Diary of a Wimpy Czarovitch
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King Edward VIII and other kings? Once more laughter filled the room. Papa said snidely: "No doubt all the Russian male aristocracy will be standing in line to do their duty, Alexei. However, you'll have to have Monsieur Faberge enlarge the traditional Romanov bridal jewelry for your true love. Now that will take some magic."
Olga’s scarf is finished but I haven’t found out who the initials DPR stand for, maybe they represent some officer she met at one of Aunt Olga’s dances which she sponsored when my sisters stayed with her in her St. Petersburg townhouse. I‘ve heard rumors that Auntie Olga has a crush on a soldier. For her sake, I hope he’s a member of the aristocracy, or Papa will be angry. Papa has to approve all of the Romanov marriages since he is the czar and head of the family, although some uncles have not obeyed his wishes, like Uncle Paul and Uncle Michael. Auntie Olga followed Grandmama’s wishes and married a much older man with one foot in the tomb so to speak, but has since divorced him because they despised each other. Papa says that such casual divorce and marriage will undermine the dynasty both here and abroad. Will our English cousin David really marry one of those gay divorcees he dotes on as rumored? Uncle Ernie’s former wife Ducky, is now married to Cousin Kyrill against Papa’s wishes; Papa was furious. “Why
aren’t my own family members respecting my authority?” ranted Papa one day. When I am czar, my relatives will obey me or I'll lock them up; Papa is too kind. I shall be strong like my grandfather who held up the roof of the train with his bare hands and who could bend coins with his fingers, either that or I will stare at them and put them in my power hypnotically like Father Grigory does me.
17 February 1914, 3 March 1914 Soon it will be Butter Week with its rich pastries and omelettes before Lent begins. Cook has fixed cream puffs in the past stuffed with whip cream and chocolate éclairs filled with egg custard topped with chocolate frosting and shrimp sautéed in butter. Anastasia and Marie can only have one serving each, but I am like Tatiana. Mama says that we must have a hole in our stomachs which the food falls out of, because neither of us ever put on any weight no matter how much we eat. In the past, I’ve stuffed myself with cheese soufflés, and angel food cakes, crepes and all kinds of rich foods. I must enjoy it squirreling it away for the lean times because then comes Lent, when I feel like I’m starving. Poor old Auntie Annya, has to wear a skirt with an expandable waist band now or large velvet vests to cover her expanding girth. People have asked her if she’s with child, and gossips say she’s in love with Father Grigory, but I know better. Pshaw. Father Grigory is married although his peasant wife says that where he is concerned, there is plenty for all-whatever that means. I asked Papa what she meant and he merely laughed walking off to his library saying: "I'll discuss that with you in a few years, Alexei."
Auntie Annya is still hopelessly in love with Papa to no avail because Papa is hopelessly in love with Mama which is as it should be. When I’m the czar, I’ll lock gossipers up in the fortress and Baroness Buxhoeveden will be first, and so will some of my Grandmama’s chatty friends; they’re always yacking away on the telephone spreading malicious rumors with my Grandmama whenever I visit her palace with Papa and the older pair.
Mama doesn’t gossip, she says that idle gossip comes from idle heads and idle hands. That’s why she’s always busy knitting for the poor. My sisters keep their hands busy with needlework just like Mama and I do. Her gangun, Queen Victoria, taught her daughters and Mama this principle. If Prince Edward or David as the family calls him can do intricate needlepoint at Fort Belvedere, I can learn to knit and make socks for the poor like Mama. My persnickety Grandmama says that no other czarina has ever worried about the poor and that Mama is ruining the myth about the idle aristocracy. Critically she says that Mama should stay in her place and class. Mama says that she feels good when she does good. Does that mean that Grandmama doesn't? I won't ask Grandmama about this. However, I like going with Mama when she gives the proceeds from the sell of her handcrafts to poor villagers. After all, she is the matushka (mother) of all Russia and to know her is to love her. I've seen the peasants bless her and praise her largesse. Grandmama could not be correct about my saintly Mama.
18 February 1914, 4 March 1914 Shura and Mama and Auntie Annya are not speaking to each other. Papa has banished Father Grigory from our private quarters. Rumors have surfaced because of Shura that Father Grigory is too familiar with my sisters and my Mama. I’m nervous because I don’t want Father Grigory to go on another pilgrimage. What if I need him? Auntie Annya says that Father Grigory gives away more money than he keeps for himself and is a true saint and defends my staret to Papa. Grandmama says his mystique comes from the devil. Mama is upset and when Mama’s upset, all of us are upset. I've never seen Mama so furious before. What is going to happen to me? Sometimes I feel that I have no future. Father Grigory must not go far away. I depend on him. Send Dr. Derevenko or Dr.Botkin away, but keep the true healer nearby. Just thinking about his departure makes my knee ache and my pulse to quicken. Mama’s headaches will be back and so will her toothaches. When I am czar, I will cut out the tongues of gossips or lock them in the fortress for spreading idle gossip endangering the Russian way of life. My Great Grandmama, Queen Victoria, didn’t allow it in her English court and neither shall I.
It snowed again and I am cutting snowflakes from white paper to decorate my windows and to make for Mama so that she’ll smile again. The Snow Queen has her army of snowflakes and when I am czar, I shall have my army of brave militia wearing warm black fur caps, long military coats and carrying their shining sabers in one hand and their repeating rifles in the other. Fearlessly, I'll lead them riding on my white charger into battle against Russia's enemies. Will it be the huns, the Tatars or the French?
19 February, 5 March 1914 My family went out in our sled with all of the horses wearing tinkling bells. The sounds were merry and we were all bundled head to toe in our furs. Anastasia and Marie looked like fat droll white minks. Papa’s nose turned bright red and he covered it with a muffler that Olga had knit him for Christmas. Only his eyes peeked through the small slits. Mama went with us and we all started singing a German song. I countered this by humming a Russian military song and Mama laughed. “You know Alexei, I was born in Hesse-Darmstadt, a small German province, but every bit of me is now Russian from the tips of my well shod toes to the top of my Russian imperial crown.” I don’t doubt my Mama, even though she has a hard time speaking decent Russian with her strong German accent.
Stopping in a pristine field of snow and had a snowball fight. Papa and I against the girls and Mama acted as the referee. We built a huge snow castle with two wooden box that my sisters had brought for molds. Neither Buckingham Palace nor the Winter Palace was as grand as our snow castle and Mama let me name the snow palace. I named it Saint Grigory’s and Mama clapped her hands with delight and made a flag from one of her handkerchiefs which flew from the top pinnacle of one of the towers. After all, even a lowly peasant should have a palace
or at least be recognized for his special services to the czarovitch and the czarina. Papa was not pleased but he got over it as he winked at Mama and patted me on my fur hat. I will always remember this fun filled day in the snow with my loving family. Life in Russia is good to us and I could not bear being separated from my dear ones. Must I really grow up to be the czar?
20 February 1914, 6 March 1914 - Tonight, I surprised Papa and Mama with a song that I wrote and learned on my balalaika. I’m not bragging, but the haunting melody brought tears to Mama’s eyes so I knew that I had composed and performed well. Then there was dancing. The small pair started dancing first, and then the large pair, and Papa even did a dance from the Ukraine for us that he’d learned last time he’d visited Stavka, military headquarters. Mama could not take her eyes off her beloved. Papa was winded by the time he finished, but he's exceedingly limber for a czar. He promised me that he would take me to headquarters, too when I am stronger.
Earlier my
sisters and I had performed a play written by the younger pair with help from their tutor and I was a bear in it. The play reminded me of the fairy tale of Rose Red and Snow White. I growled and wore a white rug on my back and was very realistic despite my limp. M. Gilliard and Monsieur Petrov, my doctors and the usual adopted family members, like Auntie Annya, the baroness, and our music tutors attended the performance which was done in French,
much to my chagrin.
It is regrettable that my Grandmama was not there. She would have heard a remarkable French speaking bear with a Parisian accent. Mama kissed all of us and said that we all performed better than she did. When her gangun, Queen Victoria, commanded her to perform once at one of her palaces for aristocrats, her fingers refused to move on the piano keys. She prayed a silent prayer and happily her frozen fingers performed to her relief. Mama was proud that none of her children had inherited that horrendous defect. None of her children, especially Anastasia have a shy bone in their bodies. Papa kissed Mama and said that their offspring took after him and their