During the war Prince Carol came to Russia several times and stayed with us for a few days. Once he was accompanied by Prime Minister Bratianu. However, even this time, Olga was not given an opportunity of being left with him alone for one single minute, entirely apart from others. There were always ladies in waiting and we the younger ones excitedly were in and out of the room. She had no chance to hold his hand and less of being kissed.
Nor was any one else given an opportunity to be with Olga unchaperoned. It was in Tobolsk that Mother first realized her mistake in not giving more independence to her older daughters.
Olga was named after my Aunt Olga. She was tall, slender, blonde with a lovely fresh complexion. Her eyes were a lustrous blue, her nose was slightly turned up. She often jokingly referred to it as “the little stub”. When she smiled she displayed beautiful white teeth. As I look back, I am more and more appreciative of her fine character. She was an omnivorous reader and wrote some stories which she sent to Aunt Missy, Queen Marie of Rumania, who in turn sent Olga stories she had written. Olga’s poetry was destroyed by herself at the time of the revolution. She had a deep religious faith and often sat beside a patient at the hospital praying that God might spare the life of the young soldiers. Her touch on the piano was excellent and was able to master the most difficult compositions of Tchaikovsky, Wagner, Mozart, and Beethoven. Mother and Olga often played duets on the piano. Her talent for composing and writing was inherited from her Danish and Romanov sides which boasted a long line of artists, poets, sculptors and musicians. She was a mezzo soprano; she memorized musical compositions very easily. Mr. Konrad was her musical instructor, as well as ours. Father’s favorite was Tchaikovsky’s “Chanson Sans Paroles”. When she played it for him, his face lighted up with pleasure. She loved Father tenderly. Often, when Father was troubled, he talked over his problems with Olga and permitted no other member of the family to be present. She loved children and sponsored several who were confined to the hospital. She even provided for their education by setting aside money from her allowance.
Going back to our Rumanian cruise, we arrived in Odessa at night, where the Imperial train was ready to take us to Kishinev for the unveiling of the monument to Alexander I. I remember the trip especially because Alexei misbehaved. No doubt this was due to fatigue brought on by the heat on the train. In Kishinev we were the guests of the Governor, an old friend, who wore the longest beard I have ever seen, reaching almost to his waist.
At the tea which followed, champagne was served. At an opportune moment, Alexei took a glass of champagne and drank it down before anyone could stop him. Soon this champagne took effect and he became very gay so that all the ladies, old and young surrounded him. I never realized he possessed such a sense of humor. Youngster that he was, he did not realize what the champagne had done to him. Of course the family was terrified at this display. In the evening back on the train when the effect had worn off, Father gave him a scolding and he was put to bed.
We children now realized that Alexei’s illness and the Jubilee had brought our studies to a virtual halt. Alexei and I used to have our French lessons together, but now he was far ahead of me. French was much easier for him than for me. I was really bored with all my studies. When I entered the classroom, my face grew long, but when school hours were over, I shot out of the detested place like a bullet. As a result my tutors were not fond of me and I felt their disapproval.
We had been home a short while when the world was shocked at the news of the assassination of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria and his wife on the streets of Sarajevo, on June 28th, 1914. After that date Father spent very little time with us. He was constantly busy with his ministers, diplomats and the Grand Dukes. The President of France, M. Poincaré, spent four or five days with us at Alexandria Cottage in Peterhof. He was as complaisant as President Fallières whom he had recently replaced. Father felt drawn to him from the start, admiring his diplomacy and friendly manner. Several dinners were given in his honor with the Imperial family attending. Everyone looked grave and alarmed, and I gathered matters must be serious. Why should the assassination of an Austrian be so threatening to Russia? I was told that Russia had an agreement which might implicate us all unless the affair could be settled amicably. The hour the President departed, the Austrian ultimatum was served at once on Russia and on Serbia.
Out of this puzzling dilemma which hung over Russia, two things were clear to me: the quiet paleness of Father and Mother’s tearful entreaties imploring that Russia be kept out of war. Mother kept repeating, “The country is not recovered from one war before it is in another.” She was thinking of the Japanese war, whose horrors were still fresh in her mind. Mother’s agonized face vividly foreshadowed the tragedy ahead.
Every summer there was a review of regimental maneuvers at Krasnoe Selo (near Tsarskoe Selo). This time they were held in honor of King Frederick Augustus III of Saxony. We sisters enjoyed horses and each had a favorite horse of her own. Tatiana especially knew a great deal about them, since she had been taught riding by a competent riding master, but so did we all. The two older sisters were unusually graceful on horseback, more so than Marie and I.
Cossack horses were especially fascinating to me, since they seemed to understand one’s very thoughts. Tatiana described to me how the Cossack and his horse grow up together. Training begins when the young Cossack is given a horse, a progeny of a Cossack horse, trained to the requirements of the Cossack regiment. From then on boy and horse are one, inseparable, each learning to understand the other: the boy is the head and the horse is the body. When the responses are mutual, they are ready to enter actively the Cossack regiment. I often wished I were a boy so that I might be a Cossack with a noble horse and wear a stunning uniform.