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Reproducibility Principles Problems Practices and
Prospects 1st Edition Harald Atmanspacher Digital
Instant Download
Author(s): Harald Atmanspacher, Sabine Maasen
ISBN(s): 9781118864975, 1118864972
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 7.28 MB
Year: 2016
Language: english
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REPRODUCIBILITY

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REPRODUCIBILITY
Principles, Problems, Practices, and
Prospects

Edited by

HARALD ATMANSPACHER
Collegium Helveticum, University and ETH Zurich, Zurich, Switzerland

k SABINE MAASEN k
Munich Center for Technology in Society, Technical University, Munich, Germany

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 k

Copyright © 2016 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc. All rights reserved

Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey

Published simultaneously in Canada

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Names: Atmanspacher, Harald. | Maasen, Sabine, 1960-

Title: Reproducibility : principles, problems, practices, and prospects /
edited by Harald Atmanspacher, Sabine Maasen.
Description: Hoboken, New Jersey : John Wiley & Sons, Inc., [2016] | Includes
index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015036802 | ISBN 9781118864975 (cloth)
Subjects: LCSH: Observation (Scientific method) | Science–Methodology.
Classification: LCC Q175.32.O27 R47 2016 | DDC 001.4/2–dc23 LC record available at
http://lccn.loc.gov/2015036802

Typeset in 11/13.6pt CMSS10 by SPi Global, Chennai, India

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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Table of Contents

Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Harald Atmanspacher and Sabine Maasen

PART I: CONTEXTUAL BACKGROUNDS

Introductory Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Harald Atmanspacher
Reproducibility, Objectivity, Invariance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Holm Tetens
Reproducibility between Production and Prognosis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Walther Ch. Zimmerli
Stability and Replication of Experimental Results:
k A Historical Perspective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 k
Friedrich Steinle
Reproducibility of Experiments: Experimenters’ Regress,
Statistical Uncertainty Principle, and the Replication Imperative . . . 65
Harry Collins

PART II: STATISTICAL ISSUES

Introductory Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
Harald Atmanspacher
Statistical Issues in Reproducibility . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
Werner A. Stahel
Model Selection, Data Distributions and Reproducibility . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
Richard Shiffrin and Suyog Chandramouli
Reproducibility from the Perspective of Meta-Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
Werner Ehm
Why Are There so Many Clustering Algorithms,
and How Valid Are Their Results? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169
Vladimir Estivill-Castro

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vi Table of Contents

PART III: PHYSICAL SCIENCES

Introductory Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201

Harald Atmanspacher
Facilitating Reproducibility in Scientific Computing:
Principles and Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
David H. Bailey, Jonathan M. Borwein, and Victoria Stodden
Methodological Issues in the Study of Complex Systems . . . . . . . . . . . 233
Harald Atmanspacher and Gerda Demmel
Rare and Extreme Events . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
Holger Kantz
Science under Societal Scrutiny:
Reproducibility in Climate Science . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269
Georg Feulner

k PART IV: LIFE SCIENCES k

Introductory Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287

Harald Atmanspacher
From Mice to Men: Translation from Bench to Bedside . . . . . . . . . . . . 291
Marianne Martic-Kehl and P. August Schubiger
A Continuum of Reproducible Research in Drug Development . . . . . . 315
Gerd Folkers and Sabine Baier
Randomness as a Building Block for Reproducibility
in Local Cortical Networks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 325
Johannes Lengler and Angelika Steger
Neural Reuse and in-Principle Limitations
on Reproducibility in Cognitive Neuroscience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341
Michael L. Anderson
On the Difference between Persons and Things–
Reproducibility in Social Contexts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 363
Kai Vogeley

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Table of Contents vii

PART V: SOCIAL SCIENCES

Introductory Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 385

Sabine Maasen and Harald Atmanspacher
Order Effects in Sequential Judgments and Decisions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 391
Zheng Wang and Jerome Busemeyer
Reproducibility in the Social Sciences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407
Martin Reinhart
Accurate But Not Reproducible?
The Possible Worlds of Public Opinion Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 425
Felix Keller
Depending on Numbers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 447
Theodore M. Porter
Science between Trust and Control:
Non-Reproducibility in Scholarly Publishing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 467
Martina Franzen
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PART VI: WIDER PERSPECTIVES

Introductory Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 487

Sabine Maasen and Harald Atmanspacher
Repetition with a Difference: Reproducibility in Literature
Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 491
Ladina Bezzola Lambert
Repetition Impossible: Co-Affection by Mimesis and
Self-Mimesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 511
Hinderk Emrich
Relevance Criteria for Reproducibility:
The Contextual Emergence of Granularity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 527
Harald Atmanspacher
The Quest for Reproducibility
Viewed in the Context of Innovation Societies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 541
Sabine Maasen

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 563

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Contributors

Michael Anderson Jerome Busemeyer

Department of Psychology Department of Psychological
Franklin and Marshal College and Brain Sciences
Lancaster PA, USA Indiana University
[email protected] Bloomington IN, USA
[email protected]
Harald Atmanspacher
Collegium Helveticum Suyog Chandramouli
University and ETH Zurich Department of Psychological
Zurich, Switzerland and Brain Sciences
[email protected] Indiana University
Bloomington IN, USA
Sabine Baier [email protected]
Collegium Helveticum
k University and ETH Zurich Harry Collins k
Zurich, Switzerland School of Social Sciences
[email protected] Cardiff University
Cardiff, UK
David H. Bailey
[email protected]
Lawrence Berkeley
National Laboratory
Berkeley CA, USA Werner Ehm
[email protected] Heidelberg Institute
for Theoretical Studies
Ladina Bezzola Lambert Heidelberg, Germany
Department of English [email protected]
University of Basel
Basel, Switzerland Hinderk Emrich
[email protected] Psychiatric Clinic
Hannover Medical School
Jonathan Borwein Hannover, Germany
School of Mathematical [email protected]
and Physical Sciences
University of Newcastle Vladimir Estivill-Castro
Callaghan NSW, Australia Department of Information
[email protected] and Communication Technologies

k
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x Contributors

University Pompeu Fabra University of St. Gallen

Barcelona, Spain St. Gallen, Switzerland
[email protected] [email protected]

Georg Feulner Johannes Lengler

Earth System Analysis Theoretical Computer Science
Potsdam Institute for ETH Zurich
Climate Impact Research Zurich, Switzerland
Potsdam, Germany [email protected]
[email protected]
Sabine Maasen
Gerd Folkers Munich Center for Technology in Society
Collegium Helveticum Technical University
University and ETH Zurich Munich, Germany
Zurich, Switzerland [email protected]
[email protected]
Theodore Porter
Martina Franzen Department of History
Wissenschaftszentrum University of California
k für Sozialforschung Los Angeles CA, USA k
Reichpietschufer 50 [email protected]
Berlin, Germany
[email protected] Martin Reinhart
Institute for Social Sciences
Holger Kantz Humboldt University
Nonlinear Dynamics Berlin, Germany
and Time Series Analysis [email protected]
Max-Planck-Institute for
Physics of Compex Systems P. August Schubiger
Dresden, Germany Collegium Helveticum
[email protected] University and ETH Zurich
Zurich, Switzerland
Marianne Martic-Kehl [email protected]
Collegium Helveticum
University and ETH Zurich Richard Shiffrin
Zurich, Switzerland Department of Psychological
[email protected] and Brain Sciences
Indiana University
Felix Keller Bloomington IN, USA
Humanities and Social Sciences [email protected]

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Contributors xi

Werner Stahel Holm Tetens

Seminar for Statistics Institute for Philosophy
ETH Zurich Free University
Zurich, Switzerland Berlin, Germany
[email protected] [email protected]

Angelika Steger Kai Vogeley

Theoretical Computer Science Department of Psychiatry
ETH Zurich University Hospital
Zurich, Switzerland Cologne, Germany
[email protected] [email protected]

Friedrich Steinle Zheng Wang

Institute for Philosophy School of Communication
Technical University Ohio State University
Berlin, Germany Columbus OH, USA
[email protected] [email protected]

Victoria Stodden Walther C. Zimmerli

k Graduate School of Library Graduate School k
and Information Sciences Humboldt University
University of Illinois Berlin, Germany
Urbana-Champaign IL, USA walther.ch.zimmerli@hu-berlin.
[email protected] de

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Introduction
Harald Atmanspacher and Sabine Maasen
Reproducibility has become a hot topic both within science and at the inter-
face of science and society. Within science, reproducibility is threatened, among
other things, by new tools, technologies, and big data. At the interface of science
and society, the media are particularly concerned with phenomena that question
good scientific practice. As bad news sell, today problems of reproducibility seem
to be ranked right next to fraud. The economy, and especially the biotechnology
economy, is interested in innovation based upon novel yet robust knowledge and
politics in the so-called knowledge societies seek to base their decisions on best
evidence, yet is regularly confronted with competing expertise.
A key step toward increasing attention to deep problems with reproducible
findings in science was the paper “Why most published research findings are
false” by Ioannidis (2005). One among many recent urging proclamations fol-
lowing it was published in The Scientist magazine (Grant 2012):

The gold standard for science is reproducibility. Ideally, research results

are only worthy of attention, publication, and citation if independent re-
k searchers can reproduce them using a particular study’s methods and ma- k
terials. But for much of the scientific literature, results are not reproducible
at all. The reasons and remedies for this state of affairs was the topic of
a recent panel discussion titled “Sense and Reproducibility”, held at the
annual meeting of the American Society for Cell Biology in San Francisco,
California. ... The panel offered suggestions, such as raising journals’
publication standards, establishing the use of electronic lab notebooks at
research facilities, and helping laboratory supervisors provide improved su-
pervision by reducing the size of labs.

Since about a decade voices abound – both in academia and in the media – that
lament lacking reproducibility of scientific results and urgently call for better
practice. Given that scientific achievements ultimately rest upon an effective
division of labor, it is of paramount importance that we can trust in each other’s
findings. In principle, they should be reproducible – as a matter of course;
however, we often simply rely on the evidence as published and proceed from
there. What is more, current publication practices systematically discourage
replication, for it is novelty that is associated with prestige. Consequently, the
career image of scientists involved with cutting-edge research typically does not
include a strong focus on the problems of reproducing previous results.
And, clearly, there are problems. In areas as diverse as social psychology
(Nosek 2012), biomedical sciences (Huang and Gottardo 2013), computational

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2 Atmanspacher and Maasen

sciences (Peng 2011), or environmental studies (Santer et al. 2011),1 serious

flaws in reproducing published results have been and keep being detected. Ini-
tiatives have been launched to counter what is regarded as dramatically under-
mining scientific credibility. Whether due to simple error, misrepresented data,
or sheer fraud, irreproducibility corrupts both intra-academic interaction based
on truth and the science–society link based on the trustworthiness of scientific
evidence.
Among the initiatives introduced to improve the current state of affairs we
find workshops, roundtables, and special issues addressing the topic, e.g., in Na-
ture (Schooler 2011, Baker et al. 2012). The journal Biostatistics changed its
policy with a focus on reproducible results in an editorial by Peng (2009). The
journal Science devoted a special issue to the topic in December 2011, and later
revised its publication guidelines concerning the issue of reproducibility (McNutt
2014). Three prominent psychology journals jointly established a “reproducibil-
ity project” recently,2 and the journal PLOS ONE launched a “reproducibility
initiative” in 2012. The European Journal of Personality published recommenda-
tions for reproducible research (Asendorpf et al. 2013) as the result of an expert
meeting on “reducing non-replicable findings in personality research.”
Funding agencies have also joined forces: e.g., the National Science Founda-
k tion of the United States created the “Sustainable Digital Data Preservation and k
Access Network Partners” (DataNet) program to provide an infrastructure for
data-driven research in 2007. And, very recently, the National Academy of Sci-
ences of the United States hosted an internal symposium titled “Protecting the
Integrity of Science” (Alberts et al. 2015). An extensive report on reproducible
research as an ethical issue is due to Thompson and Burnett (2012).
In sum, these examples point to an increased attention toward reproducibility
as a topic sui generis. They testify to an increasing interest in reproducibility
as a scientific ethos that needs to be upheld – even more so, as new tools
and technologies, massive amounts of “big data,” inter- and transdisciplinary
efforts and projects, and the complexity of research questions genuinely challenge
and complicate the conduction of reproducible research. Many of them call for
methods, techniques (including their epistemic and ontological underpinnings),

1
These references are a tiny subset of the existing literature on problems with reproducibility.
Many more examples will be addressed in the main body of this volume.
2
The project is a large-scale, open collaboration currently involving more than 150 scien-
tists from around the world. The investigation is currently sampling from the 2008 issues
of the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Psychological Science, and Journal of
Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition; see Open Science Collaboration
(2012). The results have been published by the Open Science Collaboration (2015); see also
https://osf.io/ezcuj/.

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Introduction 3

and/or best practices that are intended to improve reproducibility and safeguard
against irreproducibility.
The challenges of sound reproducible research have moved into the focus of
interest in an increasing number of fields. This handbook is the first comprehen-
sive collection of articles concerning the most significant aspects of the principles
and problems, the practices and prospects of achieving reproducible results in
contemporary research across disciplines. The areas concerned range from nat-
ural sciences and computational sciences to life sciences and social sciences,
philosophy, and science studies.
Accordingly, the handbook consists of six parts. Each of them will be intro-
duced by separate remarks concerning the background and context of aspects
and issues specific to it. These introductory remarks will also contain brief sum-
maries of the chapters in it and highlight particularly interesting or challenging
features.
Part I covers contextual background that illuminates the roots of the con-
cept of reproducibility in the philosophy of science and of technology (Tetens,
Zimmerli), and addresses pertinent historical and sociological traces of how re-
producibility came to be practiced (Steinle, Collins). Part II frames the indis-
pensable role that statistics and probability theory play in order to assess and
k k
secure reproducibility. Basic statistical concepts (Stahel), new ideas on model
selection and comparison (Shiffrin and Chandramouli), the difficult methodol-
ogy of meta-analysis (Ehm), and the novel area of data mining and knowledge
discovery in big-data science (Estivill-Castro) are covered.
Parts III–V are devoted to three main areas of contemporary science: phys-
ical sciences, life sciences, and social sciences. Part III includes the viewpoints
of computational physics (Bailey, Borwein, and Stodden), severe novel prob-
lems with reproducibility in complex systems (Atmanspacher and Demmel), the
field of extreme and rare events (Kantz), and reproducibility in climate research
(Feulner). Part IV moves to the life sciences, with articles on drug discovery
and development (Martic-Kehl and Schubiger, Folkers and Baier), the neurobi-
ological study of cortical networks (Lengler and Steger), cognitive neuroscience
(Anderson) and social neuroscience (Vogeley).
Part V offers material from the social sciences: a critical look at the reduc-
tion of complex processes to numbers that statistics seems to render unavoidable
(Porter), innovative strategies to explore question order effects in surveys and
polls (Wang and Busemeyer), original views on public opinion research (Keller),
issues of reproducibility as indicated in the “blogosphere” (Reinhart), and an
in-depth study of notorious problems with reproducibility in scholarly communi-
cation (Franzen).

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4 Atmanspacher and Maasen

Part VI widens the perspective from reproducibility as a problem in scien-

tific disciplines (in the narrow sense) to literature and literature studies (Bezzola
Lambert) and psychopathology and psychoanalysis (Emrich). There is a clear
shift in viewpoint here from the attempt to repeat experiments and reproduce
their results to an analysis of why strict repetition is not only impossible but
also undesirable. Another article (Atmanspacher) proposes that the way repro-
ducibility is studied needs to be adapted to the granularity of the description
of the system considered. The final contribution (Maasen) leads us back to
the science–society link and the impact of extrascientific forces on research that
often remains underrepresented or even disregarded.
This volume investigates the principles, problems, and practices that are
connected with the concept of reproducibility, but there is a fourth “p-word” in
addition: prospects. In some of the chapters the point is not only to understand
principles, address problems, or scrutinize practices – there can also be a strongly
constructive dimension in research questions that, on the surface, suffer from a
lack of reproducibility. One pertinent example in this volume is the paper by An-
derson, who builds on the limited reproducibility of neural correlates of mental
states and proposes new ways of interpreting them coherently. Another example
is the radical shift in theories of decision making proposed by Wang and Buse-
k meyer, which furthers our understanding of order effects in sequential decisions k
for which no systematic and consistent modeling framework was available until
recently.
While the handbook as a whole is dedicated to explore “reproducibilities”
on cognitive and technical levels, its other goal is to scrutinize the notorious
difficulties with producing reproducibility in a reflexive manner. Such reflexive
perspectives are scattered throughout the individual contributions to this book,
addressing, e.g., challenges enforced by information technology. However, parts
I, V, and VI in particular inquire into philosophical, historical, social, and political
contexts and their interaction with notions and practices of reproducibility. In
this way, they elucidate the manifold conditions and consequences of the quest
for reproducibility induced by those interactions.
From these perspectives, science is regarded as both a socio-epistemic en-
deavor and a highly specialized, yet integral part of society. Science and its
particular modes of producing knowledge thus cannot be understood without
considering them as historically evolved practices and as objects of societal ex-
pectations: Most importantly, science is expected to produce reliable knowledge.
While peers within the same scientific discipline – under the considerations and
within the limits outlined in the chapters of this volume – apply established
means to verify their research, things become markedly problematic in interdis-

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Introduction 5

ciplinary research with differing standards, and they may become impossible in
extra-scientific contexts.
To put this in simple terms: Society cannot but trust in science and its
internal procedures to produce knowledge that is both true and, hence, trust-
worthy. Therefore, the recently perceived lack of reproducibility is not only an
intra-scientific affair but is also critically noticed by societal actors such as the
mass media (e.g., Zimmer 2012). Moreover, it is addressed by science political
actors (Maasen, this volume) or editors of scholarly journals (Franzen, this vol-
ume) and by concrete measures such as codes of conduct to improve scientific
practice.
Finally, a few remarks concerning terminology are in order. Although we
chose to use the notion of reproducibility to characterize the topic of this volume,
there is another term that is often used interchangeably: replicability. This is
visible in the surprisingly few volumes or reviews on the topic that can be found
in the literature (e.g., Sidman 1960, Smith 1970, Krathwohl 1985, Schmidt
2009). And it also shows in the contributions to this volume – some authors
prefer one, some the other notion, and (to the best of our knowledge) there is
no authoritative delineation between them.
One feature, however, seems significant for “replication” and is very rarely
k k
addressed in terms of “reproduction”: As the literature shows (e.g., Charron-
Bost 2009), replication is mostly referred to if one focuses on how data are copied
(rather than reproduced by repeated observations or measurements). This is
particularly evident in information technology communities (distributed systems,
databases), but of course also in genetic (DNA) replication.
A third related notion is repeatability. It is primarily adopted if an obser-
vational act (measurement) or a methodological procedure (data analysis) is
repeated, disregarding the replication or the reproduction of the result of that
act or procedure. An experiment may be repeated within the same laboratory
or across laboratories. This difference is sometimes addressed as the difference
between “internal” and “external” repetitions. Whether or not its results and
conclusions from them are compatible would be a matter of reproducibility.
Whatever the most appropriate notion for “reproducibility” may be, this vol-
ume shows that it would be wrong to think that it can be universally stipulated.
Depending on context, one may want to reproduce system properties character-
izable by single values or distributions of such values. One may be interested
in patterns to be detected in data, or one may try to reproduce models inferred
from data. Or reproducibility may not relate to quantitative measures at all.
All these “reproducibilities” unfold an enormous interdisciplinary tension which
is inspiring and challenging at the same time.

k
 k

6 Atmanspacher and Maasen

As reflexive interactions between science and society take place, novel dis-
courses and means of control emerge which are ultimately designed to enforce
the accomplishment of truly reliable knowledge. All this happens in addition
to the variety of reproducibilities as well as in view of ever-more contexts re-
garded as relevant and ever-changing (technical) conditions. One prospect for
reproducibility seems to be clear: Challenges from within science will certainly
continue to meet with those from the outside and jointly leave their traces on the
ways in which science and technology produce robust knowledge. Reproducibility
will remain at the heart of this process.

The nucleus of this volume has been a long-term research project on repro-
ducibility at Collegium Helveticum, an interdisciplinary research institution jointly
operated by the University of Zurich and the Swiss Federal Institute of Tech-
nology (ETH) Zurich. Our engagement with the project as editors, grounded
in the exact sciences and in the area of science studies, emerged from our long
lasting affiliation with the Collegium as associate fellows. We appreciate great
encouragement and support by the Collegium and its fellows, in particular by
Gerd Folkers and Martin Schmid.
k k
An editorial conference at the Munich Center for Technology in Society
(Technical University Munich) in fall 2014 with all authors was instrumental
for the preparation of the volume in a consistent fashion, with numerous cross-
references among the papers. Our thanks go to the staff of the center for orga-
nizing this event. Various colloquia, workshops, and symposia on reproducibility
at Zurich and Munich have been influential all along the way.
But most of all, we want to express our gratitude to the contributors to
this volume. For none of them, thinking and writing on reproducibility is their
regular day job. Nevertheless, we realized so much enthusiasm about this project
that any possible grain of doubt concerning its success dissolved rapidly. As all
reviewers of the proposal for the project emphasized, the volume is of utmost
timeliness and significance, and this spirit pervaded all our conversations and
correspondences with its authors. Without their deep commitment, and without
the support of Susanne Steitz-Filler and Sari Friedman at Wiley, this book would
not have become reality.

References
Alberts, B., Cicerone, R.J., Fienberg, S.E., Kamb, A., McNutt, M., Nerem, R.M.,
Schekman, R., Shiffrin, R., Stodden, V., Suresh, S., Zuber, M.T., Kline Pope,

k
Other documents randomly have
different content
earth but we are already half gone to the next world. We see with different eyes,
and that makes it often difficult to associate with people who call themselves,
and really are religious.... My greatest sin is my irritability. The endless
stupidity of my maid, for instance—she can’t help being stupid, she is so often
untruthful, or else she begins to sermonize like a preacher and then I burst—you
know how hot-tempered I am. It is not difficult to bear great trials, but these
little buzzing mosquitoes are so trying. I want to be a better woman, and I try.
For long periods I am really patient, and then breaks out again my bad temper.
We are to have a new confessor, the second in these seven months. I beg your
forgiveness, too, darling. Day after tomorrow is the Sunday before Lent when
one asks forgiveness for all one’s faults. Forgive the past, and pray for me.
Yesterday we had prayers for the dead, and we did not forget your father. A few
days ago was the twenty-sixth anniversary of my father’s death. I long to warm
and to comfort others—but alas, I do not feel drawn to those around me here. I
am cold towards them, and this, too, is wrong of me.
The cowardly yielding of the Bolshevist government to the triumphant
Germans was a source of constant suffering to the Empress. In subsequent
letters written me that spring she speaks almost indifferently of the cold and
privations suffered in the house in Tobolsk, but she becomes passionate when
she writes of the German invasion.
What a nightmare it is that it is Germans who are saving Russia (from
Communism) and are restoring order. What could be more humiliating for us?
With one hand the Germans give, and with the other they take away. Already
they have seized an enormous territory. God help and save this unhappy
country. Probably He wills us to endure all these insults, but that we must take
them from the Germans almost kills me. During a war one can understand these
things happening, but not during a revolution. Now Batoum has been taken—
our country is disintegrating into bits. I cannot think calmly about it. Such
hideous pain in heart and soul. Yet I am sure God will not leave it like this. He
will send wisdom and save Russia I am sure.
It will always be to me an immense gratification that in the midst of her great
pain and sorrow for Russia’s piteous plight our small group of friends in
Petrograd, and those brave souls who dared to risk their lives as message
bearers, were able to get to the forlorn family in desolate Siberia at least the
necessities of life of which a cruel and inefficient government deprived them.
The Empress who all her life had but to command what she wanted for herself
and her children was grateful, pathetically grateful, for the simple garments, the
cheap little luxuries, even the materials for needlework we were able to convey
to them. She thanks me almost effusively for the jackets and sweaters we sent
her and the girls in their cold rooms. The wool was so soft and nice, but the
linen, she feared, was almost too fine. This was early in March, but spring was
already creeping across the steppes.
The weather is so fine that I have been sitting out on the balcony writing
music for the Lenten prayers, as we have no printed notes. We had to sing this
morning without any preparation, but it went—well, not too badly. God helped.
After service we tried to sing some new prayers with the new deacon, and I
hope it will go better tonight.[24]
On Wednesday, Friday and Saturday mornings we were allowed to go to the
eight o’clock morning service in church—imagine the joy and comfort! The
other days we five women will sing during the home service. It reminds me of
Livadia and Oreanda. This week we shall spend the evenings alone with the
children, as we want to read together. I know of nothing new. My heart is
troubled but my soul remains tranquil as I feel God always near. Yet what are
they deciding on in Moscow? God help us.
“Peace and yet the Germans continue to advance farther and farther in,”
wrote the Empress on March 13 (Russian). “When will it all finish? When God
allows. How I love my country, with all its faults. It grows dearer and dearer to
me, and I thank God daily that He allowed us to remain here and did not send us
farther away. Believe in the people, darling. The nation is strong, and young,
and as soft as wax. Just now it is in bad hands, and darkness and anarchy reigns.
But the King of Glory will come and will save, strengthen, and give wisdom to
the people who are now deceived.”
For some reason the Empress seemed to feel that the Lenten season of 1918
was destined to end in an Easter resurrection of the torn and distracted country.
At least so her letters indicate. In a mood of fitful kindness and mercy the
Bolshevist soldiers in authority in Tobolsk allowed their captives to go rather
often to church and to Communion during this season, and the Empress was
very happy in consequence. Her letters were full of prayers for the country, in
which the whole family joined, and they appeared to look forward to Easter as
the day when God would give some token that the sins of the Russian people,
for which they were suffering, were forgiven. Yet never once did she speak of
regaining power or the throne. All that was over and forgotten. Neither the
Emperor nor the Empress ever indicated in any syllable that they expected to be
returned to their former eminence. In fact they never spoke of what might
actually happen to the Russian Empire, but they believed that God would hold it
together and restore its people to wisdom and strength. For themselves they
seemed to look forward to nothing better than an obscure existence with other
Russian people. How uncomplainingly they accepted the hard terms of their
lives, how grateful they were for the love of distant friends whom they might
never see again, is shown in all the last letters I received from the Empress
during March, 1918. After receiving one of our parcels of clothing she wrote
me:
We are endlessly touched by all your love and thoughtfulness. Thank
everybody for us, please, but really it is too bad to spoil us so, for you are
among so many difficulties and we have not many privations, I assure you. We
have enough to eat, and in many respects are rich compared with you. The
children put on yesterday your lovely blouses. The hats also are very useful, as
we have none of this sort. The pink jacket is far too pretty for an old woman like
me, but the hat is all right for my gray hair. What a lot of things! The books I
have already begun to read, and for all the rest such tender thanks. He was so
pleased by the military suit, vest, and trousers you sent him, and all the lovely
things. From whom came the ancient image? I love it.
Our last gifts to you, including the Easter eggs, will get off today. I can’t get
much here except a little flour. Just now we are completely shut off from the
south, but we did get, a short time ago, letters from Odessa. What they have
gone through there is quite terrible. Lili is alone in the country with her
grandmother and our godchild, surrounded by the enemy. The big Princess
Bariatinsky and Mme. Tolstoy were in prison in Yalta, the former merely
because she took the part of the Tartars. Babia Apraxine with her mother and
children live upstairs in their house, the lower floor being occupied by soldiers.
Grand Duchess Xenia with her husband, children, and mother are living in
Dülburg. Olga Alexandrovna (the Emperor’s sister) lives in Haraks in a small
house because if she had remained in Aitodor she would have had to pay for the
house. What the Germans are doing! Keeping order in the towns but taking
everything. All the wheat is in their hands, and it is said that they take seed-
corn, coal, former Russian soldiers—everything. The Germans are now in
Bierki and in Charkoff, Poltava Government. Batoum is in the hands of the
Turks.
Sunbeam (Alexei) has been ill in bed for the past week. I don’t know
whether coughing brought on the attack, or whether he picked up something
heavy, but he had an awful internal hemorrhage and suffered fearfully. He is
better now, but sleeps badly and the pains, though less severe, have not entirely
ceased. He is frightfully thin and yellow, reminding me of Spala. Do you
remember? But yesterday he began to eat a little, and Dr. Derevanko is satisfied
with his progress. The child has to lie on his back without moving, and he gets
so tired. I sit all day beside him, holding his aching legs, and I have grown
almost as thin as he. It is certain now that we shall celebrate Easter at home
because it will be better for him if we have a service together. I try to hope that
this attack will pass more quickly than usual. It must, since all Winter he was so
well.
I have not been outside the house for a week. I am no longer permitted to sit
on the balcony, and I avoid going downstairs. I am sorry that your heart is bad
again, but I can understand it. Be sure and let me know well in advance if you
move again. Everyone, we hear, has been sent away from Tsarskoe. Poor
Tsarskoe, who will take care of the rooms now? What do they mean when they
speak of an “état de siège” there?...
Darling “Sister Seraphine”:
I want to talk to you again, knowing how anxious you will be for Sunbeam.
The blood recedes quickly—that is why today he again had very severe pains.
Yesterday for the first time he smiled and talked with us, even played cards, and
slept two hours during the day. He is frightfully thin, with enormous eyes, just
as at Spala. He likes to be read to, eats little—no appetite at all in fact. I am with
him the whole day, Tatiana or Mr. Gilliard relieving me at intervals. Mr. Gilliard
reads to him tirelessly, or warms his legs with the Fohn apparatus. Today it is
snowing again but the snow melts rapidly, and it is very muddy. I have not been
out for a week and a half, as I am so tired that I don’t dare to risk the stairs. So I
sit with Alexei.... A great number of new troops have come from everywhere. A
new Kommissar has arrived from Moscow, a man named Jakovleff, and today
we shall have to make his acquaintance. It gets very hot in this town in Summer,
is frightfully dusty, and at times very humid. We are begging to be transferred
for the hot months to some convent. I know that you too are longing for fresh
air, and I trust that by God’s mercy it may become possible for us all.
They are always hinting to us that we shall have to travel either very far
away, or to the center (of Siberia), but we hope that this will not happen, as it
would be dreadful at this season. How nice it would be if your brother could
settle himself in Odessa. We are quite cut off from the south, never hear from
anybody. The little officer will tell you—he saw me apart from the others.[25] I
am so afraid that false rumors will reach your ears—people lie so frantically.
Probably the little one’s illness was reported as something different, as an
excuse for our not being moved.[26] Well, all is God’s will. The deeper you look
the more you understand that this is so. All sorrows are sent us to free us from
our sins or as a test of our faith, an example to others. It requires good food to
make plants grow strong and beautiful, and the gardener walking through his
garden wants to be pleased with his flowers. If they do not grow properly he
takes his pruning knife and cuts, waiting for the sunshine to coax them into
growth again. I should like to be a painter, and make a picture of this beautiful
garden and all that grows in it. I remember English gardens, and at Livadia you
saw an illustrated book I had of them, so you will understand.
Just now eleven men have passed on horseback, good faces, mere boys—this
I have not seen the like of for a long time. They are the guard of the new
Kommissar. Sometimes we see men with the most awful faces. I would not
include them in my garden picture. The only place for them would be outside
where the merciful sunshine could reach them and make them clean from all the
dirt and evil with which they are covered.
God bless you, darling child. Our prayers and blessings surround you. I was
so pleased with the little mauve Easter egg, and all the rest. But I wish I could
send you back the money I know you need for yourself. May the Holy Virgin
guard you from all danger. Kiss your dear mother for me. Greetings to your old
servant, the doctors, and Fathers John and Dosifei. I have seen the new
Kommissar, and he really hasn’t a bad face. Today is Sacha’s (Count Voronzeff,
aide-de-camp) birthday.
March 21.
Darling child, we thank you for all your gifts, the little eggs, the cards, and
the chocolate for the little one. Thank your mother for the books. Father was
delighted with the cigarettes, which he found so good, and also with the sweets.
Snow has fallen again, although the sunshine is bright. The little one’s leg is
gradually getting better, he suffers less, and had a really good sleep last night.
Today we are expecting to be searched—very agreeable! I don’t know how it
will be later about sending letters. I only hope it will be possible, and I pray for
help. The atmosphere around us is fairly electrified. We feel that a storm is
approaching, but we know that God is merciful, and will care for us. Things are
growing very anguishing. Today we shall have a small service at home, for
which we are thankful, but it is hard, nevertheless, not to be allowed to go to
church. You understand how that is, my little martyr.
I shall not send this, as ordinarily, through ——, as she too is going to be
searched. It was so nice of you to send her a dress. I add my thanks to hers.
Today is the twenty-fourth anniversary of our engagement. How sad it is to
remember that we had to burn all our letters, yours too, and others as dear.[27]
But what was to be done? One must not attach one’s soul to earthly things, but
words written by beloved hands penetrate the very heart, become a part of life
itself.
I wish I had something sweet to send you, but I haven’t anything. Why did
you not keep that chocolate for yourself? You need it more than the children do.
We are allowed one and a half pounds of sugar every month, but more is always
given us by kind-hearted people here. I never touch sugar during Lent, but that
does not seem to be a deprivation now. I was so sorry to hear that my poor
lancer Ossorgine had been killed, and so many others besides. What a lot of
misery and useless sacrifice! But they are all happier now in the other world.
Though we know that the storm is coming nearer and nearer, our souls are at
peace. Whatever happens will be through God’s will. Thank God, at least, the
little one is better.
May I send the money back to you? 1 am sure you will need it if you have to
move again. God guard you. I bless and kiss you, and carry you always in my
heart. Keep well and brave. Greetings to all from your ever loving,
A.

THE EX-EMPEROR AND ALEXEI FEEDING TURKEYS IN THE BARNYARD, TOBOLSK,

SIBERIA, 1918 Photograph by Olga.
 This letter, written near the end of March, 1918, was the last I ever received
written by her Majesty’s own hand. A little later in the spring of that year she
and the Emperor were hurriedly removed to Ekaterinaburg—the last place from
which the world has received tidings of them. The children and most of the suite
were left behind in Tobolsk, the poor little Alexei still ill and suffering, and
cruelly deprived of the solace of his mother’s love and devotion. In May I
received a brief letter from Grand Duchess Olga who with difficulty managed to
get me news of her parents and the family.
 Darling, I take the first opportunity to write you the latest news we have
had from ours in Ekaterinaburg. They wrote on the 23rd of April that the
journey over the rough roads was terrible, but that in spite of great
weariness they are well. They live in three rooms and eat the same food as
the soldiers. The little one is better but is still in bed. As soon as he is well
enough to be moved we shall join them. We have had letters from Zina but
none from Lili. Have Alya and your brother written? The weather has
become milder, the ice is out of the river Irtish, but nothing is green yet.
Darling, you must know how dreadful it all is. We kiss and embrace you.
God bless you.
Olga.
THE LAST PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN OF THE EMPRESS AND HER DAUGHTERS, OLGA AND
TATIANA, 1918

After this short letter from Olga came a card from Ekaterinaburg written
by one of the Empress’s maids at her dictation. It contained a few loving
words, and the news that they were recovering from the fatigue of their
terrible journey. They were living in two rooms—probably, although this is
not stated, under great privations. She hoped, but could not tell yet, that our
correspondence could be continued. It never was. I had a card a little later
from Mr. Gibbs saying that he and M. Gilliard had brought the children
from Tobolsk to Ekaterinaburg and that the family was again united. The
card was written from the train where he and M. Gilliard were living, not
having been allowed to join the family in their stockaded house. Mr. Gibbs
had an intuition that both of these devoted tutors were soon to be sent out of
the country and such proved to be the case. This was my last news of my
Empress and of my Sovereigns, best of all earthly friends.
In July short paragraphs appeared in the Bolshevist newspapers saying
that by order of the Soviet at Ekaterinaburg the Emperor had been shot but
that the Empress and the children had been removed to a place of safety.
The announcement horrified me, yet left me without any exact conviction
of its truth. Soviet newspapers published what they were ordered to publish
without any regard whatever to facts. Thus when a little later it was
announced that the whole family had been murdered—executed, as they
phrased it—imagine “executing” five perfectly innocent children!—I could
not make myself believe it. Yet little by little the public began to believe it,
and it is certain that Nicholas II and his family have disappeared behind one
of the world’s greatest and most tragic mysteries. With them disappeared all
of the suite and the servants who were permitted to accompany them to the
house in Ekaterinaburg. My reason tells me that it is probable that they were
all foully murdered, that they are dead and beyond the sorrows of this life
forever. But reason is not always amenable. There are many of us in Russia
and in exile who, knowing the vastness of the enormous empire, the
remoteness of its communications with the outside world, know well the
possibilities of imprisonment in monasteries, in mines, in deep forests from
which no news can penetrate. We hope. That is all I can say. It is said,
although I have no firsthand information on the subject, that the Empress
Dowager has never believed that either of her sons was killed. The Soviet
newspapers published accounts of the “execution” of Grand Duke Michail,
and strong evidence has been presented that he was murdered in Siberia
with others of the family, including the Grand Duchess Serge. These same
newspapers, however, officially stated that Grand Duke Michail had been
assisted to escape by English officers.
The most fantastic contradictions concerning all these alleged murders
have from time to time cropped up. When I was in prison in the autumn of
1919 a fellow prisoner of the Chekha, the wife of an aide-de-camp of Grand
Duke Michail, told me positively that she had received a letter from the
Emperor’s brother, safe and well in England.
Perhaps the strangest incident of the kind happened to me when I was
hiding from the Chekha after my last imprisonment and my narrow escape
from a Kronstadt firing squad. A woman unknown to me approached me
and calling me by my name, which of course I did not acknowledge,
showed me a photograph of a woman in nun’s robes standing between two
men, priests or monks. “This,” she said mysteriously and in a whisper, “is
one you know well. She sent it to you by my hands and asks you to write
her a message that you are well, and also to give your address that she may
write you a letter.”
I looked long at the photograph—a poor print—and I could not deny to
myself that there was something of a likeness in the face, and especially in
the long, delicate hands. But the Empress had always been slender, and after
her ill health became almost emaciated. This woman was stout. I might, had
I had the slightest assurance of safety, have taken the risk of writing my
name and address for this stranger. But no one in Russia takes such risks.
The net of the Chekha is too far flung.
I have one word more to say about these letters of the Empress
Alexandra Feodorovna. I have translated them as faithfully and as literally
as possible, leaving out absolutely nothing except a few messages of
affection and some religious expressions which seem to me too intimate to
make public, and which might appear exaggerated to western readers. I
have included letters which may be thought trivial in subject, but I have
done it purposely because I yearned to present the Empress as she was,
simple, self-sacrificing, a devoted wife, mother, and friend, an intense
patriot, deeply and consistently religious. She had her human faults and
failings, as she freely admits. Some of these traits can be described, as the
French express it, as “the faults of her quality.” Thus her great love for her
husband, which never ceased to be romantic and youthful, caused her at
times cruel heart pangs. Because this has nothing to do with her life or her
story I should not allude to the one cloud that ever came between us—
jealousy. I should leave that painful, fleeting episode alone, knowing that
she would wish it forgotten, except that in certain letters which have been
published she herself has spoken of it so bitterly that were I to omit mention
of it entirely I might be accused of suppressing facts.
I have, I think, spoken frankly of the preference of the Emperor for my
society at times, in long walks, in tennis, in conversation. In the early part
of 1914 the Empress was ill, very low-spirited, and full of morbid
reflections. She was much alone, as the Emperor was occupied many hours
every day, and the children were busy with their lessons. In the Emperor’s
leisure moments he developed a more than ordinary desire for my
companionship, perhaps only because I was an entirely healthy, normal
woman, heart and soul devoted to the family, and one from whom it was
never necessary to keep anything secret. We were much together in those
days, and before either of us realized it the Empress became mortally
jealous and suspicious of every movement of her husband and of myself. In
letters written during this period, especially from the Crimea during the
spring of 1914, the Empress said some very unkind and cruel things of me,
or at least I should consider them cruel if they had not been rooted in
illness, and in physical and mental misery. Of course the Court knew of the
estrangement between us, and I regret to say that there were many who
delighted in it and did what they could to make it permanent. My only real
friends were Count Fredericks, Minister of the Court, and his two
daughters, who stood by me loyally and kept me in courage.
That this illusion of jealousy was entirely dissipated, that the Empress
finally realized that my love and devotion for her precluded any possibility
of the things she feared, her letters to me from Siberia amply demonstrate.
Our friendship became more deeply cemented than before, and nothing but
death can ever sever the bond between us.

Other letters written by the Empress to her husband between 1914 and
1916 have within this past year found publication by a Russian firm in
Berlin. Some of them have been reproduced in the London Times, and I
have no doubt that they will also be published in America. These letters
reveal the character of the Empress exactly as I knew her. It is balm to my
bruised heart to read in the London Times that whatever has been said of her
betrayal, or attempted betrayal of Russia during the war, must be abandoned
as a legend without the least foundation. So must also be discarded
accusations against her of any but spiritual relations with Rasputine. That
she believed in him as a man sent of God is true, but that his influence on
her, and through her on the Emperor’s policies, had any political importance
I must steadfastly deny. Both the Empress and Rasputine liked Protopopoff
and trusted him. But that had nothing to do with his ministerial tenure. The
Empress, and I think also Rasputine, disliked and distrusted Grand Duke
Nicholas. But that had nothing to do with his demission. In these affairs the
Emperor made his own decisions, as I have stated. The strongest proof of
what I have written will be found in the letters of the Empress, those she
wrote to the Emperor, to her relations in Germany and England, and those
included in this volume. Nothing contradictory, nothing inconsistent has
ever been discovered, despite the efforts of the Empress’s bitter enemies,
the Provisional Government and the Bolshevists. Before all the world,
before the historians of the future, Alexandra Feodorovna, Empress of
Russia, stands absolved.
 CHAPTER XXIII

T OWARDS the close of the summer of 1918 life in Russia became

almost indescribably chaotic and miserable. Most of the shops were
closed, and only the few who could pay fantastic prices were able to
buy food. There was a little bread, a very little butter, some meat, and a few
farm products. Tea and coffee had completely disappeared, dried leaves
taking their places, but even these substitutes were frightfully dear and very
difficult to find. The trouble was that the Bolshevist authorities forbade the
peasants to bring any food into Petrograd, and soldiers were kept on guard
at the railway stations to confiscate any stocks that tried to run the
blockade. Frequently the market stalls were raided, and what food was there
was seized, and the merchants arrested. Food smuggling went on on a fairly
large scale, and if one had money he could at least avoid starvation. Most
people of our class lived by selling, one by one, jewels, furs, pictures, art
objects, an enterprising class of Jewish dealers having sprung up as by
magic to take advantage of the opportunity. There was also a new kind of
merchant class, people of the intelligentsia, who knew the value of lace,
furs, old china and embroideries, who dealt with us with more courtesy and
rather less avarice than the Jews.
My mother and I fell into dire poverty. A home we had, and even a few
valuable jewels, but we clung to everything we had as shipwrecked sailors
to their life belts. We could not look far ahead, and we viewed complete
bankruptcy with fear and dread. I recall one bitter day in that summer
sitting down on a park bench weary and desolate as any pauper, for I had
not in my pocket money enough to go home in a tram. I do not remember
how I got home, but I remember that in that dark hour a former banker
whom we had long known called at our lodgings and told us that he had a
little money which he was about to smuggle to the Imperial Family in
Siberia. He wanted us to accept twenty thousand rubles of this for our
immediate needs, and gladly we did accept it. Very soon afterwards the
banker suddenly and mysteriously disappeared, and his fate remains to this
day a profound mystery. I do not even know if he succeeded in getting the
money to Siberia. However, with the hope he inspired in me I began to
think of possible resources which I might turn to account. My hospital in
Tsarskoe Selo had been closed by the Bolsheviki, but its expensive
equipment of furniture, instruments, horses and carriages still remained, and
I employed a lawyer to go over the books and to estimate what money I
could realize from a sale of the whole property. To my dismay I learned that
the place with everything in it had been seized by my director and head
nurse who, under the Bolshevist policy of confiscation, claimed all,
ostensibly as state property but really as their own, for they had become
ardent Bolshevists. I made a personal appeal to these old employees of mine
to let me have at least one cow for my mother who, being very frail, needed
milk. They simply laughed at me. My lawyer took steps to protect my
rights, and the result of this rash action was that the former director
denounced me to the Chekha as a counter-Revolutionist, and in the middle
of an October night our home was invaded by armed men who arrested me
and my nursing sister, and looted our rooms of everything that caught their
fancy. Among other things they took was a letter from the Emperor to my
father explaining the conditions which led him to assume supreme
command of the army. This letter, treasured by me, seemed to them
somehow very incriminating.
Driven ahead of the soldiers, I went downstairs and climbed into a motor
truck which conveyed us to the headquarters of the Chekha in Gorohvaia
Street. After my name had been taken by a slovenly official I followed the
guard to one of two large rooms which formed the women’s ward of the
prison. There must have been close to two hundred women crowded in
these rooms. They slept sometimes three to a narrow bed, they lay on the
tables and even on the bare floor. The air of the place was, of course, utterly
foul, for many of the women were of the class that never washes. Some
were of gentle birth and breeding, accused of no particular offense, but
held, according to Bolshevist custom, as hostages and possible witnesses
for others who were under examination or who were wanted and could not
be found. In the early morning all the prisoners got up from their narrow
beds or the hard floor and made their way under soldier escort to a toilet
where they washed their faces and hands. As I sat miserably on the edge of
my bed a woman came up to me introducing herself as Mlle. Shoulgine, the
oldest inhabitant of the place, and therefore a kind of a monitor. It was her
business, she said, to see that each prisoner received food and to handle any
letters or petitions the women might desire to send out. I told her that I
desired to send a petition to the head of the Chekha, or to whatever
committee was in charge of the prison, asking the nature of the charges
against me, and begging for an early trial. This petition was duly
dispatched, and very soon after a very large man, a Jew, came to see me and
promised that my affair would be promptly investigated. The soldiers on
guard spoke to me kindly and offered, if I had money, to carry letters back
and forth from my home. I gave them money and was comforted to hear
from my mother that Dr. Manouchine was once more working for my
release. Although not a Bolshevist, the doctor’s skill was greatly respected
by the Communists, who had appointed him head physician of the old
Detention House. There was a student doctor attached to our prison, and
merely because he was a friend of Dr. Manouchine and knew that I was
also, he was courteous and attentive to me. So potent is the influence of a
truly great character.
The five days I spent in that filthy, crowded cell will never leave my
memory. Every moment was a nightmare. Twice a day they served us with
bowls of so-called soup, hot water with a little grease and a few wilted
vegetables. This with small pieces of sour black bread was all the food
vouchsafed us. Some of the prisoners got additional food from outside, and
usually these fortunate ones divided what they had with the others. There
was one beautiful woman of the half-world who daily received from some
source ample food, and like most of the women of her class she was
generous. I was told that she had been arrested because she had hidden and
helped her lover, a White officer, to escape, and that she felt proud to be
suffering for his sake. Perhaps it was from friends of his that she received
the food, yet women of her kind, God knows, very seldom meet with
gratitude even from those who owe it most.
Although I was accused of no crime and had no idea what accusations
could be brought against me, I lived as all the others lived, in a state of
constant anxiety and fear. All day and all night we heard the sound of
motors and of motor horns, we saw prisoners brought in, and from our
windows we could see great quantities of loot which the Bolshevist soldiers
had collected, silver, pictures, rich wearing apparel, everything that
appealed to them as valuable. In the courtyard we could see the men
fighting like wolves over their spoils. It was like living in a pirates’ den
rather than a prison, and yet we were often enough reminded that we were
prisoners. One day all the women in my room were roughly ordered into a
larger room literally heaped with archives of the Imperial Government.
With soldiers standing over us we set to work like charwomen to sort the
papers and tie them up in neat bundles. Very often in the night when we
were sleeping exhausted in our cell rooms the electric lights would
suddenly be turned on, guards would call out names, and half a dozen
frightened women would get up, gather their rags about them, and go out.
Some returned, some disappeared. No one knew whose turn would come
next or what her fate would be.
The name of my nursing sister was called before mine, and within a
short time she returned smiling to say that she was to be sent home at once
and that I should soon follow. Two hours later soldiers appeared at the
grating and one called out my surname: “Tanieva, to Viborg Prison.” I had
spirit enough to demand the papers consigning me to this dread women’s
prison, but the soldiers merely pushed me back with the butts of their guns
and bade me lose no time in obeying orders. I still had a little money with
which I paid for a cab instead of walking the long distance to the prison,
and I begged the soldiers to stop on the way and let me see my mother. For
this privilege I offered all the money remaining in my purse, which the
soldiers took, also bargaining for the ring I wore on my hand. This I
declined to give so they philosophically said: “Oh, well, why not?” And
stopped the cab at the door of my mother’s lodgings. Of course my poor
mother was overjoyed to see me, even for a moment, and so was old
Berchik, now almost at the end of his life. Both assured me that everything
was being done in my behalf and that at the Viborg prison I would be in less
danger of death than at the Chekha headquarters. I might even hope to be
admitted to the prison hospital.
A little heartened in spite of myself I went on to Viborg, which lies in a
far quarter of the town on what is known as the Viborg side of the Neva. A
rather pretty Bolshevist girl was in charge of the receiving office, and when
I pleaded ill health and asked to be sent to the hospital she promised to see
what could be done. Viborg prison was one of many which during the first
frenzied days of the Revolution were thrown open, the prisoners released,
and the wardresses murdered. I do not know how other women were
induced to take their places, but I do know that the women in whose charge
I was placed were so kind and considerate that had any attempt been made
against them the prisoners themselves would have fought in their defense.
The wardress who locked me in my cell stopped to say a comforting word,
and because she saw that I was shivering with cold as well as nervousness,
she brought me bread and a little hot soup.
After some hours I had another visitor, Princess Kakouatoff, accused of
being the ringleader of an anti-Bolshevist plot, who had been six months in
Viborg and was regarded as a “trusty.” Among other privileges she had the
right to telephone friends of new prisoners, and at my request she
telephoned messages to friends who could be of use to my mother if not to
me. The princess brought me a little portion of fish which I ate hungrily,
and I think she was also instrumental in finally getting me into the prison
hospital. This was after I had fainted on the floor of my cell, and everyone
in authority, including the prison doctor, knew that I was in no condition to
endure the noisy confusion of the huge cell house. The hospital was a little
cleaner than the rest of the prison, but it was a pretty dreadful place just the
same. For nurses we had good-conduct prisoners, women of low type who
stole food and everything else they could lay hands on. They stripped me of
my clothes, substituting the prison chemise and blue dressing gown, and
took away all my hairpins. I was given a bed in a room with six other
women, one of them a particularly awful syphilis case, and two others, very
dirty, who spent most of their time going over each other’s heads for
vermin. I stayed in this ghastly place a very short time, a woman doctor and
a prisoner of my own class, Baroness Rosen, succeeding in getting me
transferred to a better ward. Nevertheless the whole prison hospital was
horrible. The trusties in charge of the wards were in the habit of eating the
meat out of the prisoners’ bowls, and fighting for food among prisoners
throughout the institution was a daily occurrence. I can describe Viborg
prison and most of its inmates in one word—beastly. Many of the women
were syphilitic, most were verminous, some were half mad. One who slept
near me had murdered her husband and burned his body. Nearly all sang the
most obscene songs and held unrepeatable conversations. Mostly they were
so depraved that the doctor in his rounds showed that he was afraid of them.
Yet there were among them a few women who, like myself, had led
sheltered and religious lives, and who were only now learning that such
abandoned specimens of womanhood existed on the earth. There was no
attempt at reforming the women. Once there had been a church attached to
the prison, but this the Bolsheviki had closed, substituting a cinema to
which on special occasions some of the prisoners were admitted. Not many
political prisoners had this privilege because they were treated much more
rigorously than common criminals. It was the common criminals also, the
thieves, murderers, prostitutes, who were released in advance of “counter-
Revolutionists,” those accused, however vaguely, of political activities.
All the prisons of Petrograd by this time were so crowded with so-called
political prisoners that even the women’s prison was obliged to receive an
overflow of sick men prisoners. This wholesale imprisonment of anti-
Bolshevists naturally led to the shooting of thousands of citizens, shooting
being simpler than feeding and housing, and in addition an economy of
effort on the part of those charged with the mockery of trials. Later the
Chekha dispensed with this mockery, but in those days prisoners were given
the pretense of a hearing. I can testify to their futility, because I went
through more than half a dozen trials and in no case was I accused of any
crime, tried for any definite offense, or given anything like a fair hearing.
On September 10, 1918, word was brought to the Viborg prison that on the
next morning I was to be taken away not to return. This seemed to be a
death sentence, and all that night I lay awake thinking of my poor mother
and wondering what would become of her alone in the midst of the
Bolshevist inferno. Silently and long I prayed for her and for the peaceful
release of my own tried soul.
Very early in the morning I was summoned, my own clothes were given
me, and I was led to the receiving office of the prison. Here two soldiers
waited, and I was taken out between them and marched to the headquarters
of the Chekha. In a small, dirty room I underwent an examination by two
Jewish Communists, one of whom, Vladimirov—nearly all Jewish
Communists assume Russian names—being prominent in the councils of
the Communist central committee. For fully an hour these men did
everything they could to terrorize me. They accused me of being a spy, of
plotting against the Chekha, of being a dangerous counter-Revolutionist.
They told me that I was to be shot at once and that they intended to shoot all
the intellectuals and the “Bourju,” leaving the proletariat in full possession
of Russia. They continued this bluster until from sheer weariness they
stopped, then one of the men leaned his elbows on the table and with a
smile that was meant to be ingratiating said confidentially: “I tell you what.
You relate the true story of Rasputine and perhaps we won’t have you shot,
at least not today.” I assured the man that I knew no more about Rasputine
than they did, perhaps not as much, since I had no access to police records
and they had. Then they wanted to know all about the Czar and the life of
the Court. As well as I could I satisfied their curiosity, which was that of
ignorant children, and at the end of an exhausting interrogation they
actually sent me, not to a wall and a firing squad, but back to the filthy cell
in the Viborg prison. I dropped on my dirty bed, swallowed a little food
brought me by a sympathetic fellow prisoner, and resigned myself for what
next might happen to me. What happened was astonishing. A soldier came
to the door and called out: “Tanieva, with your things to go home.”
Within a short time I stood trembling and weak on the pavement in front
of the prison. I could not have walked to my lodgings, in fact I felt
incapable of walking at all, but a strange woman observing me and my
piteous condition approached, put her arm around me, and helped me into a
drosky. I had a little money, perhaps fifty rubles, and I gave it all to the
ischvostik to drive me home. Here I found an amazing state of affairs, the
general immorality and demoralization into which Bolshevism was driving
the people having penetrated our own place. Everyone was turning thief,
and my nursing sister, who had been with me since 1905, whom my mother
had treated like a daughter, had become inoculated with the virus of evil.
The woman had not only appropriated almost all the clothes I possessed,
but had stolen all the trinkets and bits of jewelry she could lay hands on.
She had even taken the carpets from the floors and stored them in her room.
Not daring to attempt to regain any of this property I asked the nurse to
please take what she wanted and leave the apartment. “Not at all,” she
replied. “This place suits me very well and as long as I choose I shall
remain.” She had embraced Bolshevism, not I am sure from principle, but
as the safest policy, and in time she became rich in jewels, finery, and
miscellaneous loot. It was months before we finally induced her to leave,
and after her departure I have reason to believe that she did everything she
could to keep me in trouble with the Bolshevists.
By this time the Communist régime was fully organized. The whole
town was divided into districts, each one under command of a group of
soldiers who had full license to search—and rob—houses, and to make
arrests. Every night the search went on. At seven o’clock all electric lights
were turned off, and when, two or three hours later, they suddenly flashed
up again, every soul in the district was seized with fear, knowing that this
was the signal for the invasion. Often women were included in the
searching parties, terrible women dressed in silks and strung with jewelry,
stolen of course from the hated “Bourju.” Seven times our home was
raided, once on the authority of an anonymous letter charging that we were
in possession of firearms. Once more I was dragged off to an interminable
examination, this time before the staff of the Red Army in a house in Gogol
Street. The close connection between the Chekha and the Red Army was
apparent because in the two hours during which I sat in the ante-chamber
waiting examination a Lettish official of the Chekha passed freely in and
out of the committee room, occasionally throwing me a reassuring word.
My case would be settled favorably, he said, and it was, for the committee
after bullying me for a length of time, dropped the subject of concealed
firearms, assumed the snobbish and half cringing air with which I was
becoming familiar to the point of nausea, and began asking questions about
the Imperial household. They produced a large album of photographs and
made me go through it and identify each picture. Finally the head inquisitor
told me magnanimously that I could go home, cleared by the highest
authority, but that soldiers would go with me and make sure that there were
no revolvers or pistols in the house. The search was made anew, and then
the men left, obviously disappointed that practically nothing worth stealing
had come to light.
Two things of importance were happening in those days. The White
Army was approaching Petrograd, and in all the streets soldiers were
drilling in anticipation of a battle. Airplanes whirred overhead, and once in
so often a shell screamed over the housetops. We prayed for the coming of
the White Army, and at the same time dreaded the massacres we knew
would precede its entry into the town. The second thing that marked this
date was the Communist system of public feeding, free food being
furnished by cards distributed according to the status of the individual. The
Bolshevist authorities and the soldiers of course had the most food and the
best. Next came the proletariat, so-called, and last of all the “Bourju” was
provided for. These of the lowest strata in society got hardly anything at all
and would have starved, most of them, had it not been for the food
smuggling which constantly went on, the peasants from out of town boldly
bringing in bulky parcels, and taking back in return for their food, not
Bolshevist money, which they disdained, but everything they could
accumulate in the way of furniture or dress materials. They even accepted
window curtains and table linen, anything, in fact, that could be fashioned
into clothing. These same peasants before the Revolution had been expert
spinners and weavers, but now they scorned such plebeian occupations
because it was easier to barter grains, milk, vegetables, and other produce
for the last possessions of the townspeople.
We went on living, somehow, parting with clothing and furniture,
burning boxes and even chairs for fuel, walking miles for stray bits of
wood, praying for the success of the White forces, praying for protection
against what must happen before that success could be achieved. My
mother all these days was very ill with dysentery, which was rife in
Petrograd, and I had that additional suffering, for I knew that it would take
little to bring her frail life to an end.
 CHAPTER XXIV

O N September 22 (October 6, New Style) I went in the evening to a

lecture in a church. At that time every non-Bolshevist spent as many
hours every day as possible in the churches, praying or listening to
words of hope and comfort from the priests. The church was, in fact, the
only home of peace and rest in the whole of the distracted country. That
particular night in church I met some old friends who invited me to go
home with them rather than walk the long and dreary, even the dangerous
way back to my lodgings. I stayed with my friends that night, and the next
morning early I went to mass in the little church where Father John of
Kronstadt lies buried. I reached home about midday, and found the place in
the possession of soldiers, two of whom had waited the entire night to arrest
me, this time as a hostage, the White Army being reported within a few
miles of Petrograd. My sick mother prepared me a little food, made a parcel
of my scanty linen, and once more we bade each other the despairing
farewell of two who knew that they might never meet again on earth. I was
quickly conveyed to the headquarters of the Chekha where I was greeted
with the exultant welcome: “Aha! Here we have the bird who has dared to
stay out a whole night.”
Thrust into the old filthy, ill-smelling cell room I found a spot near a
dirty window from which I could get a far glimpse of the golden dome of
St. Isaac’s Cathedral. During my whole term in this place I kept my eyes
and my whole mind on that golden dome, trying to forget the hell that
whirled around me. The woman in charge of the room was a Finnish girl
who had committed the crime of trying to run away to Finland. She was a
stenographer and clerk, and the Chekha used her by night as an office
assistant. Whether by nature or by association she had become as hard and
as ruthless as her captors, and her imprisonment had many mitigations. It
was her pleasant duty to make out the lists of those who, twice a week, were
taken to Kronstadt to be shot, and her reports on the subject which she
confided regularly to her chosen comrade, a Georgian dancer named
Menabde, were enough to sicken even those of us who had become
accustomed to wholesale slaughter of unoffending human beings. We heard
little else except death and threats of death in this place. There was an
official named Boze in the prison, and often we heard him screeching
through the telephone to his wife that he would be late to dinner that night
because he had a load of “game” to get off to Kronstadt. Under such
conditions pity and sympathy become strangely dulled. On occasions when
I was sent to the kitchens for hot water I used to get glimpses of the
“game,” huddled wretchedly in their seats or restlessly pacing their cells—
waiting. Often when I returned with the water I found the seats and the cells
empty, and although my heart sank and my senses swam, I never felt the
screaming horror a normal person would have felt. This dulling of the
emotions, I suppose, is nature’s way of keeping the mind from giving way
entirely. Of course nature took away all human dignity and self-respect,
this, too, in mercy. Any prisoner who went to the kitchens was greeted with
jeers and foul abuse from the cooks who threw us handfuls of potato
parings and withered cabbage leaves, quite as one would throw bones to
dogs. Like dogs we eagerly snatched at these leavings, because the
prisoners’ regular rations were nothing half as palatable, being mostly
wormy dried fish and a disgusting substitute for bread.
One day I was called up for examination, and this time a real surprise
awaited me. My judge was an Esthonian named Otto, not altogether a brutal
man, as it turned out. As I approached his desk he regarded me grimly and
without a word handed me a letter, unsigned, and reading about as follows:
“To the Lady in Waiting, Anna Viroubova. You are the only one who can
save us from this terrible Bolshevik administration, as you are at the head of
a great organization fully equipped with guns and ammunition.” Sternly the
Esthonian judge commanded me to tell him the truth about the organization
of which I was the head. Of course I told him that the whole thing was an
invention, and he astonished me by saying that although the letter had been
posted to my address he had very much doubted its verity. Then he asked,
almost gently: “Are you very hungry?” Taken off my guard as much by the
kindness as by the prospect of food, I fell against the desk murmuring only
half aloud: “Hungry? Yes, oh, yes.” Whereupon he opened a drawer of his
desk and handed me a large piece of fresh, sweet bread. “Go now,” he said,
“and I will discuss your case with my colleague Vikman. In the evening we
will see you again.”
At eleven that night I was again summoned, this time before the two
men. The Esthonian, still kind and courteous, gave me a glass of steaming
tea, which did much to lend me courage. Both he and Vikman then put me
through a searching examination especially about my relations, real and
assumed, with the Imperial Family and with persons of the Court. At three
in the morning they released me, more dead than alive with fatigue, Otto
telling me heartily that he thought I would be set free within a few days.
Vikman, however, declared that my case would have to be referred to
Moscow and that I need not expect an early release. I went back to my evil
cage expecting nothing. I knew, that the threat of the White Army advance
filled with terror the whole Bolshevist population, and that in case of actual
battle no life outside the slim Communist ranks would be worth the smallest
scrap of their worthless paper money.
Very shortly after my return to the cell room I began to hear my name
whispered from one wretched woman to another, and I accepted this
without much emotion as a prelude to a boat journey to Kronstadt. Early on
a certain morning a soldier approached the door and bawled out: “Tanieva,
you to Moscow.” I happened to be exceedingly ill that day, but
mechanically I picked up my little handkerchief containing my few
possessions, including a Bible, and followed the escort of two soldiers
down the steep steps, as I believed, to my death. Perhaps they had orders to
take me to Kronstadt, I cannot be sure of that, but I do know that the route
we followed did not lead to the Moscow station. We had walked but a short
distance when one of the soldiers said to the other: “What’s the good of two
of us bothering with one lame woman? I’ll take care of her and you can go
along. It will soon be over anyway.” Nothing loath the other soldier, glad to
get out of anything resembling work, took himself off while I, in charge of
one armed man, mounted the crowded tram and rode on toward an
unknown destination. At a certain point we had to change trams, and here
occurred an incident so extraordinary that I almost hesitate to strain the
credulity of a non-Russian reader by relating it. The second tram had been
delayed for some reason, and a considerable crowd of passengers was
waiting for it on the street corner. My soldier stood at my side waiting with
the rest, but soon he became impatient. Ordering me not to move an inch in
his absence, he ran down the street a short distance to see if the tram were
in sight. As soon as he turned his back, people in the crowd began to speak
to me. A girl in whom I recognized a former acquaintance asked me where I
was going, and when I told her she took a bracelet I gave her and promised
to carry it, with news of my fate, to my poor mother. An officer of the old
army came up to me saying: “Are you not Anna Alexandrovna?” And when
I said yes, he too asked me where I was being taken. “Kronstadt, I think,” I
answered, but he said: “Who knows?” and pressed into my hands a roll of
bills saying that they might be of use to me.
Other people surrounded me, mostly strangers, but two of them women
whom I had often seen at mass in the small church of Father John. They
said: “Why should you be shot? The soldier has not come back. Run while
the chance is yours. Father John will surely help you.” Encouraged by their
sympathy, yet hardly knowing what I was doing, I limped off on my crutch
much faster than I could have believed possible, the whole street-corner
crowd spreading out to shield my flight. I limped and stumbled down
Michel Street as far as the Nevski Prospekt weeping and praying all the
time: “God save me! God save me!” until I reached the old shopping arcade
known as the Gostiny Dvor. Here I caught sight of my soldier running in
frantic pursuit of his escaped prisoner. It seemed all over with me then but I
crouched in a corner of the deserted building and miraculously the soldier
ran on without seeing me. As soon as I thought it at all safe I crept out of
the old arcade and turned into the Zagorodny Prospekt, where I found a
solitary cab. “Take me quickly,” I cried to the ischvostik. “My mother is
dying.” The man replied indifferently that he had a fare waiting, but I thrust
into his hands the entire roll of bills given me by the friendly officer, at the
same time climbing into the drosky.
Said the ischvostik, “Where shall I drive you?” I gasped out the address
of a friend in the suburbs of the city, and the man lashed his half-starved
animal into a walk. After what seemed to me many hours we reached the
place, I rang the doorbell and fell across the threshold in a dead faint.
My friend and her husband courageously took me in, fed, warmed me,
and put me to bed. They even dared to send word to my mother that I was
for the moment safe from pursuit, but they warned her not to come near the
house as soldiers would certainly be watching her every movement. As a
matter of fact my mother was visited by Red soldiers, arrested in her bed,
and closely guarded for three weeks. Our maid also was arrested, as was
everyone who came to the house. The old Berchick who had spent almost
his entire lifetime in the service of our family was taken ill during this
period and died. For five days his body lay uncoffined in the house, the
Bolshevist authorities refusing him a burial permit. It was for my mother an
interval of utter despair, since in addition to the death of Berchick she lived
in constant fear of my rearrest. In the opinion of the Bolshevist soldiers,
however, I had escaped to the White Army, and photographs of me were
posted conspicuously in all the railway stations.
The kind friends who had taken me in dared not for their lives keep me
long, and wishing them nothing of harm I set out on a dark night without a
kopeck in my pockets and with no certain idea where I could find a bed. I
had in mind a religious hostel, a place where a few students, men and
women, lived under the chaperonage of an old nun. There I went, begging
them for Christ’s sake to take me in, and there I was hidden for five perilous
days. A girl student volunteered to go to see my mother, and go she did, but
when hours passed, a day passed, and she did not return, a panic of fear
seized all of us, and rather than expose these kind people to risk of
imprisonment and death I voluntarily left the place. What else could I do?
How shall I describe the horrors of the next few months? Like a hunted
animal I crept from one shelter to another, always leaving when it seemed at
all possible that my protectors might be punished for their charity. Four
nights I spent in the cell of an old nun whom I knew, but pitying her fears I
put on the black head kerchief of a peasant woman and started in a cab, on
borrowed money, for the house of a friend near the Alexandra Lavra on the
outskirts of the town. All unknown to me a decree had that day been issued
that no one could ride in a cab without written permission from the
authorities. Consequently before we had traveled half the journey the cab
was stopped by two women police, fierce creatures armed with rifles, who
called out to the ischvostik: “Halt! We arrest you and your passenger.”
Hastily I crammed all the money I had into the ischvostik’s hand and
begged the women to let me go as I had just been discharged from hospital
and knew nothing of the new rule. Oddly enough they let us drive on, but
very soon the ischvostik, sick with terror, stopped his horse and told me that
he would take me no further. I got out and staggered on through the muddy
snow, for it was now late in the autumn of 1919. A former officer whom I
had once known well met and recognizing me asked if he might not
accompany me to my destination. “No, no,” I cried. “It would be madness
for you to be seen with me. I cannot explain, only go, go, as fast as you
can.” I staggered on, dripping with rain until I reached my friend’s house.
To my now customary greeting: “I am running away. Will you hide me?”
she replied: “Come in. I have two others.” Thus did brave Russians in those
days risk their lives to save those of others. Under her protection I lived ten
days, and in her house I met a woman, a servant in one of the Communist
kitchens, who having access to food and supplies, afterwards more than
once saved me from starvation.
From one such kindly haven to another I fled in the dead of night. Once I
was received in the home of an English woman who out of her scanty stores
gave me warm stockings, gloves, and a sweater. Another day or two I spent
in the rooms of a dressmaker whose husband was an unwilling soldier in the
Red Army. Once I ventured back to the student hostel, where they
welcomed me and fed me well, one of their number having just returned
from the country with a stock of smuggled food. Here I had news from my
dear mother from the girl who had gone to her on my behalf, and had, after
ten days’ detention by the Chekha, got back to the hostel. Some members of
the Chekha, she informed me, looked forward to shooting me instantly
when I was caught, but others said that it was certain that I was with the
White Army and would never be caught.
From the hostel I sought a paid lodging with the family of a former
member of the orchestra of the Imperial Theater. These people, however,
were very mercenary and would receive me only on advance payment of a
large sum of money. Almost everything my mother and I had owned had
been sold long before, but I retained a pendant of aquamarines and
diamonds, a wedding present from the Empress, safely hidden in the house
of a friend. This I had sold for fifty thousand rubles, giving half the money
to the musician’s wife in return for a few days’ shelter in a wretchedly dirty,
unheated room. Here I had to cut my hair short to get rid of vermin, and
feeling unable to endure the hole I left it. Yet finding my next lodgings even
worse, I returned, and here in the midst of discomfort and bitter cold, I had
the joy of meeting my mother and also my aunt Lashkeroff, who brought
me the welcome news that they thought they had at last found me a
permanently safe retreat. It was miles from where I was staying, and I had
to walk every step of the way, but when I arrived I found my hostess a
lovely woman belonging to the Salvation Army. Gladly would I have stayed
with her indefinitely but that was impossible as I had no passport and the
police began to haunt the neighborhood. She did not abandon me for all
that, but got me a new shelter in the home of a good priest and his wife.
From here I was handed on from one to another of the priest’s parishioners
to whom he confided the story of my harried career. Once an Esthonian
woman told me that her sister had found a Finnish woman who, for a good
price, was willing to take fugitives over the frontier, and she strongly
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