During Lent we were allowed to have services in our private chapel, but Father Vassiliev had to eliminate Father’s name from the ritual. With trembling voice he stopped in confusion when he came to the part in which he was supposed to say, “Long Life for the Imperial Family.” I am sure that in his mind he added the omission to his own satisfaction. When Father Vassiliev became ill, after much negotiating Count Fredericks, the Court Minister, received permission to have Father Belyayev, a deacon and four singers come to the palace during the Easter holidays.
Palm Sunday services had been held in the palace chapel on the ground floor at the fourth entrance of the building. During the services we were carefully watched. The guards were secreted behind the draperies and the altar. Father Belyayev seeing all this could not control his emotions; his tears fell freely down his vestment.
During the Holy Week two services a day were the only refreshing moments in our new lives. Mother stood behind a large screen made in her favorite purplish-blue crystal glass, which Father had given her previously. Behind the screen was a small, cushioned, kneeling stand, on top of which rested a Psalter. On the wall to the right, were several religious paintings, inherited from her Mother Alice and several gifts from her Granny, Queen Victoria. The Psalter was searched when it was brought in and again when taken away. In the small room on Mother’s right adjoining the chapel some Bibles were kept. Mother was very much annoyed when a guard stood behind her throughout the service. “Even in this holy place,” she said, “one is deprived of a moment of meditation.”
On the day of the Lord’s Crucifixion the revolutionists decided to bury their own dead. With the red flags flying and a band blaring forth with the Marseillaise and Chopin’s Funeral March, the procession advanced through the avenues of lime trees and stopped opposite the circular balcony from which we could see them marching. Among the dead they paraded were bodies taken from the cemetery, including those who died in the cellar, which they had set on fire during a drinking spree. But their evil scheme came to an end on this day, when angry, black clouds darkened the sky, when a terrific hail and wind storm furiously broke whole branches from the trees and pelted the metal roof of the palace with large hailstones. Candles were lit. When daylight returned, the courtyard was flooded, and there were large cakes of ice in the water. All was quiet now.
The same screeching cry and the detested Funeral March that should be reserved only for the dead was now heard every day. It became annoying even to the sentries. Often they whistled sarcastically as soon as the demonstrators appeared. I even heard this abhorrent March in my sleep.
Saturday night the staff, the servants and others, several hundred in all, were present at the midnight service in our chapel, which lasted till an early morning hour. The procession, headed by the priest who carried an icon, went through the rooms with the lighted candles and the message: “Khristos Voskrese (Christ is Risen)”, bringing the hope that our dark lives might be brightened.
We thought it was a sad Easter, but a worse one was to follow. On this Easter morning the staff, the chief of the guards, the commandant, officers, ladies in waiting and a few others assembled in Father’s library to break the blessed bread. In the afternoon those on duty assembled in Mother’s room for congratulations.
This year our relatives, and high ranking military men, Ministers, and the representatives of foreign countries no longer were permitted to come to congratulate us on this Holy Day. Queen Olga of Greece, the sister of the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich, miraculously entered the grounds but her entry into the palace was prevented. Her kind message and the Easter egg were delivered to us by an officer. A great many others came but were turned back at the gate.
There were several birthdays during our five months of imprisonment at Tsarskoe Selo. First came my Father’s. On his birthday, services were held in the chapel. The words “Long Life for the Tsar” were still missing; a sad day. Then Mother’s, then came Tatiana’s, and on June 5th, Russian calendar, I became sixteen years old—the year I should have been officially presented to the Russian court. But there was no debut for me and I did not care. The family did their best to make an occasion of it. A service was held in the chapel and I received congratulations from all around me. A year earlier a design made by Fabergé for my lavalier had been approved by my family, to be made of diamonds and pearls. I was to receive it on this day. Instead, these sixteen diamonds and sixteen pearls, one for each birthday and one for each name day, were sewn into my clothes when we left for Siberia. Not long after my own birthday came Marie’s, and then just before our departure from Tsarskoe Selo came Alexei’s.
More about our imprisonment. First, there was some improvement in Mother’s health. However, during the hot spell in July her heart condition became worse. She was forced to lead a quiet life. There were no more separations, no more hospital work and no attacks of haemophilia for Alexei. We all fell into a routine. Lessons had been entirely neglected since our illness. Some of our instructors came from outside. They taught in the gymnasium and in other schools. Now it was no longer permissible for them to resume their former duties. Monsieur Gilliard spent most of his time with Alexei, and in general was most helpful in reorganizing the household with which the others were inexpert to cope.