Anastasia (6 page)

Madame Gheringer is very thin, with a long, sharp nose and eyes set close together. I made a drawing of her in my sketchbook, but I dare not show it to Mama, who chastises me for mocking people.

2/15 May 1914

Another visitor: Mama’s friend Lili Dehn. Lili’s husband is first officer of Grandmother’s yacht,
Polar Star,
and when he’s at sea, she spends time with us.

Lili is very stylish — she loves the fashionable hobble skirts. When Lili explains that she wears them because they are the fashion, Mama frowns disapprovingly.

Papa’s cousin, Grand Duke George Mikhailovitch, and his wife, Queen Marie of Greece, and their wretched children are here. Nina is the worst of the lot. She’s exactly two days younger than I am but already a whole head taller! She thinks this gives her the right to lord it over me. I think she is putrid, and I told her so.

I can hardly wait for them to leave. I’m so much happier when it’s just OTMA and Alexei. (So is Mama, I can tell.)

6/19 May 1914

Today is Papa’s birthday. It’s being celebrated very quietly. If we were back in Ts. S. there would probably be all sorts of ceremonies and reviews and such, and Papa would dress up in his uniform with all the gold braid and many ribbons and medals, and sit on his enormous horse.

We gathered in the courtyard for a lovely cake with lots of whipped cream. Mama has been keeping a sharp eye on Mashka and me, because she sees in us what she calls a “tendency to overweight.” She does not see this tendency in Olga and Tatiana, who are both revoltingly tall and slim.

7/20 May 1914

It was Mama’s notion that OTMA should entertain the friends who came to bring Papa birthday greetings. We were each to play a piano piece. I’ve made almost no progress on those dratted Chopin preludes. It’s just that I do so hate to practice. As usual, my sisters performed beautifully. They’ve learned new pieces since our last musicale, and I have not even learned the old one well enough to satisfy either Mama or Miss Kropotkin, our piano teacher.

Grandmother didn’t come for the event. She never comes here. I know I shouldn’t say this, but I have a feeling that Grandmother and Mama don’t like each other very much. They’re always polite, of course, because it would upset Papa otherwise.

I believe it’s because Grandmother loves parties and balls and such, and Mama doesn’t. She just wants to be with her family. Sometimes I think Mama is very lonely, and she has only us for company. I even heard Aunt Olga say to Papa, when they didn’t know I was present, “Surely, Nicky, you plan to have a grand ball to present Tatiana. She’s nearly seventeen!”

And Papa said, “I don’t think Sunny is quite ready for that yet.” (That’s Papa’s name for Mama: Sunny.) He explained that Mama’s nerves are quite strained because of Alexei’s problem. That’s how they always describe his illness: “Alexei’s problem.”

13/26 May 1914

Poor Olga! She is absolutely beside herself! Now Crown Prince Carol of Romania wants to marry her, and we are all going to meet the prince and his family. Olga dreads it.

Mama and Papa think that marrying Prince Carol would be a good thing for Olga. His mother, Queen Marie, is a cousin of both Papa and Mama. Since they are fond of this cousin, they believe that Olga will like Carol, who is twenty-one, just two years older than Olga.

I do my best to cheer her up, reminding her that Romania is right next door to Russia. But then I found a map and located Bucharest, the capital, and saw that it really is quite far from Ts. S. Still, I promised that we’d see one another often, whenever we’re at Livadia.

And then I nearly wept, too, because seeing one another often is not like seeing one another every day.

16/29 May 1914

All anyone talks about is Olga’s stupid rotten engagement. Our yacht,
Standart
, has come down from the Baltic Sea to take us over to Romania to meet King Ferdinand and Queen Marie and the crown prince.

Olga just sits in her room and sulks. She doesn’t even want to talk to Mama, who is rather upset with her. Usually I’m the one Mama is upset with, so this is a nice change, although I do feel sorry for Olga.

19 May/1 June 1914

On the
Standart

We love to be on our yacht, but not this time. We’re en route to Romania. Olga’s face is set in a grim expression. In a few hours we’ll arrive in the port of Constanta, to be greeted by Prince Carol and his parents. This isn’t the first time they’ve met: Carol and his family were all present at Olga’s birthday ball in November two years ago. She says she danced with him twice, and that he’s an acceptable dancer but strikes her as very silly. (I like silly people. Olga doesn’t.)

20 May/2 June 1914

Standart
; Constanta

King Ferdinand and Queen Marie must really want Olga to marry their son, because they put on a great show for us. From the minute the
Standart
entered the harbor while bands played and little boats shot plumes of water into the air, we had not a moment to rest. There was barely time to change clothes and get our hair fixed before we were off to the cathedral, a military review, a private luncheon, and a state banquet. It was too boring for words. The only thing even halfway fun was the fireworks that we watched from the deck of our ship. I thought the banquet would never end. Everyone spoke French.

I amused myself by trying to pick out the ugliest person at each gathering. This was very difficult, and kept me well occupied because there were so many possibilities to choose from!

Olga looked beautiful, as always, but very pale and very serious. I tried to make her smile by pulling faces at her, sticking out my tongue, crossing my eyes — everything I could think of. Nothing worked. Her face was like stone.

Prince Carol didn’t have much to say, silly or otherwise. Afterward, we sisters argued about whether he was handsome or not. Mashka liked him, and so did Tatiana, but I voted against him because his hands were as clammy as fish. Olga voted against him, too, no surprise.

24 May/6 June 1914

Livadia

I had to search everywhere for Olga’s diary to see what she’s written about Prince Carol. (I found it hidden in the bathroom.) This is what I read:

I am a Russian and I will remain a Russian. I will never leave my country, even if it means that I do not marry.

I wonder what Mama will have to say to
that
!

When Olga makes up her mind to something, that’s the end of it. Now I suppose Papa and Mama will have to find her a suitable Russian, although I can’t think of any.

25 May/7 June 1914

Today is Mama’s birthday. We had a quiet little family party, because she always says she doesn’t want any fuss.

Tomorrow we leave for Tsarskoe Selo.

26 May/8 June 1914

On the train

Farewell, Livadia! We’re headed north again.

The train is dreadfully hot. Sometimes we stop in a shady grove to jump out and cool off. Olga mopes in her compartment. Alexei and I pass the time playing checkers. He said he thinks Mama will feel better when she sees Father Grigory again. That surprised me because I hadn’t noticed she wasn’t feeling well.

“Mama never feels
really
well, you know,” he said, and calmly captured two of my men.

29 May/11 June 1914

This is Tatiana’s seventeenth birthday. She likes her gloves — I’m sure she would tell me if she didn’t. We played charades as the train rumbled along. Mama and Papa promised that she would have a grand ball in November when we go back to Livadia. But then I remembered what Alexei said, that we would not be back again, and it made me shiver.

30 May/12 June 1914

Ts. S.

The servants are always happy to see us when we’ve been gone for a while. Shura and our personal servants travel with us, but most of the others stay here unless they’re sent to one of the other palaces. Jim, the Ethiopian from America, was one of the first to greet us. He brought me a jar of jam that his mother made for him. He says it’s made with guava, a fruit that grows in America in what he calls “the South.” I immediately sat down with a spoon and ate nearly all of it. I made myself half sick, but it was so delicious.

31 May/13 June 1914

Here’s something interesting: Natasha, the daughter of our maid Dunyasha, is getting married. She came today to tell us about it. She is so excited — Vladya is a member of the Cossack guards. He’s very handsome in his bright red tunic! The wedding is to take place next winter, and she’s promised to tell us all her plans as she makes them.

Only Olga doesn’t want to hear about it. She is out of sorts most of the time — “Grumpy,” Mama says. She and Mama seem to oppose each other quite often, and I’m sure it’s because Olga refused to marry Crown Prince Carol and Mama says she ought to.

Tomorrow we’re going to Peterhof, our summer palace by the sea.

1/14 June 1914

Peterhof

We call it “the farm” because this little palace is not as elegant as the one at Livadia (or the gold and white Great Palace nearby, which I can’t recall us ever using). And the Baltic is very different from the Black Sea (
cold
!
). But this is where I was born, and I love to celebrate my birthday here. Four more days and I’ll be thirteen.

Maybe when I am thirteen my life will become exciting.

2/15 June 1914

What a splendid day! The British Royal Navy’s First Battle Cruiser Squadron arrived on an official visit. This afternoon we were taken by launch to the admiral’s flagship,
Lion
, and given a tour by the midshipmen. They are so handsome! Even Olga was smiling.

Three more days.

4/17 June 1914

Tomorrow is
the day
, my birthday, the day that everything will change. If I keep saying that, I’m sure it will.

Mama’s cousin Kaiser Wilhelm sent me a doll from Germany for my birthday. A doll! I am so disgusted. It’s true that it’s beautiful, porcelain with blue eyes like Mashka’s, and she’s dressed most elegantly with a little rabbit fur jacket for winter, but
still
! Doesn’t that idiotic Cousin Willy understand that I am no longer a
child
?

5/18 June 1914 — My birthday

(If I write two dates, shouldn’t I have two birthdays?)

I’m up early, waiting for something to happen.

Here’s a story that no one in my family knows that I know. I heard it from a servant named Lutka.

It’s the custom that when the tsar and the tsaritsa have a baby, a salute is fired: 300 rounds for a boy, and 101 rounds for a girl. The reason, of course, is that a boy will be the next tsar, and a girl will be only a grand duchess. Anyway, when Olga was born — according to Lutka, who was there — the gun was fired 101 times. The next time it was Tatiana, who was greeted with only 101 rounds. The third time Mama was waiting for a baby, Mashka appeared.
Boom
, 101 times.

Then, when Mama was expecting her fourth baby, the churches were filled with people praying for a tsarevitch. Candles were lit, and the priests said special Masses. No one prayed harder than Mama!

And out popped another girl —
me
! No one had to tell me that an awful lot of people were disappointed when a fourth grand duchess was squalling in the nursery!

But here’s what Lutka said: “Your papa cried! I saw him with my own eyes, weeping at your birth, Anastasia! They were not tears of joy, believe me! But then he collected himself and went into the tsaritsa’s bedroom with a smile on his face just for her.”

I don’t know if that part of the story is true or not. Lutka is no longer one of our maids. I didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye to her when she left.

When I was three years old, Alexei was born, and the Russians at last heard three hundred rounds for the tsarevitch. He was — and still is — the most important child in Russia.

6/19 June 1914

Nothing
happened. Nothing
exciting
happened. Maybe my exciting life will begin very gradually.

We did have a nice party — Aunt Olga and Anya Vyrubova came, and Dr. Botkin and Gleb. All the usual people. And the usual gift from Mama and Papa: another diamond. They give me a diamond or a pearl on every birthday and name day so that when I am sixteen I shall have a beautiful necklace with thirty-two beautiful gems, just like my sisters’.

As a special treat, Aunt Olga and I went for a walk with our easels and my new watercolors and sat under a tree and painted. When we came back to the palace for tea, there were special tiny cakes that Grandmother’s pastry chef made especially for me and sent along with Aunt Olga. Anya ate so many, I thought she would explode. But she did not. She resembles a little sofa, soft and puffy, all dressed up in a flowered slipcover and toddling along on pudgy feet.

Tatiana says I am not a good one to talk, because I’m getting fatter, too. She actually said such a mean thing on my birthday.

8/21 June 1914

Grandmother invited my sisters and me to lunch at Anitchkov Palace in honor of my birthday and Tatiana’s, and Mashka’s next week. As usual we had a French menu (
escargots en beurre
— snails in butter — ugh!) and spoke only French throughout the meal. Her gift to me was a silver music box that plays a pretty tune and has a ballerina on top, who dances when I wind it up. I did remember to say
Merci beaucoup
, which is French for “Thank you very much,” and I kissed her three times, Russian style.

Then she promised to take me to Paris. (At least that’s what I
think
she said; my French is far from perfect.)

I asked her when — in French, of course — and she said, “For your sixteenth birthday, Anastasia Nicholaievna.”

But that’s not for three whole years! How can I bear to wait that long? (She didn’t say if all four of us are going. Mashka will be sixteen next year, and Grandmother didn’t say a word about taking
her
to Paris, but she’s too good-natured to be jealous.)

11/24 June 1914

On the
Standart

Our small yacht took us from Peterhof this morning out to the
Standart
, which was waiting for us in deeper water. The brass band was playing as we boarded, which put us in a merry mood. Mama and Anya immediately found their favorite white wicker chairs on the deck, and we began our summer cruise in the Gulf of Finland.