THE ROOM ON THE GROUND FLOOR OF IPATIEF’S HOUSE IN WHICH THE IMPERIAL FAMILY AND THEIR COMPANIONS WERE PUT TO DEATH.
where their parents were awaiting them. After the agony of separation this reunion was a tremendous joy, in spite of the sadness of the present and the uncertainty of the future.
A few hours later Kharitonof (the chef), old Troup (footman), and little Leonide Sednief (scullery-boy) were also brought. General Tatichtchef, Countess Hendrikof, Mlle. Schneider, and Volkof, the Czarina’s valet-de-chambre, had been taken direct to the prison.
On the twenty-fourth, Tchemadourof, who had been taken ill, was transferred to the prison hospital; there he was forgotten, and so, miraculously, escaped death. A few days later Nagorny and Sednief were also removed. The number of those who had been left with the prisoners decreased rapidly. Fortunately Dr. Botkin, whose devotion was splendid, was left, and also a few servants whose faithfulness was proof against anything: Anna Demidova, Kharitonof, Troup, and little Leonide Sednief. During these days of suffering the presence of Dr. Botkin was a great comfort to the prisoners; he did all he could for them, acted as intermediary between them and the commissaries, and did his best to protect them against the coarse insults of their guards.
The Czar, Czarina, and Czarevitch occupied the room in the angle formed by the square and Vosnessensky Lane; the four Grand-Duchesses the adjoining room, the door of which had been removed; at first, as there was no bed, they slept on the floor. Dr. Botkin slept in the drawing-room and the Czarina’s maid in the room in the angle of Vosnessensky Lane and the garden. The other prisoners were installed in the kitchen and adjacent hall.
Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s ill-health had been aggravated by the fatigue of the journey; he spent the greater part of the day lying down, and when they went out to take the air it was the Czar who carried him as far as the garden.
The family and servants took their meals with the commissaries, who occupied the same floor as themselves, and so lived in constant proximity with these coarse men, who more often than not were drunk.
The house had been surrounded by a second fence of boards; it had been turned into a veritable prison fortress. There were sentries stationed outside and within, machineguns in the building and garden. The room of the Commissary Commandant—the first on entering the house—was occupied by Commissary Avdief, his adjutant Mochkine, and some workmen. The rest of the guard lived in the basement, but the men often came upstairs and strolled into the rooms of the Imperial family as they liked. The courage of the prisoners was, however, sustained in a remarkable way by religion. They had kept that wonderful faith which at Tobolsk had been the admiration of their entourage and which had given them such strength, such serenity in suffering. They were already almost entirely detached from this world. The Czarina and Grand-Duchesses could often be heard singing religious airs, which affected their guards in spite of themselves.
Gradually these guards were humanised by contact with their prisoners. They were astonished at their simplicity, attracted by their gentleness, subdued by their serene dignity, and soon found themselves dominated by those whom they thought they held in their power. The drunken Avdief found himself disarmed by such greatness of soul; he grew conscious of his own infamy. The early ferocity of these men was succeeded by profound pity.