palace was heated by hot water. All the rooms had direct bells connected with the room of the officers on duty who could enter the rooms if needed. Father later had telephone booths installed throughout the park, so he could be found wherever he might be. Also we had some trained dogs to watch the palace grounds. The colonnades and balconies were in white marble, and some of the lower rooms were in lemonwood, mahogany and redwood. Mother with the help of her architect, Krasnov, selected all the needed articles. She herself had painted a picture of wisteria vines which hung in one of her rooms in the Alexander Palace in Tsarskoe Selo (proof of her artistic talents). In our chapel there she had a glass screen of that same color, behind which she prayed undisturbed.
Father, too, was delighted with the new palace but his delight centered more on the outdoors, with its rare specimens of trees, shrubs and plants. The climate of the Crimea lent itself to all sorts of agricultural experiments, and he gave a great deal of time to naturalizing importations from the famous Nikitsky Botanical Garden near by. Whenever Father had a free moment to himself he enjoyed working in the gardens under the bright sun. In the spring there were varieties of hyacinths in bloom, white, purple and pink. Many flowering trees and shrubs embellished the beauty and elegance. Mother loved the combination of wisteria and smoke tree. A year before the war a storm destroyed many of these rare trees, which were soon replaced by new importations.
In front of the palace, facing the sea, was a lovely, life-sized, reclining female figure in pure white marble. Alexei and I discovered a hole on the side of the figure. It was large enough to squeeze a kopeck into, which we promptly did. On the following morning we rushed out to see if it was still there.
I have many vivid memories of the place and the happy times which we all enjoyed while there. To me the Crimean peninsula was a concentration of nature’s best: snow-capped mountains with little Tartar villages nestling on their slopes, high plains under cultivation, and valleys full of wild flowers and berries. The estate itself was especially beautiful, with its wide lanes, lovely gardens, and many orchards bearing every kind of fruit. But, perhaps, most beautiful of all, and certainly the accent for all the other natural beauties surrounding Livadia, was the sea itself. Even today, as I think of my childhood visits to the Crimea, happy memories come to my mind. I can see pictures of vividly colored flowers, soft green-blue waters and deeper skies, all fused together in the melting sunshine of the Russian Riviera. Life here was most pleasant, with less formality and with more leisure time for Mother and Father to spend with us children. Our visits usually came in the spring and fall, and the protracted winter which intervened became for all of us one long period of anticipation. Our last stay of any length was just before World War I, when I was almost thirteen.
We went to the Crimea by special train. We invariably went first to Sevastopol, where Father inspected the naval installations. These included the admiralty, naval barracks, hospital, and other buildings. Father frequently lunched with the officers at the Officers Club. When he was ready to proceed, we boarded a yacht or tender at the Tsarskaya Pristan (dock) and landed at Yalta where we were greeted by the people who lined the road as our carriages passed through. The natives considered this day a holiday.
Granny Marie had not visited the Crimea since the death of her husband, Alexander III, in 1894 and even the new palace which stood majestically among the trees could not induce her to pay us a visit. During the revolution, however, she was forced to flee to the Crimea.
Before the war, while we were in the Crimea, Father got up one morning before dawn, and dressed himself in a soldier’s uniform. Eluding the guards, he walked toward the rising sun. He passed through villages and saw people working in gardens and fields. All seemed happy and contented as they passed by him. We, afterwards, wondered if he had his great-granduncle, Alexander I, in mind. For it was believed that Alexander left one early morning, disguised as a beggar, walking for weeks through the villages until he reached a Siberian monastery. History tells us that Alexander I was ailing and died in Taganrog. But many believe that the day he was supposed to have died, he was seen escaping into the darkness of the palace grounds. His wife had a simple funeral for him, which was witnessed by only a few. The body was then brought to St. Petersburg where it was laid in a mausoleum in the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul—where all the Russian emperors were entombed. But it is said that the entombed body was not the Emperor’s but that of a soldier who had died in Taganrog at the same time that Alexander I had escaped. Alexander I allegedly died while hiding in an ancient monastery in Tomsk as a monk; the birthmarks on the body were the same as those of the Emperor. Later the Cathedral in St. Petersburg was flooded and, when the coffin that allegedly held the body of the Emperor was opened, it was found to be empty. The investigation disclosed that the coffin had been pried open in the past and the body removed.