Christmas Eve 1914
Papa is home. It’s so good to have us all gathered here together again, the way it used to be. As usual, Papa wanted kutia, a kind of cereal made of rice and raisins, served in a bowl set in the middle of a mound of hay that symbolizes the Holy Nativity in the manger. Then we had our Christmas Eve dinner: almond soup and poached carp.
Before, we always stepped outside to offer greetings to Papa’s subjects who had gathered in front of Alexander Palace to wish us a joyous Christmas. But we’re not making any public appearances like those of last summer, because many people are upset and angry. They thought the war would be over by now, and they’re blaming Papa.
They also blame everything German. Mama’s friend Lili Dehn says the orchestras in Petrograd are forbidden to play music by any German composers. So when we got together to put on our little musical program, I wasn’t allowed to play that pretty song I’ve practiced so hard: It’s called “Für Elise,” by Beethoven. And Tatiana may not play the “Moonlight Sonata” by the same composer.
But I can’t seem to help whistling “Für Elise” and don’t even realize I’m doing it. Mama says it’s naughty, and that I must stop.
Christmas 1914
Mama is smiling again because Father Grigory has come to visit us before he returns to his village in Siberia. Papa treats him very politely, even though it’s well known that Father Grigory tried to convince Papa to stay out of the war.
Lots of gifts for everybody. Mama gave us each an icon of the Blessed Virgin, and Papa gave us bracelets set with pearls. I tinted photographs that I’ve taken of the family for Papa to carry with him when he goes back to Stavka.
After dinner, Alexei entertained us with his balalaika. All Russian music and very cheering.
28 December 1914/10 January 1915
Something odd is going on here. I think Mashka is falling in love with one of the palace guards. I catch her gazing out the window at one in particular. I must find out his name.
2/15 January 1915
Awful news: Anya Vyrubova was in a terrible train wreck. Mama and Papa got word that she was hurt so badly, she may die. They rushed to Petrograd to be with her in her last hours. We are all praying for her.
4/17 January 1915
Anya is not only alive, she is getting better! This is what happened:
As soon as Mama heard about Anya, she sent Father Grigory a telegram, and he rushed to the hospital. Anya was in a delirium when he arrived, and the doctors said there was nothing to be done. Her legs had been crushed and her head pinned under a steel girder.
But Father Grigory brushed the doctors away and took her hand. “Annushka!” he called out three times. Anya slowly opened her eyes. Then he ordered her to rise, and she tried to obey him. Next he ordered her to speak to him, and she did!
Everyone in the room was astonished. She will live, Father Grigory told them, but she will always be crippled. Then he left the room and collapsed.
Mama and Papa both believe it’s a miracle. I do, too.
10/23 January 1915
The guard that Mashka’s been admiring is Nicholas Dmitrievitch Demekov, and he’s from Moscow. I asked Dunyasha’s daughter Natasha, and she told me his name. Natasha planned to get married this month, but her Vladya volunteered for the front, and the wedding is postponed.
24 January/6 February 1915
Anya is out of the hospital. Her house is only a summer place and is freezing cold, so she’s staying in the palace with us. Papa has not gone back to Stavka, and will be at home until the fighting resumes in the spring. Mama and the Big Pair still have much to do at the hospitals, and they have hardly any time or energy left to look after Anya, so Mashka and I will visit her every day.
25 January/7 February 1915
Today is the first day of Butterweek, and we took Anya lots of blini drenched in butter. Alexei went with us, and it’s hard to say who ate more blini, Anya or Alexei. But she grows fatter, and he doesn’t.
Anya says if the war goes on much longer, there will be no more butter and a shortage of many other things, but the imperial family (us) will not have to do without. Knowing Mama, though, I’m pretty sure she’ll want us to share the fate of the Russian people. If they have to do without butter, then so will we.
3/16 February 1915
The Great Fast began yesterday. As usual, I spent time with Anya Vyrubova. She’s very easy to entertain, as long as we talk about Father Grigory. She’s convinced he’s a saint. Mama believes it, too, because Alexei always gets better when Father Grigory prays over him. Anya also believes Father Grigory has a divine purpose: that God sent him to save our family and all of Holy Russia. She says that only God knows how.
He does not smell as bad as he used to (stink is a better word), but he still makes me feel very strange. I want so much to talk to Mashka about him, and to ask her what she thinks, but I don’t dare.
5/18 February 1915
Well, I did dare to ask Mashka what she thinks about Father Grigory. She looked at me with her big blue eyes and said, “But he is a saint!” Then she said that if he smells nasty and has dirty fingernails and looks at us in that way he does, as though he can see straight into our souls, it’s because God is testing our faith.
Dear Mashka, she is so good! I must be evil to my very bones, because I do not like this man, no matter what anyone says.
13/26 February 1915
Papa left today for Stavka, and we are all feeling very sad — especially Alexei. But Papa was in a jolly mood, full of optimism for the spring offensive. Two million new recruits are headed for the front lines — enough, surely, to bring victory soon.
18 February/3 March 1915
Our tutors insist that we study geography. Every morning we stare at maps of Russia, especially west of the Ural Mountains, as well as of Hungary and Austria and Poland, where the fighting is going on. We have bunches of little pins, white for the Russian army, black for the Germans, yellow for the Austrians, and so on, and when we have news of their location in the war, we move the pins around on the map.
And while we wait for news, we still have our exercises in math, English, French, etc. As if it matters.
21 February/6 March 1915
Alexei came up with a brilliant idea — using Papa’s bathing pool while Papa is away. Not to be outdone, I insisted that we girls also be allowed to use the bathing pool as well. So Mama wrote to Papa and got his permission, and in we went. And it was such fun! We had a terrific time, jumping into the water and swimming around. Why haven’t we thought of it before?
23 February/8 March 1915
We’re attacking the Austrian province of Galicia. I know exactly where it is — it used to be part of Poland — and moved our pins.
25 February/10 March 1915
Poor Mama! I feel so sad for her. Since November she has had a close attachment to a young soldier in her care at the hospital. Often he was entirely off his head and sometimes thought she was his mother or an angel or both. He died this morning, and we all wept for him. His name was Ivan, and he was exactly Olga’s age.
3/16 March 1915
Father Grigory is here, speaking privately with Mama. She says she needs his advice on keeping things running smoothly with Papa away at Stavka.
6/19 March 1915
Ha! Victory! Lots of prisoners and guns taken at a fortress in Galicia. Alexei knows the numbers of each, but I don’t. I’m happy just to move our white pins forward.
Mama says Papa is very pleased with Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholaievitch, the commander-in-chief, and gave him a gold sword with a diamond-covered hilt to celebrate the grand victory. Mama speaks about it with her lips pressed into a thin line, so I can tell she doesn’t believe the grand duke deserves such a reward. For some reason, she doesn’t like him much.
8/21 March 1915
Anya Vyrubova is such a gossip! Thank goodness, because otherwise I wou
ld never know what’s happening. Mashka and I were playing duets for her (no German music, thank you!), and when we stopped for tea, Anya told us that she loathes Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholaievitch. Here’s her reason: “Because the grand duke despises our Grishka!” (Grishka is what she calls Father Grigory.)
Then, because Anya was in an especially talkative mood, I asked her if she knew why the grand duke despises Father Grigory. According to her, it’s because he doesn’t believe that Father Grigory is a true man of God. The grand duke, and many other ignorant people, she says, claim that Father Grigory is a charlatan who only pretends to be deeply religious but in fact lives a wicked life of debauchery and dissolution and dissipation. (She also used other words that I didn’t understand and can’t spell.) Anya says that these same ignorant people believe that Father Grigory has too much influence over Mama, and that he is seeking power for himself. Then she said, “I think the people who malign our Grishka are jealous of him.”
I said nothing, but I wonder: What if they’re right?
15/28 March 1915
Palm Sunday
Papa has come home for Easter, and he’s in a splendid mood because he says we’re winning the war. But when I ask him when, he shakes his head and says, “In God’s time.” That means he doesn’t know.
22 March/4 April 1915
Easter
A year ago we were in Livadia. I looked back in my diary and read about the happy times we were having. Now everything is changed. One of Mama’s friends sent us a whole carload of spring flowers from the Crimea — peonies, irises, violets, wisteria. That cheered us but also reminded us of what we’re missing.
The Easter egg that Papa gave Mama this year is white enamel with a red cross, opening to show paintings of Mama, Olga, Tatiana, Aunt Olga, and cousin Marie in their nurse uniforms. This is the plainest Fabergé egg I’ve ever seen, but Mama says it is appropriate for wartime.
Papa leaves again in a few days for Stavka. The Russians are on the attack in the Carpathian Mountains in Poland. Alexei will have more prisoners to count, and I will have more pins to move.
30 March/12 April 1915
Although we are winning battles and the Austrian army is on the run, there are many wounded soldiers still arriving daily at the hospitals. As Mama says, every foot of ground we gain is paid for in Russian blood.
In his last letter, Papa said he hoped we were being diligent in keeping our diaries, because it’s good discipline. It would displease Papa immensely to know that I don’t write as regularly as I used to. But it’s just too hard to write when we’re all feeling so sad.
5/18 April 1915
We had a concert this afternoon in our hospital. An old man told amusing stories, and a lady performed a Russian folk dance. I thought the dancer seemed much too pleased with herself, but the soldiers were happy, so I suppose it was a great success.
But here was the best thing: Nicholas Dmitrievitch Demekov was there and introduced the performers to us. Now I know for sure: Mashka is mad about him! It’s “Kolya says this” and “Kolya thinks that” all the time, and she thinks I don’t notice how she looks at him. It’s rather disgusting. He’s not even that handsome, although I suppose you could say he’s rather sweet.
20 April/3 May 1915
Oh, those vile Germans! Yesterday — and on a Sunday, at that — the German artillery opened fire on our men at the front in Poland. Thousands of Russians were killed and wounded, and the trains are bringing the survivors to Mama’s hospitals. Among those to arrive was Natasha’s Vladya. Mama says his condition is grave.
6/19 May 1915
Papa’s birthday. We are so sad without him.
21 May/3 June 1915
The Germans are winning more and more battles. All through Poland the black pins are overwhelming the white pins on our map.
This is the first summer we haven’t gone on a cruise on the Standart, but everyone is too busy here. I do miss the sea. I try not to think about it, because it’s useless.
23 May/5 June 1915
I saw a newspaper on Professor Petrov’s desk and managed to read some of the headlines before the paper vanished. In Moscow a great mob was calling for the tsar to give up his throne and turn it over to Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholaievitch. I do understand now why Mama dislikes the commander-in-chief, but what I don’t understand is what people could have against Papa.
29 May/11 June 1915
Mama has a letter from Aunt Ella in Moscow. She says that mobs broke into a piano store and began throwing grand pianos out of the windows because they had been made by German companies.
Then an angry crowd went to the Convent of Martha and Mary, which Aunt Ella founded many years ago after her husband was killed. They accused Aunt Ella of hiding our uncle Erni there, which is ridiculous, because of course he’s in Germany. She did as Mama would have done and bravely faced them down, even though someone threw a big stone at her.
It’s Tatiana’s birthday. She’s eighteen. I gathered some flowers for her and put them by her plate at breakfast, and Anya has invited us for tea tomorrow.
5/18 June 1915
Today is my fourteenth birthday. On the day before my birthday last year, I wrote, “Tomorrow is the day that everything will change. If I keep saying that, I’m sure it will.” What I meant was, everything would get better.
I know it’s wicked of me to complain, because Mama, Papa, and Tatiana have all had birthdays in the past few weeks, and they never complain.
I got a beautiful diamond for my necklace. In two years it will be complete, and I’ll have a lovely party like Olga’s. Tatiana and Mashka will have theirs when the war is over. Mama has promised.
But here’s what I wanted: a ride in the country in Monsieur Gilliard’s automobile. But Monsieur Gilliard says it’s too dangerous and promises that next year I’ll get my wish. That’s what everybody says, “Next year, Anastasia Nicholaievna.”
To which I say: Faugh! (I don’t say Pfui anymore, because it’s German.)
14/27 June 1915
Mashka’s birthday, her sixteenth. She got the last diamond needed for her necklace.
26 June/9 July 1915
Papa has been home for a week, and he’s very restless. He says that only when he’s with the soldiers does he feel he’s helping to beat the filthy Germans. Mama, on the other hand, is glad to get him away from the grand duke. The rest of us are merely ecstatic to have him with us.
4/17 July 1915
We had tea today at Anya’s house. She uses crutches or a wheelchair to get about, but at least she’s alive. She invited some of the officers to join us, including Mashka’s Kolya. They gaze at each other like sick puppies. I can hardly stand to watch them.
23 July/5 August 1915
Terrible news. We were having tea on the balcony, where Mama likes to sit in the open air, and Papa came out of his study. He was trembling so badly he could hardly stand. We all stared at him.
“Warsaw has fallen,” he said, and sat down sobbing. “It cannot go on like this,” he repeated over and over, his head buried in his hands.
I’ve never seen Papa in such a state. Naturally, I burst into tears, too. I didn’t have to look at a map to see why this loss is so important. Warsaw is the capital of the part of Poland that belongs to Russia.
30 July/12 August 1915
Today is Alexei’s eleventh birthday. We tried to make it a happy day for him, with all his favorite foods (he can’t get enough blini) and a pile of new toys — mostly wooden guns and toy soldiers. When he is well, he marches around the park with a gun over his shoulder, and when he’s ill he lines up the lead soldiers on his bedcovers and fights mock battles.
Even while we were celebrating, we could tell that Papa and Mama are worried and distracted. But what can anyone do?
8/21 August 1915
Two days ago Papa and Mama made a private trip to Petrograd with only a few aid
es. When they came back, they told us they had been praying for guidance before the tombs of the tsars.
As a result, Papa has decided to take over as commander-in-chief, in place of Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholaievitch. Mama is pleased, even though it means Papa will spend all his time at Stavka. He says we may come there to visit him often, but this doesn’t comfort Alexei, who lies in bed with his face to the wall.
16/29 August 1915
Papa has gone. At nine o’clock every morning, Mama goes into Papa’s study and receives some of the same ministers and government representatives who used to come to talk to Papa! It’s almost as though she’s the tsar.
Meanwhile, my brother and sisters and I must have our same old dreary lessons. Unfair, in my opinion.
Anastasia Page 7
