by JG Hampton
women didn't wear underwear, or would she have flown her husband’s or her lover’s?
Mama longed to send in a caricature of this to the newspapers, but knew that this would only stir things up even further. What else would the newspapers use to sell newspapers? Was nothing sacred, love, fidelity, and now undergarments? Her shocked her gangun would be at the impropriety of it all. Queen Victoria would refuse to comment on the situation and knew that she must not dignify the conjecture with a comment either; but it was difficult for Mama to remain mum.
What really made Mama mad was when the chief of police offered my muzhik 200,000 rubles to leave town. Perhaps he could go on another pilgrimage to Jerusalem this time.
It made me mad, too since I needed him nearby. My aches and pains were severe with all of the rapid growing I was doing, and the stress and Papa’s absence made things worse and I worried over Mama’s enlarged heart as well as her sciatica. The pine needle drink and raw meat, were disgusting and so was drinking cod liver oil, and the vitamin c tablets. Only Rasputin was able to slow my blood and stop my excruciating pain.
1 September 1915 – 14 September 1915 - Ministers, relatives, and holy men, including Papa’s new holy military adviser, a priest, were speaking up. All wanted Rasputin’s power and influence stopped. The headlines affirmed this constantly and so did Papa’s British advisors; but still it was none of their business. He was after all, the czar.
Clearly we were on a sinking Russian ship, but Papa Czar remembered that his clever wife had saved them all once before when their own yaught, the Standardt, had sprung a leak. Bravely, she had kept her head, gathered their possessions and telegraphed for another Russian ship to rescue them before their own yaught sank. Had she not been the czarina, she would have made an excellent admiral. He trusted her alone and kept Mama’s picture with him constantly. She would strengthen him the same way she had that day when all easily might have been lost.
15 October 1915 – 28 October 1915 – I line up my memories of the photos of various ministers in my mind and wonder which ones are dressed in sheep’s clothing? If I were a knight in King Arthur’s court which ones would die jousting when knocked off their horse with my long pole? I visualize myself wearing my mother’s favorite color of mauve silk fastened on my armor and Father Grigory whispers in my ear to listen to only her. Lately, the duma leader Purishkevich is making the most noise and everyone is reading and listening to what he has to say. No wonder Papa’s head spins out of control like the whirling of my kaleidoscope when I twist the bottom rotating the colors.. I pray for him that he may make the correct decisions and wish that I’d never learned to read so that my tutors wouldn’t expect me to keep up with current events in my country by reading the newspapers. Anastasia is quite content stating that ignorance is bliss and is finally glad that she's a mere girl, but she’s not going to be the next czar; I am. Poor me.
20 November 1915 – Rumors have come by way of our telephone that something dreadful is going to happen. Picking up the phone expecting a call from my Auntie Olga, I heard a voice saying: "Death to Rasputin. The imposter will die. The voice was familiar, but I could not pin it down before the connection was broken. Could it have been my cousin Dmitry?
Will my cousins, aristocratic nobles, or Xenaida Yousouppouv end the menace called Father Grigory? I pray that the rumors are wrong. I haven’t slept for weeks and dark circles are under my eyes. Mama sleeps only with the aid of Veronal and Dr. Botkin refuses to prescribe it for me. Papa uses opium and vodka at headquarters to help him sleep. Joy no longer supplies the comfort I need and drinking warm milk does not work. I pray for Russia’s survival, for Papa's, Rasputin's and now my own. I pray morning and night that my staretz's life will be preserved so that I may be healed as he prophesied. The sands of time in my hour glass are flowing so slowly.
1 December 1915 – 14 December 1915 – I tell Auntie Annya to warn Rasputin that something is in the air. I sense that he’s in danger. I’m not a prophet, but my sisters have said that I have special powers, also, and that my prayers are always answered, but not necessarily always the way that I want them answered. Auntie Annya tells me that she’s warned him and that only makes him laugh loudly. He says that no one has power over him until God desires it so and his time is not yet up. I pray that he will be protected and I underline in my Bible where poisons have no power to kill and that viper’s have no power to harm holy men of God and pray that his life will be preserved miraculously and that mine also. I pray to St. Seraphim and ask him for help knowing that he answered my Mama’s prayers. "Heaven help Russia, Papa, me, and its minions," I say while making the sign of the cross. That’s all I can do. Is anyone up there listening to the czarovitch? I burrow under the covers to the bottom of my bed, hoping that dreams will soon replace the dread that I feel.
10 December 1915, 23 December 1915 - Anastasia and I are making angel Christmas cards to give to our friends and relatives. I am making my Grandmama and Aunt Olga lovely ones with wings cut out of paper resembling real fathers. Their faces even look human thanks to my diligent efforts with watercolor. Mama told me that if I kept practicing that I would improve and she was right. I've traced a photograph of Tatiana face to use for the model of my angels' faces. I've achieved just the right look that I was after. I believe that my perfectionist Grandmama will even admire a few of them. Inside each of my cards I write: Peace on earth, good will to men. Love Alexei Romanov. I'm doing my small part to end this war. Out of small things can come great things. I hope this pricks Grandmama's conscience, the consciences of my soldier cousins, Felix and Irina Yousopouv, and a few others who will be receiving them. King George will even be in receipt of one. Anastasia laughed when she heard this saying:
"Alexei, don't get carried away, aren't you being a little presumptuous giving one to the King of England?" I'm looking towards the future when I'm czar and I'll need all of the friends I can get in high places as well as their influence. I've already sent Uncle Ernie one along with one of Mama's fruit cakes, but I will not send one to our cousin Kaiser Wilhelm. The card to Father Grigory has the message: Repent! Love Alexei. He might as well know that his young czarovitch is onto him. No wonder he is losing all of his powers. Let him pass that onto the newspapers.
Anastasia's angels are humorous ones which make me laugh out loud. Her angels are either fat or extremely thin and their wings are too small to convey them anywhere, or their golden halos are slipping over their eyes, but they definitely deliver good cheer. My sister and I plan on making this a yearly tradition for both of us. Who knows maybe our collection of angel cards will be saved by those who receive them! I'm including a small photo of myself tucked inside them and am sending one to Papa at military headquarters so that he can show the generals and the Russian archpriest, Father Shavelsky. Perhaps that will influence peace.
13 December 1915 - 16 December 1915 - The Christmas season is here once more. Auntie Olga took my sisters and I shopping in Petrograd and we made selections for everyone in the family. Wait until Anastasia opens the brass spy glass that I bought for her. Now she will really be able to see what everyone is up to. She so loves keeping track of everyone else's business. I bought black fur muffs for the older pair and a romance novel for my sister Marie. I bought Grandmama a gold brooch of a silhouette which surprisingly looks like Tatiana wearing two pearl earbobs from Faberge's remarkable jewelry shop. Mama and Papa will get homemade presents from me which they prefer. I laboriously made a replica of Mama's mauve boudoir in paper and cardstock which I cut and colored with watercolors and placed inside a hat box. She always told me she loved Queen Victoria's miniature rooms set in a cabinet which had been a favorite doll house of hers. I also made tiny cardstock miniatures of the family to go with it like the ones I made for my train station. This was a labor of love which I thoroughly enjoyed.
Papa will be delighted with the self portrait I painted for him in watercolor of my dog Joy sitting on my lap with my arms wrapped around him.
Both of us are smiling. Fussy Olga complimented me on the fine job I did. Anastasia told me peevishly: "Better luck next year, sport." I think she was just jealous because I've improved so much.
14 December 1915, 27 December 1915 - My sisters all have wonderful piano pieces memorized for Christmas sharing. I've written a small carol on my Balaiika and when I blow a small whistle Joy appears to sing along with me only she howls loudly. That should give everyone a few laughs. I've wrapped all of my presents in green paper with red Christmas bells. I have such a joyous feeling inside. Is this the spirit of Christmas? Does everyone receive it or only a few chosen ones like the czarovitch? How, I wish the war would end so that Papa so that our family life can return to normal. I hope that Papa comes home early and spends time with us. I miss him dreadfully.
16 December 1915, 29 December 1915 - Mama took my sisters and I with her to visit the wounded at the hospital in Novgorod. The provincial governor met us and showed us great courtesy. Mama received a bushel of apples from the village and she was pleased. Baroness Buxhoevedon and my sisters thought that