After the anniversary festivities we never spent another night at the Winter Palace, our childhood home. But during the war my sisters often stopped in the rooms for a glass of tea, after various charitable meetings. It is sad to think what became of the treasures stored in those vaults and elsewhere for generations, belonging not only to the Imperial family but to the Russian people as well. These treasures, worth billions of rubles, were held until the leaders of the revolution, Lenin, Trotsky (Bronstein), Apfelbaum, Rosenfeld and others got their clutches upon them. It was rumored that much of it was divided among their relatives who came to our country for that purpose and to kill and loot. These people and their successors have been exporting our Russian national treasures, so long guarded by the Imperial family, and selling them to foreign countries.
From Moscow we went to Vladimir, then to Nizhni Novgorod and to Yaroslavl. The latter—an old historic city with a view of the wide river—was a charming sight. I cannot even begin to describe the enthusiastic reception. Throngs of children, cadets, the nobility and the townspeople lined the streets right down to the dock. What a rich sight from the river—this beautiful city on a little hill! The bells were still ringing until we could no longer hear them. We passed an expanse of meadows, shimmering fields, and the breeze was sweeping like a soft veil over that heavenly country.
In every city there were similar festivities, and dinners with many guests who had been especially selected to honor my Father and my Mother. Father’s guests at dinner were mostly men, and Mother entertained ladies in separate drawing rooms. The famous Plevitskaya sang again and bowed gracefully before the appreciative audience. There were many outstanding entertainments at which we made many new friends.
We were so tired at the end of our trip that Tatiana, in this mood, said: “People and more people—I am tired of them!” Mother, overhearing her say this, reprimanded her.
On our way to Kostroma we sailed on the Volga. People lined the shores, some even wading into the water up to their waists. When our boat developed some trouble and while the repairs were being made, the people thronged the shores and sang “God Save the Tsar.” The Imperial party was delayed in reaching Kostroma. It was in this terraced city overlooking the Volga River that the Romanov dynasty had its official beginning, and now a special ceremony was to be held to celebrate the three hundredth anniversary of the Romanov reign.
At last we reached the city and proceeded to the monument of Susanin. This was a column on which rested a bronze bust of the first Romanov Tsar, Michael Feodorovich. This column was supported by the peasant, Susanin. The latter was the Russian patriot who deliberately misled the Polish army which had invaded Russia and asked Susanin to lead the way to the whereabouts of the newly elected Tsar, who was in hiding. As a result of Susanin’s false directions, the Polish army was destroyed and was driven out. The plot of the famous opera, “A Life for the Tsar” by Glinka, was drawn from this heroic incident. This opera was one of my Father’s favorites. From the time of Feodor Romanov, a number of the brides of the Grand Dukes upon marriage adopted Saint Feodor and took the name of Feodorovna as a patronymic.
From the monument, the procession continued to the Ipatiev Monastery, where the first Romanov was sheltered in 1613. In the monastery courtyard was the beautiful Cathedral of the Holy Trinity and within it stood the iconostasis and the throne of Tsar Michael Feodorovich. This monastery had been built by a Tartar prince who was the founder of the Godunov family and who was the first to be baptized there.
While in the Cathedral we visited the dark rooms in which Michael once had lived. We sat on the chairs with the beautifully embroidered double eagles on their backs, and drank tea from the original containers at the same table once used by Tsar Alexei. In one of the rooms was a portrait of Michael and Alexei Romanov. Both looked a little like my Father. The legend tells us that Alexei was born on St. Job’s day, and so was my Father. And their experiences were sad, but those of Alexei were not as tragic as those of my Father.
Also, we went to the cemetery and laid an exquisite wreath made of silver in the form of the cap of Monomakh and decorated with jewels on the grave of Michael.
Parenthetically speaking, it was a strange coincidence that, in Ekaterinburg in 1918, in the Ipatiev House, the last Emperor of Russia, Nicholas II came to his tragic end. The Romanov dynasty was born in the Ipatiev Monastery in Kostroma in 1613 and died in the Ipatiev House in Ekaterinburg, three hundred and five years later. History tells us that, at the election of Michael Feodorovich Romanov, a crippled beggar woman who claimed to be a wandering saint had predicted that the Romanov dynasty was born with Michael and would die with another Michael. And so it happened. When Father abdicated, his brother Michael succeeded him to the throne but soon abdicated.