by JG Hampton
barns or become lost in high snow drifts. Father Grigory said that he often slept with the cows and horses as a youth, but he preferred sleeping on top of a warm metal stove next to his Papa Efim and his Mama under quilts stuffed with straw.
5 January 1915, 17 January 1915 - Papa's closest friend, his cousin Xandro, says that Papa is wearing Mama's picture around his neck the same way that I wear Father Grigory's and that he trusts no one, but her. Mama was pleased to hear this from his wife Xenia, but knows that she's no saint and doesn't pretend to be one; Mama says that she's a deeply flawed individual, but knowing this makes her strive to be more patient and kind. Perhaps Mama will be a saint some day and people will pray to her since in many ways my Mama qualifies.
Perhaps Papa will be since he says that he's willing to sacrifice himself for Russia. I hope that day is long in coming. I worry that he's a little too eager and sometimes he feels that Russia is domed. The war is still raging and food becomes scarcer. Mama and I long to go to the Crimea and so do my sisters, but realize that is but a pipe dream because of the war, but Grandmama intends on going. It has been almost two years since we were there at our beautiful palace.
6 January 1915, 17 January 1915 - Grandmama complains in letters to Marie, her namesake, that all of Russian social life has all but shriveled up. She longs for dancing, feasting and merriment, but realizes that she will have to go abroad to encounter it. Not even the Yousoppovs have given a ball this winter. She's disappointed in her granddaughter Irina and thought that she would become a social butterfly and hostess, but she's become as dull a homebody as Mama. What is this generation coming to? Won't this war ever end?
In a letter to Anastasia, she hinted that she might take her abroad, but she doesn't want to leave the country as long as Mama and Rasputin are making awful decisions. Something must be done and soon.
7 January 1915, 18 January 1915 - Soldiers are beginning to desert the army and pour into Petrograd and Moscow. Papa has had workers from China and Persia come in and run the locomotives, but still there is a shortage of hired workers.
Rationing has started and Mama insists on rationing at the palace. Perhaps I could go live with Grandmama. Maybe I'll go along with her idea of a regency replacing Papa until I'm of age so that I can continue to have my blinis. Of course I am not serious, but from experience, I know that Grandmama keeps a good table and our food is becoming plainer by the day. By tea time I'm so hungry, I could lick the silver salt shakers. After all, I'm a growing boy and need double rations because I'm growing so fast. Mama finds it difficult keeping me in long enough pants. Could these rumors about Grandmama taking over possibly be true? Would she really remove my Papa, the Czar from the throne? Had she that much power and influence? Was tall Uncle Nicholaivich really planning on regaining control of the military again and forming a military coup? No wonder Papa only trusts Mama. I must stop listening to Mama's telephone conversations and stop reading the newspapers. Anastasia is like having an informer in our palace. My stomach aches continually and I worry constantly about what is going to happen. I shudder to think that my own family of Romanovs are Papa and Mama's worst enemies. Papa has allowed a duma and has changed several ministers, but it's hard to please everyone.
13 January 1915, 28 January 1915 - Grandmama sent me a sweater for Joy which she purchased on her travels. Joy looks darling wearing it as she romps through the palace. Grandmama has had to cut back on movies at her palace as well as her entertaining. Her friends in Europe wonder wear this war is headed? It is lasting much longer than anyone ever thought it would.
I am now taking piano lessons just like my sisters along with learning the Balalaika. I am learning it the numerical way, just like Mama Learned in Germany and England. The counting is very, very boring, but a metronome helps. I like playing the chords and have learned many of them and variations of their root positions. If I play the songs perfectly, Mama bribes me with a candy stick or a small toy from her treasure box. She doesn't need to do this, but she likes to make me happy.
Her boysy loves the challenge and the competition of outplaying my sisters. I wanted to learn so that I can play better than Anastasia who is continually showing off in front of me. I will catch up with her ability soon because I have a musical ear and she does not. Mama thinks piano will help me develop discipline as well as a keen memory. I've learned how to perform arpeggios and a few Russian military marches, and I enjoy composing my own songs just like Mozart and King Louis, but I have my own style. I dislike Beethoven, because he was German and I don't like Brahms for the same reason nor nursery tunes or romantic ballads. My sisters love ballads, but I refuse to play them. I do not want to be considered a sissy.
Baroness Buxhoeveden says that she will try to find some new sheet music from recent Russian composers. The wild child, our impish Anastasia likes gypsy music even though this appalls Mama who find the sound less than dignified and tells Anastasia that she must not traipse around the palace with her blouses bare over her shoulders like a hoyden. I love her energy and wish I could dance around the palace with her like a hooligan.
20 January 1915, 2 February 1915 - Now Mama is complaining that she's lost power and that no one is listening to her, not even Papa. Will all of this contention never end? I must learn to be more resilient like Anastasia. Nothing ever bothers her. Problems to her are like water off a duck's back. They simply roll from her. She skates around the palace and practices her piano as if nothing was wrong. Unlike Olga, who continues to pound out her piano pieces. Why must she be so dramatic?
1 February 1915, 14 February 1915 Aunt Olga, Papa’s youngest sister came from her town home in Moscow. She’s an expert at watercolors and taught my sisters and I a few new techniques such as how to make a circle with a pin and a string and how to letter. Mama let us have scraps of lace from the old lace that she catalogued and pieces of paper and ribbon from her scrap bags that she saved and we all made Valentines. I made a beautiful one for Mama and a funny one for Papa about a Papa dog and a pup. Anastasia signed it for me and wrote: “Baby.” That made me mad. Shouting, “I’m not a baby!"
“Alexei, she said loudly, “you’re the youngest, and you’ll always be their baby.” I stomped out of the room and went and played with my toy gun. I hope Anastasia grows a wart on her nose.
Tomorrow Aunt Olga is taking my four sisters to St. Petersburg. Good riddance! Perhaps papa will take me and Mama for a ride in the car. That is, if he can stop working long enough to relax. He works too hard and looks tired and haggard. Something is bothering him besides his concern for me. Olga is supposedly going to be betrothed to another prince, but is not happy about the fact because he is a very minor one.
10 February 1915, 23 February 1915 - I haven’t written for a while, because Anastasia hid my diary. She took it to read and didn’t put it back under my pillow. I found hers and drew a picture of her sticking out her tongue. That should get even with her. Papa and I ate lunch together with Mama and we had blinis with lots of butter. I ate as many as I could and then Papa and I went to our zoo to see my pet elephant that was sent to me from the King of Siam when I was born. I watched him eat a bale of hay and he took an apple from my hand. Then Papa went back to his library and I went and played the piano with Mama. I have learned most of the major and minor chords on the piano and can sight read some songs composed by Mozart. Mama and Annya are pleased with my progress. Later, I listened to them play duets while I reclined on mama’s mauve chaise longue. Papa and Mama are sometimes irritated at Annya because she's always underfoot, but Mama says that she couldn’t do without her and Papa loves her too, but hopes that she soon tires of making large cow eyes at him. She’s simply their best friend, but I think she’s bossy and so is Dr. Botkin who insists that I rest every afternoon. However, I wish that I had a loyal friend like Annya to play with; sometimes a dog just isn’t enough, even though I love my spaniel Joy and have taught her some tricks with sticks. Mama and Papa try to keep me busy with new toys. My new train is a r
unning replica of our two royal trains. I have spent hours laying new tracks for it. It even has small tablets that can be placed in its smoke stack that lets out real smoke which Mama said stunk up the palace.
12 February 1915, 25 February 1915 - Father Grigory came to visit me a few weeks ago and upset everybody, but Mama. Mama gave him two new shirts that she’d embroidered for him and Annya presented him with new black velvet pants that she’d made for him. Annya thinks that he is a staretz and so do I. He always makes me feel better and all he has to do is stare into my eyes and pray for me. Our servant Shura thinks that he is too familiar with my sisters and mother and shouldn’t be allowed to enter their bed rooms unchaperoned. She’s the one causing gossip. All I know is that his huge hands heal me and his startling gaze makes my blood slow. I like his stories about his village life; he makes me smile. He’s called Rasputin which means rascal and perhaps he is, but he’s helps me more than Dr. Botkin and Dr. Derevenko so I like him, even if he smells bad. I need him and so does Mama.
In his new clothes, he’s not nearly as frightening as he