This whole conversation brings up an interesting point . . . and it has to do with the definition of "authenticity" as regards the imperial palaces.
Think about it this way. Most opera-goers today treat a performance as almost being in a church service. One listens to the opera with near-reverence, staying as still and as quiet as possible so as not to disturb the presentation of an immutable monument to music history. (One also occasionally dozes off.) But opera was originally a very different form of entertainment. Especially during the recitatives, people bustled about, came and went, chatted with neighbors, peered at the crowd. Only during the big-name arias did people become generally attentive. It was a vibrant, amorphous experience. And that was its real appeal. (Remember the wonderful scenes of Mozart's "The Magic Flute" in the brilliant film Amadeus? That is what opera was meant to be.)
I think palaces were much more like that to their occupants and visitors in their heyday. They were not museums. They were places where the chairs were in one place today and another place tomorrow. Children played in them, even in the parade rooms. Consider the slide in the Mountain Room of the Alexander Palace. Think about King George I of Greece (Olga Constantinova's husband) and his children chasing each other on their bikes through the state rooms of their Athens palace. Then there is that wonderful watercolor of Alexander I's bedroom at the Catherine Palace, with his boots and cast-off clothes strewn over the room and draped over furniture.
Even as late as Catherine II's time, there was not enough furniture to fill the palaces she kept expanding, so wagonloads of furniture followed her from palace to palace. The concept of a piece of furniture "belonging" to one palace as opposed to another was alien to the occupants. While still a Grand Duchess, there is an anecdote of a foreign dignitary having a discussion with Catherine while they were standing under scaffolding in a hall of Peterhof that was being remodeled while Empress Elizabeth was in residence and using the area to entertain. (Less on point, there was the astonishing episode when a fire in a Moscow palace to which Elizabeth had migrated for a winter season burned and destroyed 4,000 dresses she had hauled down in her wake from St. Petersburg to get her through the party cycle.)
Take the Semicircular Hall of the Alexander Palace, for example. Sometimes when Nicholas or Alexandra walked into it, it was almost empty. Sometimes it was set up with dozens of round tables for a banquet. Sometimes it was set up as a movie theater for which a hole had been made in the back wall to accommodate the projector. So . . . which is the "authentic" way to present the room today?
What is truly authentic about these palaces is the fluidity of their use and their appearance from year to year, even from day to day. In many ways, they were shells to hold the portable lives of tsars and their families who were constantly on the move. It is important to restore the sense of what it felt like to live and move about in a place such as the Alexander Palace. Viewing it as a monument that is desecrated by having this piece of furniture there instead of that piece, or having something on one wall instead of another, rather misses the whole point of what a palace was to its occupants.