Mother called Father’s study “the forbidden land.” We children were not allowed to enter it, which made me rather curious about it. I often ran down the hall, hoping that I would find a way to get into the study, but there was always someone who would send me back. If I could have found out what Father did there, I would have been satisfied. One day I managed to slip through the narrow passage of his dressing room and opened the door leading into his study. I was breathless with excitement, but kept quiet. I was about to open the door for a tiny peek, to see if Father were there, when I heard footsteps. I decided to retreat quietly as if I had gotten there by mistake. But as I backed out I had moved too quickly and gone too far. I rolled down several steps right into the middle of Father’s sunken tub. Fortunately I was not hurt, but my feelings were. I extricated myself and retreated down the hall in the midst of laughter. I never did know my discoverer. My curiosity was still not satisfied, and I was determined to keep trying. I used all sorts of excuses for going to his study with pressing messages or gifts. But Mother spoke with finality: “Father cannot be disturbed in his work.” In spite of Mother’s words, the opportunity finally presented itself. One day I stood quivering on the threshold. There was Father at his desk looking quite serious. I leaned forward on my toes to take in all that I could see, so far forward that I lost my balance and fell on my face into the room. I was terribly frightened, but Father rushed to me and with a smile picked me up saying: “What are you doing here, baby?” Then he sat me down at his desk and held me on his knees. I was speechless to think I was in the forbidden place. I glanced at piles of papers, then at Father’s face. With a hug and a kiss he deposited me in the hallway. “Now run along, my little Curiosity.” I skipped away elated and I could hardly wait to tell Marie I had actually been in “the forbidden land.” I was often instrumental in getting my sister and my brother in trouble. When we drove to Pavlovsk, a short distance from Tsarskoe Selo, I watched for the moment when the nurse was occupied with my cousin’s attendant. I snapped my fingers--a signal to dash to the brook for the mud fight. Within seconds our faces and white clothes were beyond recognition. These mud fights made the nurse furious. Once when she rebuked me, she said it was a pity I had not been born a boy. This worried me so, I went to Mother with the question, “Do you love me, Mother?” “You know I do, little Shvibzchik,” was her reply, using her pet name for me. “But if I were a boy, would you love me more?” I questioned her tearfully. Mother understood; she shook her head a decided “No” and I was satisfied.