As Alexei’s thirteenth birthday had approached, we had trembled for fear that something might happen on that day. We somehow expected our departure, but not on such short notice. So many momentous incidents had been connected with the number thirteen that we sisters were superstitious about that number. The three hundredth anniversary of the Romanov dynasty was celebrated in 1913. On March 13th, 1917, Marie became deadly ill with measles and pneumonia. On Sunday, July 30th (August 12th), 1917 Alexei became thirteen years old. Misfortune struck us again. After the Te Deum in our chapel and congratulations for Alexei’s birthday, Count Benckendorff brought the news that we were to leave the next day. We still hoped it would be the Crimea. Because of Alexei’s birthday it was postponed to the following day. We all went about as if nothing had happened, but in our hearts there was grief and fear. Alexei played on the little island and we went out and looked over the garden. We knew then that it was our last time in this beloved place. If we must go, let’s go quickly.
We did not know our destination. Kerensky made a secret of it. He assured Father it would be a safer place, and that we should take with us plenty of warm clothing. Both parents were stoical. Evidently we were not going to the Crimea. For weeks our trunks had been ready, but now we each had been told to decide what additional, but only needed, articles we wished to take with us. Mother said to leave everything undisturbed. I laid aside many things which finally had to be abandoned. I felt like a traitor. At last, I finished sorting.
I was determined to help pack my own suitcase for the first time. It was no longer possible to take anything out of our vaults, treasures given Mother by Father and her family. A number of her precious icons were wrapped carefully. She took only those given by proven, loyal friends. We children also selected some from the corners of our bedrooms to take with us on this trip.
In spite of our intentions to travel lightly, trunk after trunk was filled and sent downstairs. If we should ever reach England we wanted so much to have some of our things with us.
It was decided that any member of our household who so wished could go with us, but anyone who did not intend to follow us should leave the palace immediately. A number of employees, not wanting to be separated from their families, had already left. Father preferred to take along only those without family responsibilities. However, many servants left their families behind and followed us into exile. No doubt, it took courage to follow us, especially when our destination was not known, yet we hated to leave so many behind whose loyalty we never questioned. At the same time it was decided that the garden vegetables would be used by those employees who stayed with us to the last. Count Benckendorff was to remain in the palace and care for Father’s private business affairs.
Before we left Father reminded Count Benckendorff that he, through Count Rostovtsev, Mother’s secretary who was in charge of our private fortunes, and through Mr. Peter Bark, whose responsibilities related to family private interests abroad including insurance and investments, should pay, respectively, all our bills at home and abroad. One of Count Benckendorff’s stepsons, Prince Valia Dolgorukov, was to go with us. We heard later that Kerensky went back to the palace, after taking us to the station, and ordered Count Benckendorff to leave our home at once.
Father was given the choice of taking one of the generals with him. He selected General Tatishchev. This friend, who was independently rich, had all the necessary qualities and was liked by everybody. The several hundred men who carried our baggage downstairs were rewarded. One of them, a soldier, lifted his three-ruble note to his lips and kissed it. By the way his shoulders shook, we knew that he was crying. A few of our trunks were left upstairs and some were brought to Tobolsk much later. We were allowed to take with us several dogs. I took my “Jemmy” who had been given to me by Anna. Being small she did not require much food.
We were now leaving our bedrooms, music room, class room, and playrooms, where we had placed our dolls with their arms stretched out as if they were asking us not to leave them behind. Alexei tearfully placed his Teddy bear against the door to guard his possessions. As we wandered through the rooms in lingering farewell, each tried not to see the other. Those who were to stay behind cried and kissed us children every time they saw us. These good-byes to our childhood home were dreadful. This ancestral home we were leaving was part of us. We gave it a reverential farewell. Marie and I went to our knees in the corner of our bedroom, set up with icons. Our eyes were fixed on the empty places from which some icons had been removed to go with us on this trip.
We were nervous, full of anguish, and, in spite of our efforts to be brave, we cried and we were reduced to sobs. Our good friend Dr. Botkin, who had been absent because of illness in his family, had just returned. He gave us sisters drops of valerian to quiet our nerves. What went on in Father’s and Mother’s hearts only they knew. It was a queer, heartrending feeling when we left our rooms not knowing of the future ahead.
We five children went down the private spiral stairway. As we did so, the memory of my young years came back to me. I remembered when I happily used to run up and down the steps trying to make two at a time. Now I could not see them; a handkerchief was pressed to my swollen eyes. The stairs led us to Mother’s apartment. She had just finished a thanksgiving prayer when we appeared. We did not dare to look at her.