“Memoirs of the Destruction of the Romanovs” 

by Viktor Netrebin

Introduction 

Of course, I dwell on the period of time that I was in the House of Special Purpose, and I write everything that I know, and about everything that I went through in that house. My stay in the house lasted for about two weeks. I was selected, I think, by Comrade Yurovsky to serve as a member of the interior guard, because the previous interior guard conducted only a very weak surveillance, and they had been caught fraternizing with the prisoners. 

Short Biography

 I was born in 1900 in St. Nikolai-Pavdinsky. I completed my education in the same place. In 1915, I went to Ekaterinburg to become a shop assistant. Also in 1915, I first heard the public speakers that raised in me a revolutionary ardor. In 1917, when I was 17 years old, I volunteered for duty on the Dutov front. At this time, I became acquainted with members of the Bolshevik Party. 

The First Days 

One day, I was selected from my battalion at the Verkh-Isetsk Factory along with several other comrades by Comrade Yurovsky to do some special duty. Some men that I knew had already accepted this duty, and so I agreed as well, to become a guard on the former Tsar. We were told that we would likely be asked to execute the death penalty on the former Emperor, and that we would have to carry out in strict secrecy all that was to be accomplished with the former Tsar in the house of imprisonment. 

Not without astonishment at these revelations, we went to the House of Special Purpose. We were quartered in rooms on the lower floor of the house where members of the old guard under Commandant Avdayev had lived. I shared my room with four others, including two Latvians and an Austrian prisoner-of-war. One of them was 30 years old, the other 22 years old, a third 21 year old, and I at 17 was the youngest. I think they all perished in the Civil War. Comrade Yurovsky, the Commandant of the Special Purpose, as he was called at that time, acquainted us with the duties concerning guards' posts No. 1 and No. 2. Post No. 1 was at the entrance and door that led to the rooms which were occupied by the prisoners. This was the post at which I most often stood. In the doorpost was a bell that was rung at appointed hours and to warn of the time of things. Post No. 2 was earmarked for guarding the entrance to the door that led into the house, both going upstairs and downstairs and leading to the garden. Additionally, there was a post on the roof, where stood a Maxim machine gun. This post was manned by an old Lett. Below, in the room where we were housed, there was a window looking onto the little garden that ran around the house. Here stood a Colt machine gun. In Comrade Yurovsky's room, which was situated upstairs, there was an especially striking array of bombs. 

In the House of Special Purpose there were eleven people: Nicholas, his wife, four daughters, his son, Dr. Botkin, Vyrubova [sic], a cook, and a lackey. There was also a twelfth person, a boy but he was sent away to his home. Nicholas's wife was very stubborn and insisted on clinging to the ways of the past and seemed to expect that we would bow as she passed in or out from the garden. She clung to the traditions of the past and always observed the ringing of the church bells in the square. She appeared very thin and scrawny with thick graying hair, and was always serious-faced. Nicholas appeared to be absolutely stupid, but had a fine physique. All he ever spoke about was the weather and the progress of the war. He was the same every day. The former Grand Duchesses kept themselves cheerful and chattered to us on all occasions, sometimes teasing us by speaking in French or German. They always smiled naturally, while the others were mostly just ingratiating themselves. The eldest daughter stayed mostly away from her younger sisters, behaving like her arrogant mother. By the end, she was only skin and bone. Alexei seldom walked, for he had a bad leg. They went out twice a day, in the morning when they went to the garden for a walk, and again in the evening. Nicholas always carried Alexei in his arms. They made the most of their time in the garden, walking along the paths and playing with Alexei and the younger daughters passed more than a few minutes walking up and down the long alleyway at the side of the house. From the windows would come the sound of the "Marseillaise" and the "International." Nuns from the local monastery brought things for "Batushka Tsar." They came very early and brought milk and white flour. Quarts of milk and break were given to the prisoners. On Holy Days, services were arranged, which were for the prisoners. 

One day, it became clear from Comrade Yurovsky that it was necessary to think of the easiest and best way in which to carry out the execution; we began to discuss the question. I don't remember who suggested the following: To lock the prisoners in the corner room and to finish them with two bombs. Therefore, we had to decide who would throw the bombs. We drew lots. The lots fell to the old Lett and me. On the day that we were to carry out the execution, we were very nervous. Of course, we understood our position. We were standing very close to these people and at any time we could receive the word to start exploding bombs. Troops in the town were few to support us. All that we had had been sent to the front to defend the city from the Whites. At Verkh-Isetsk Factory, close to the city, there was an insurrection. People, even including the bourgeois, were evacuating the city from the railroad station, and a constant stream of automobiles and trucks passed by the House of Special Purpose in that direction. This last circumstance strongly affected the burning desire to carry out the planned mission. Although we almost carried out the plan several times when there was a lull in the traffic, Beloborodov and Safarov finally called off the mission. 

The Execution 

For the next several days, the captives' disquiet and anticipation was obvious. I felt myself absolutely relaxed as I had not passed any sleepless nights. Around this time, we found ourselves with two new faces-two workers from the Verkh-Isetsk Factory who had come to help the interior guard with the execution of the death penalty. But the question still remained: How? Again there was debate on how to carry out the death sentence, but this time we betrayed our previous plans. It was decided to shoot them with revolvers in a downstairs room, probably because of the lumber-room next to it that reminded us of the composition of the dividing wall between them. A heavy truck stood outside the courtyard door. The idea was that the engine noise would cover the execution noise. All weapons were gathered for inspection, and Captain of the Guard Medvedev and his assistant went round, telling all the outside men that they would have to remain on duty past their shifts and warning of the coming execution. 

Comrade Yurovsky went to the prisoners' rooms and woke them; they dressed and came downstairs on the pretext of not being safe upstairs because of shooting in the streets. We waited downstairs in a room. Right before this, our commander and one or two of the Letts refused to shoot the girls and were relieved of duty. When I took my revolver my position suddenly became clear and, like my comrades, I was extremely nervous at having to carry out the execution. Here we waited, guns in hand, for Yurovsky to come get us. 

I peered out as they passed. The Tsar came first, carrying his boy. Nicholas was calm, silent. His wife, very thin, followed, her gray hair disheveled from being woken so suddenly. Catching sight of us, she gave us a look as if expecting we would bow as she passed. Olga, arrogant as her mother and all skin and bones, led her sisters, who smiled naturally at us in their usual, cheerful manner. Next came the servants, and Vyrubova [sic] passed us with pillows in her hands. 

The family of Citizen Romanov went into the room and arranged itself across the wall then we entered. Nicholas stood in front of Alexei. As I looked over my comrades' shoulders, I saw Alexei, sickly looking and waxy, watching with wide, curious eyes as he followed our movements. I suddenly thought how very short his sad life had been, and I silently prayed we would all be good shots. 

The shooting was complete chaos. Vyrubova [sic] tried to protect herself with the pillows. After the first shots, I saw Alexei frozen in his chair, and his ashen face was covered with his father's blood as he sat there, unmoving in terror. One of the younger daughters died when she was shot in the back. Comrade Ermakov finished off a daughter by stabbing her in the chest over and over, and I remember Comrade Yurovsky shooting Tatiana in front of me; her head seemed to explode in a shower of blood and brains. The scene was sickening: the room was chaos, with blood and body fluids and brains all over the floor, and several comrades got sick at the sight. 

Thus ended the Dynasty of Romanov. 

On the street, the truck waited with a pile of jumbled bodies for Yurovsky. He jumped in and drove off with one old man, driving through the gates of the house. I did not take part in the burning of the bodies. 

The Packing of Property 

For several days afterwards, I heard from comrades about finding brilliants in their clothes. On the morning after the attack, and since we had no further guard duty, Comrade Yurovsky ordered us out of the blue to start packing things to evacuate to Moscow; this had to be done by July 19, when he was to leave Ekaterinburg. I collected together and stacked the diaries and journals of the executed. But time was so short that there could not be a detailed reading of them. Someone did read parts aloud to us as we worked. I don't know that anything was especially interesting. I, of course, did not want to hand over everything that had been written by their hands, I am ashamed to say. 

In the pages of the diaries, we found little hidden hostages-photographs, postcards, letters, little pieces of paper that were written over. I remember one folded piece of paper that was found between the leaves of the diary of the former Tsar. When we opened it, it was covered in swear-words of hooligans. I remember again another piece of paper tucked in the diary of the former Tsar, where he recounted suffering from piles and sitting for hours in the water-closet, watching a spider build a web on the ceiling. 

Among the possessions of Nicholas and his wife were some unusual things. In a bureau drawer we found several pubic wigs belonging to the Tsaritsa, for wearing on the sexual organ, and he had a diverse collection of condoms, in different shapes and types. 

They had had quite a pharmacy of potions and pills, including soaps and lotions and eau de cologne. Postcards, photos and portraits. I saw hanging up two peaked caps with cockades; one was the former Tsar's and the other was his son's. I kept from the boxes some of the little notes to read, but I didn't talk about them with anyone; later, Comrade Yurovsky growled at me over these notes. One of the comrades, sorting through some under-linen, which had been destined for the laundry, and had belonged to and had been worn by the former Duchesses, screwed them up and snuffled at them, laughing, and we passed them around. In the linen he also found a belt made of black velvet. This belt was edged with buttons covered themselves in black velvet, but the middle of the belt was hard like wood. The belt was very heavy, like a coachman's. "This was Nicholas pretending to be a driver," laughed the comrade. "Here, catch this!" We tossed around the belt, but soon someone missed it. The belt fell to the floor. The wood in the middle split the velvet and we saw it held diamonds that fell out all over the floor. They were large and one looked like a butterfly chrysalis. We all stood there, like we were rooted to the ground, impressed with the cunning of our former prisoners. We rechecked all their clothes, even the hatpins of the former Grand Duchesses, where we found more jewels and diamonds. 

It took two days to complete our packing mission and in that time I saw everything they had in every room. 

Viktor Nikiforovich Netrebin

Translation Copyright: Penny Wilson, 2000. From Russian text. May not be reproduced without permission.