Diary of a Wimpy Czarovitch
Page 25
used to be. Mama and I are going to meet him at Annya’s small cottage so that he doesn’t come to the palace. Grandmama doesn’t like him at all and doesn’t want him around us.
14 February, 27 February 1915 - Tonight we’re all pasting pictures in our photo albums.
Olga’s is just like papa’s green one. She’s getting to be as meticulous as he is about pasting them in precisely with just the correct amount of paste. Mama doesn’t have one since there are plenty of photos being taken in the family.
15 February, 28 February 1915 - Mama's self esteem has plummeted, so Anastasia and I have written some poetry for her to show her that we hold her in the highest esteem. Our tutors have taught us a Japanese poetry form called Haiku which consists of four stanzas relating to nature only our four stanzas were about our Mama. We've written them on hearts and decorated them with ribbons and lace from Mama's store of birthday ribbons and papers which she's accumulated through the years. We also composed some poetry which rhymed for her. One of mine read: Mama dear, never fear - you're the sun around which this sunbeam floats. I'll love you forever, and forget you never. Love your sunbeam, Alexei, the future Czar of all the Russias.
Anastasia helped me write a poem for Papa which read: Papa Czar, You're my star and I'll never stray far, with love and kisses, Baby. That made me so angry. I told her that I was no longer called baby and cut out that word replacing it with a star.
"Nonsense, Alexei, give up, you'll always be their baby." She stuck out her tongue and I caught it and told her that I'd be praying for her nose to grow as long as her arms so no one would fall in love with her and she'd end up like Auntie Annya. Countess Buxhoevedon stormed in and stopped the fight quickly by saying:
"Children, your missives are about love, are you behaving with love? Doesn't your poor mother have enough to worry her enlarged heart over?" She was right of course. We apologized to each other, but Anastasia had to give me on last mischievous wink. No wonder Papa calls her our imp. She is one. She's like Mama playing cards: she must win at all costs. Just wait until, I'm Czar. I'll banish her to Siberia or at least make her clean my toilets. These thoughts comforted me.
16 February, 1915, 29 February 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 experience it. Not even the Yousopouvs have given a ball this winter, she grumbles. She’s disappointed in her grand daughter Irina and thought that she would become a social butterfly as well as a hostess, but she’s become as dull a homebody as Mama since her marriage. What is this generation coming to? Won’t this war ever end?
In a letter to Anastasia, Grandmama hinted that she might take her abroad, but she doesn’t want to leave the country as long as Mama and Rasputin are making dire decisions. Something
must be done about this problem and soon in her opinion.
17 February, 1915, 19 February 1915 - Papa's choice of minister of war Sturmer has been disastrous and his British advisers from the secret service have alerted him that revolution will be imminent unless he appoints another one. Mama does not like his choice. Will this cause their love to end? I long for Auntie Olga to come and rescue us and take us to her elegant town house where my sisters can dance and I can eat. Indulging in food is bliss and I long to eat her noodles and sandwiches. After all, I'm a growing boy and Mama's menu is now too stringent since she herself cares little about what she eats.
18 February, 1915, 20 February 1915 - I am making some elaborate silk kites to fly when spring weather finally arrives. I have a diamond shaped one which I've painted with the face of a troll which rather resembles our Rasputin, but I've also made a box kite made with two silk boxes on wooden sticks, one on the top and one on the bottom which I can hardly wait to experiment with. Which one will fly highest? According to my tutors, the Chinese invented fireworks a thousand years ago and they were also the first kite makers. Papa is actually trying to incorporate both ideas to use in modern day warfare. Selfishly, I admit, I'm designing kites for my own amusement although I have made a miniature one to give to Papa for a gift.
Anastasia made a large butterfly kite of pale yellow silk which she painted with black veins which looks just like a tiger swallowtail butterfly. She and I have a small wager about which kite will fly best. Now if only March will blow in like a lion. I'm getting cabin fever from remaining inside so long, but Mama frets over me and fears that I'll get another cold or worse the dreaded influenza and start my nose bleeds again.
Today, I watched my sisters Olga and Anastasia skating, gliding, pirouetting, around gracefully as if they were porcelain figurines on the top of Mama's music box on the frozen lake outside the palace. How envious I am of their grace and healthy limbs. Anastasia, knowing that I'm watching from my lofty perch in the attic, performs a perfect spin before dropping into a curtsey. If only I could do that.
Tatiana still goes dutifully to the Catherine Palace early in the morning and performs her nursing duties sometimes accompanied by Marie. Olga won't be able to return until she gains the weight she lost and resembles the living once more. The pink is starting to reappear in her pale cheeks.
Papa and Mama still have not been able to find a noble prince or wealthy Russian for her. Mama thinks that the war is to blame. Grandmama thinks Rasputin is to blame. Cousin Irina already caught the richest fish in the pond, Felix Yousouppouv. Special permission would have to be granted if Olga were to marry our first cousin Dimitri who is the only one Olga will consider, but Mama refuses to countenance that match for numerous reasons. Therefore Olga remains on the shelf as an old maid and has only herself to blame since she did refuse Prince Carol.
Mama is still hoping to marry her abroad and is still fishing for an English Lord, but word from the English court diplomats mention that my sisters are hopelessly backwards both socially and scholastically. Each of them speaks four languages fluently! How can this be? Nevertheless the war prevents any ardent courtship or committal. Nothing makes sense to me. Mama merely protects my sisters from the cocaine, drinking and the immoral life of Moscow and Petrograd society. The caustic rumors coming from the British Isles sound like some of Aesop's sour grapes to me: Olga is hardly a wizened old witch long past the bloom of youth in her early twenties!
With great interest I read a reported "love" letter that has been published in the newspapers that Mama wrote to my healer. If one didn't know that Mama was still madly in love with Papa and loved and trusted my staretz because he's saved my life on more than one occasion, one might think that Mama was in love with him. She does feel secure in his massive arms and his outsized hands as do I. But people have sadly misinterpreted Mama's feelings. Who leaked this letter to the newspapers? I have my suspicions and so does Anastasia. Grandmama is furious, but claims no responsibility for the shadow which has fallen on Mama's sterling reputation. Poor Mama is devastated. Her reputation is in tatters.
Papa has imposed large fines on any newspaper which prints information about Father Grigory. Auntie Olga and Auntie Annya say that the press are only too happy to pay the fines because information about Mama and our Rasputin sell thousands of newspapers in the cities. All of the members of my family, but wrinkled Baroness Buxhoeveden, have been linked to him and his gargantuan lusts. What next? Papa may have to do away with the free press which he granted if they can't be more responsible for what their presses print. Perhaps after the war ends, I might laugh at these scurrilous accusations. Olga, Tatiana, and Anastasia had all told me that Auntie Annya has offered to submit to a medical examination to prove that her virginity is still in tact? Now that's what I call a sacrifice for the motherland.
19 February 1915, 3 March 1915 - Dr. Botkin thoroughly examined me again this morning and I mean thoroughly; he even checked my repaired hernia which is always very embarrassing and then he makes me cough. He tells me that soldiers have to be checked in the same manner. I asked him, even Papa?
Of course, he never answered this question. Since Papa doesn’t go to the dentist, I suppose that he also doesn’t submit to “thorough” physical exams either. Since Spala, I’ve never been actually able to straighten my left leg; it’s permanently bent at the knee and I walk with a gimp. At least I’m not on crutches and I can get around without being constantly carried by Nagorny or Derevenko. I’ve long ago ceased to be able to ride around on Nagorny’s bike on the little seat that he’d fastened to the front handlebars and fender because I've grown too large. Of course I have my own bike, but I'm seldom allowed to ride it unless I'm thoroughly padded with protective clothing. Once, Anastasia and I rode our bikes through the halls of the vast Catherine Palace until Olga tattled on us. I even have a three wheeled tricycle with a large front wheel which Anastasia and Papa sometimes enjoy. I wish I could ride a unicycle like Nikita does, but Mama just looks at me and sighs whenever I ask her for one and she quickly changes the subject. Does she think I'll run off and join the circus or something? I'd really like to do that, but I'm destined to be the czar.
20 February 1915, 6 March 1915 - Papa has