 
Diary of a Wimpy Czarovitch

(The Life and Times of Alexei Romanov, the Last Czarovitch)

by

J.G. Hampton

Smashwords edition 2013 Diary of a Wimpy Czarovitch (The life and times of Alexei Romanov, the last Czarovitch) by J.G. Hampton

Please respect the hard work of this author. If you have not paid for this fictional ebook please return to Smashwords.com and do so. Enjoy other books by the author, Confessions of a Former Fairy Godmother, Charlotte and the Ice Cream Factory, The Bog Queen's Mile High Pie Fly, Polygamy, was it Worth Dying For? Pinkalotta Rose Pipsqueak in Bullies For You! The Secret in the Garden and The Bedtime Game

Prologue

Prior to 1918, the year of the Russian Revolution, the largest country in the world with incredible natural resources was ruled by the Romanov family who had reigned over the dominion for over three hundred years. The kingdom was so vast that no czar had traveled through it at one time. Russia included the land of Poland, the Ukraine, the lands of the Tatars, the Mongols, the Huns, Finland, and Siberia. Few czars had ever set foot in the frozen world of Siberia, which remained a backwards country seemingly immune to progress.

The first Romanov family member to reign as czar was actually selected by the people because of his charisma, intelligence and good looks. The Romanov prince was anointed as Czar and he and his bride founded their dynasty. The humble people met him with salt and bread and the tradition was carried down through the ages as well as the family names of Mikhael, Alexei, Alexander and Nicholas.

The Romanovs were a privileged family, rich beyond belief with their many palaces and mansions: the old Kremlin in Moscow, The Annitchkov Palace, the Catharine Palace, the Grand Palace which was an imitation of Versailles, the Alexander Palace, the Winter Palace, Peterhoff, and the new summer palace in the Crimea, to name a few of their magnificent holdings.

Czar was a word derived from the word Caesar and the czar ruled supreme. His very shadow was worshipped by the superstitious peasants who considered him God's representative on earth. His touch was purported to heal scrofula, a nasty skin disease and other ailments. His word and edicts often determined whether one lived or died. Serfs lives contrasted sharply with the lives of the rich Russian nobility who spoke French at court. Peasants scratched out an existence by farming small plots and herding animals belonging to a wealthy aristocrat giving most of the fruits of their labors to the noble.

For them poverty was a way of life from birth to death and few were able to rise above this system of slavery. The Russian way of life seemed impermeable to change like the permafrost or an insect preserved in amber but in the mid 1800's Czar Alexander Romanov II did something remarkable: he liberated the serfs allowing them to own their own meager plots of land so that they could grow vegetables and food for their families. This remarkable gesture allowed them a chance to live lives as humans rather than beasts of burden. This forward thinking czar enabled the poorest of his subjects to accumulate a surplus of goods, a feat they'd never been able to achieve before. As a reward for his progressive thinking, he had his legs blown off by a bomb of nitroglycerine thrown at his coach by a peasant as he traveled from the Winter Palace. Czar Alexander II died shortly afterwards in his St. Petersburg palace, the Winter Palace, while his impressionable young grandson Nicholas II, his son Alexander and other loved ones watched in horror as he bled to death. No wonder his successor, son Czar Alexander III stalled the progress that his father had started. He and his family ensconced themselves behind fortresses and palace walls in attempts to foil assassins. Now that nitroglycerin was available having been developed by the inventor Nobel, czars and other world leaders were sitting ducks destined to become an endangered species as dynamite became easily accessible for the manufacture of bombs and projectiles.

It was almost as if open season was declared on these reformers of the dynasties. Dynasties began to topple as rulers were targeted by assassins and revolutionaries; they were replaced by democracies or repressive regimes ruled by an iron handed dictator. The French monarchs, the Capets and Bourbons, King Louis and his beautiful Austrian bride, Marie Antoinette, were the first to fall. Then the American colonies won their independence from Britain.

In England in the late fifteen hundreds, the English people recognized Mary I, or Mary Tudor, an illegitimate daughter, as formidable King Henry VIII's successor when his adolescent son King Edward, died well before his time and contrary to the young king's own edicts. His cousin, Lady Jane Gray had been designated as Edward's heir until she produced a son who would rule in her place. The English people knew whom they wanted as their lawful queen and rallied behind her. When Queen Mary I died without issue, her younger half sister, another female declared a bastard by her own father, Elizabeth I, ruled so successfully and long, that an era was named after her. Women were granted the right to reign as well as male sovereigns from that point forward in English history.

When Queen Victoria despite her German roots became the heiress apparent, her people didn't hesitate to crown her Queen of England. The Divine right of Kings and Queens, continued to be a sacred responsibility in the island kingdom. She married her first cousin, a German from Saxe-Coburg, who never shared her throne with her, but who performed his duties as a royal consort nevertheless. Her epoch was named after herself, the Victorian Era. Their romance was rumored to be a love match and produced nine children.

Russian law, in spite of Catharine the Great's tremendous success declared that male heirs had precedence as rulers throughout the three hundred year history of the Romanov dynasty and male heirs remained as sovereigns until the end of the dynasty with succession rights.

Unfortunately, Queen Victoria, the grandmother of Europe, due to intermingling of close bloodlines, passed along a flawed gene which caused a blood disorder in some of her male offspring called hemophilia to her daughters and granddaughters several which passed this gene to other royal houses spreading havoc throughout several dynasties. The Spanish dynasty, the Russian, and the tiny Hesse- Darmstadt Dynasty were affected when the heir to the throne was born with the illness. Three year old Fritz bled to death after falling out of a second story window of the palace. He was Queen Victoria's grandson and older brother of Alix. Although recent Windsor descendants claim that the hemophilia gene never affected their lineage much. Closer scrutiny of historical records proves otherwise. Perhaps they claim this only because those who had the abhorrent disease as well as their parents kept the information under wraps. One of Queen Victoria's four sons died shortly after reaching adulthood after producing two children. Not many knew that he had the bleeding disease, but the queen herself acknowledged that it had been a burden which had to be borne.

Czarina Alexandra of Russia, Queen Victoria's favorite granddaughter; was the former Alix of Hesse-Darmstadt whose own brother, Frederick or Fritz, was the tragic three year old who hemorrhaged. However, her other brother Ernest, never had the disease and he inherited the small throne of the principality. Irene, one of her sisters also had a son who died from hemophilia.

Alix of Hesse-Darmstadt, turned down Britain's crown Prince Eddy's proposal of marriage because she was in love with another grander Russian royal. Her grandmother was quite upset that she had refused the throne of England. Eddy contracted influenza and died not long afterwards. Despite the objections of several royal houses, Queen Victoria's granddaughter, the beautiful Alix, wed Nicholas Romanov II and passed the tainted gene to her first born son, Alexei. Another earlier miscarriage of the couple was rumored to have been a male by the attending physician who might have had the flawed genetic code resulting in her first miscarriage. After many years of waiting and praying for a son, having delivered four exquisite daughters, Olga, Tatiana, Marie, and Anastasia, Alix, now known as Czarina Alexandra, was finally delivered of a handsome boy whom they named Alexei despite having discussed on their honeymoon naming their first son Mikhael. However, when this long awaited male was finally born after many prior disappointments they chose the name of Alexei for him. Czar Nicholas II rejoiced that their prayers had finally been answered and the kingdom celebrated with canon salutations and fireworks. When his son's navel started bleeding shortly after his birth, it was discovered that he had the dreaded disease of hemophilia which had been inherited from his mother and great grandmother for which there was no treatment and no cure. This dire diagnosis was kept secret for years since their dynasty was at risk due to the popularity of the former czarina. This illness was painful and called the English bleeding disease. At the time, males with this flawed gene weren't expected to live to adulthood. One of Queen Victoria's own sons was an exception having lived to adulthood. Ironically, her other sons were not afflicted with the dire disease; somehow they escaped the dreaded DNA which caused a life of suffering. Now the illness is treated by transfusions and receipt of blood clotting injections; now afflicted hemophiliacs merely consider the illness an inconvenience. However, Ryan White, died of the dreaded disease before he was eighteen because of tainted blood transfusions in this century.

The Romanovs were excellent at keeping diaries. Alexei's actual diary was probably burned when his mother burned her private papers at the Alexander Palace when she received word that her husband Nicholas II had abdicated; consider this faux diary a ghostly replacement. This boy whose papa was the richest autocrat in the world was destined to be the last Czarovitch of Russia; read about his lost world of wealth and privilege in his diary. This is Alexei's story in his own words.

3 January 1914, 16 January 1914, Annitchkov Palace, St. Petersburg (The Romanov family kept their diaries with two dates which were thirteen days apart. Most Russians used the old style Julian calendar.)

Hurrah! Grandmother dear's ball for my sisters is finally over now. Olga is almost nineteen, Tatiana, seventeen, Marie, fifteen, and Anastasia is thirteen. I'm Alexei, their youngest brother, the Czarovitch of all Russia, and I'm ten. I wonder who was the belle of the ball? Was it dignified Tatiana, stunning Marie, our little Bow Wow or Olga, the eldest grand duchess? It certainly was not Anastasia who at thirteen is flatter than a board and clumsier than a water buffalo. In all likelihood, it was my fancy grandmother who loves dancing and dressing up, but who still insists on being the Cinderella at every festive occasion, despite being in her sixties.

After the ball Papa can spend more time with me and my overwrought Mama can relax again. My sister, Anastasia, often called "the imp" didn't get to put her hair up after all, because she's too young. Mama refuses to let her wear it up until she's sixteen; she's still mad about it, but she'll get over it. She can't stay angry for long, however she's been buzzing around the palace like an angry bee trapped in a glass jar for about a week now.

"I'm not too young to put up my hair, you just don't want any of us to grow up," yelled my sister hatefully to Mama one day as she stamped her foot defiantly; stinging my poor sensitive mother. In her own way, Anastasia's right, too, Mama would like to stop time and preserve all of us - the same way that Papa conserves his memories in his green photo albums, but we are not photographs to be pasted nor priceless gems which Mama can lock up like she does her necklaces in her elegant jewelry boxes; we're flesh and blood humans, thorns and all, not hot house flowers.

I'm so glad that Papa and I do not have to fuss over our hair, but simply let our barber cut and styles it once a month. Thank heavens I was born a male. I simply let the wind style my locks which are darkening for a breezy look.

Mama hates going to balls and dreads going out in public; public appearances make her face all splotchy and red and she stammers and stutters awkwardly in front of strangers.

When she arrived home early from the ball after enduring it until midnight, she came to kiss me good night, her face was bright scarlet as red as a cherry, because she'd been around the Russian aristocracy and my grandmother Minnie, the Empress Marie Feodorovna. I don't think the two of them like each other very much. I can tell from their body language and the fact that I've got a sixth sense about some things since I'm destined to be Czar of all the Russias.

They're always very polite to each other, but they never kiss or hug each other like my Auntie Annya kisses Mama and as Mama kisses Auntie Elizabeth. They don't spend time alone together and they have absolutely nothing in common. Mama is always embroidering or sewing something for the poor and grandmother doesn't think this is necessary and considers sewing beneath her dignity as the Empress of Russia. I've caught them glaring evilly at each other when they thought I wasn't looking. They both have their own powerful personalities. For awhile after mama became Czarina, Grandmama refused to give up the state jewels and this caused a problem with mama who considered this treatment an insult to her. They've had other disagreements, so I've heard. They both carry grudges and are slow to forgive. I should know since I've broken a few of their vases on more than one occasion with an errant rock from my sling shot or a flying pea from my pea shooter. Off course those were accidents. My timing or aim was off. Mother said that it was my judgment that was off.

Mama looked beautiful in her dark midnight blue velvet gown, with her silver tissue veil cascading down her back from her diamond studded tiara; her blue order for bravery which papa gave her draped across the bodice of her gown. Despite her red face she looked magnificent which was her carefully orchestrated intent, but so did my Grandmama dear in her plain brown satin ball gown. Some say my Grandmama is the more beautiful of the two. She doesn't look old enough to be my grandmamma, but she is; her faux hair pieces add to her allure.

Papa's hair is getting flecks of silver in it as is his beard and moustache. I asked mama cautiously: "Who was the belle of the ball?" Answering coyly she muttered: "Isn't it always Grandmama? Who else would dare surpass her?"

I shouldn't have asked. In my own artistic opinion, my mother was the more elegant of the two, but in public something happens to her magic. It dries up. Mama and Grandma both have powerful personalities and one shouldn't get caught in their cross fire. When Mama married Papa, Grandmama had trouble relinquishing her crown jewels and her power so I've heard which caused trouble both Mama and Papa who would not demand them. Finally Grandmama was educated about the proper protocol and procedure during the transfer of power and gave Mama the jewels.

Tonight, Mama's diamond tiara was shimmering like a thousand fireflies and glowed torch like under our palace crystal chandeliers. Mama smelled like a rose garden and Grandmama dear smelled like violets. Both of their diamond necklaces were spectacular containing diamonds as large as eggs dripping down their necks like rain drops. Mother came and kissed me goodnight and I didn't want to let her go, so she stayed with me and told me a story that her gangun, Queen Victoria, had told her when she was a young girl in Buckingham Palace in London about a troll. When I marry, I shall find someone as enchanting as my mother who is the loveliest flower in papa's garden.

4 January 1914, 17 January 1914

My sisters have chattered of nothing else other than the dancing and I'm sick of hearing about how elegant they looked in their ball gowns, but now I suppose I shall have to hear about who they danced with for ages. "Wasn't Bruno handsome?" asked Anastasia to Marie for the fourth time at luncheon." Then Marie piped up: "He didn't compare with Sergei Pavlovic. But I've set my cap for Victor who is my third cousin once removed." Plump Bow Wow better forego her chocolate bon bons or she won't be dancing with anyone even if she thinks she is the most beautiful of my four sisters with brown eyes the size of saucers. Tatiana's hair is the longest. Her brown hair when undone now reaches well past her waist in the last long hair contest I judged. I think I'll go to bed, their droll comments are hardly worth waiting up for. It's all so boring. I'm glad that Papa and I have more interesting things to discuss like hunting and military maneuvers. Women, especially my four sisters are so silly; always simpering and fawning about. I'm glad that I'll grow to be a man who has something attention-grabbing to talk about like repeating rifles and hunting deer and wild boars.

Thank heavens I was too young to attend the ball; I couldn't have gone anyway because this was one of my bad times; I'm feverish and my left leg is swollen and won't bend. The pain is almost unbearable. Mama reminds me that our savior suffered more than I do, but he was part God. When Mama returned from the ball she turned back into mama and massaged my limbs with hand cream scented with lavender. Soon my family shall take the train back to Tsarkoe Selo to our one hundred room Alexander palace. I don't really like the Annitchhkov palace much because it is filled to the brim with Grandmama's costly treasures and here I must behave like a young gentleman rather than a "wild hooligan."

Grandmother won't let me shoot my sling shot or shout in her palace and I must not put my elbows on the dining room table nor chew with my mouth open when I'm eating. Nor can I grab choice morsels of food from Anastasia's plate. "Farting frogs!" I'll be glad to get back to the Alexander Palace and my own room where I can relax again and play with my puppy Joy. Grandmama is a little too refined and French for my tastes. I don't like French food, especially escargot simmered in garlic and cream sauce. Imagine eating bugs for dinner! I almost gagged after Grandmama demanded that I at least try one. I don't like speaking French which is the preferred language of Grandmama's court. When I am Czar, my court shall speak only Russian like I do now.

I am just like Papa and prefer plain Russian food, particularly fish soup, borscht, dark bread with lots of butter. The plainer the food, the better I like it, but I do have a weakness for blinis drenched in butter, jam, powdered sugar and cinnamon and so does Bow Wow, but I have a hollow leg and can eat as many as I want without gaining weight. Bow Wow can't indulge like I do without suffering the consequences.

Papa gave me this diary and wants me to write in it every day. He says that it will help me develop some discipline. He has kept a diary ever since he was a young man and so I shall, too. I want to be just like him, only taller. I want to be as tall as my dead grandpapa Czar Alexander III who was taller than Abraham Lincoln who was six foot four inches. Grandmama says her husband, the love of her life, looked like a huge Russian bear.

Now Papa can spend more time with me and Mama can relax again. Soon, he's going to test the new uniforms the soldiers will be wearing himself as well as the rifles they'll be shooting.

I hope he invites me camping with him. I'll request a matching uniform just like the new one he is wearing. Mama and Grandmama insist that we dress alike so that the people will visualize me as a chip off the old block and as the next czar.

Mama hates going to balls, dreads going out in public, and detests Grandmama. Public appearances make her face all splotchy and red and she stammers and stutters awkwardly whenever she must recite poetry in front of relatives or perform at the piano, she does so stiffly. Grandmama is her worst enemy; I've caught them glaring evilly at each other often. Grandmama whispers to her court ladies that Mama loves putting on airs and looking imperious. Could her words be undermining Mama's power base? Why are the two rivals? Shouldn't they love each other since my Papa and I both love them? Shouldn't family members support each other?

Mama pampers and spoils me according to Anastasia since I'm the only boy and one who is not too sturdy. When Mama lovingly tucks me in, I don't want to let her go, so she stays with me and tells me the story again, the one her gangun, or grandmother, Queen Victoria, told her when she was a young girl in Buckingham Palace about a troll, but this time she made me come up with a new ending while she finished knitting a wool sock for the poor. When I marry, I shall find someone as beautiful and tenderhearted as my mother. Papa came in and fetched her to bed saying that he was lonely in bed without her and that he needed her more than I did.

5 January 1914, 18 January 1914 – Olga is teaching me how to mind my manners. She says that I humiliated her and made Mama mad. Grandmother caught me licking my plate when I was at her elegant palace and complained about my boorish manners to Mama.

"How could I be such a crude boor!" said my oldest sister when mama wasn't listening. She even called me a little pig and oinked. I happened to like the French pastries that Grandmama dear served us for dessert. They were filled with raspberry jam and rich whip cream and chocolate. Our cook doesn't bake such delicious treats very often, especially for tea. I wanted to lick up every last crumb and then she scolded me when I burped. I heard that papa's father Czar Alexander often burped after a meal. I was trying to please Grandmama dear and imitate him and show her, like a true Russian, that I appreciated the meal. Besides, I'm going to be the czar and my sisters can't boss me around. I shall do as I like-- when my Grandmama dear isn't looking.

Anastasia is designing military jackets on jackets for paper dolls that she intends to send to Kaiser Wilhelm, mama's first cousin, who is still in love with our Aunt Elizabeth, Mama's older sister called Aunt Ella, who has recently entered a holy order. Anastasia has heard the adults say that Wilhelm cares too much about his clothes. He does have magnificent uniforms, rooms full of them, which he likes to parade around in with frequent changes. Auntie Ella and Mama think he's trying to over compensate for his limp arm which was injured at birth from the use of forceps by a physician wrenching him from his Mama. But he refuses to let this gimp arm handicap him in anyway.

Anastasia's efforts should please him. He's one of her favorite relatives and mine because he always sends us superb toys and gifts on our birthdays and holidays. I received a full battalion of lead soldiers, toy horses and stables to go with them in addition to the toy replica train and large Steiff jointed bear that my parents bought for me.

Mama still dislikes cousin Willy who takes credit for her marriage to Papa as if love had nothing to do with it. He did tell Papa not to take no for an answer when Mama refused him the first time and that several proposals might be necessary. Mama feels that her cousin is a pompous boor, a war monger, a clothes horse, who is much too conceited and those are just a few of his flaws.

I had a good soak in papa's silver tub and it made me feel much better. Anastasia even put scented toilet water which bubbled in my bath water. I enjoyed making a bubble beard thinking I looked just like Uncle Nickolai, the tall soldier. I stayed in until the water went cold and my skin looked like prunes. All my sisters wanted me to hurry, but I didn't, because I am the czarovitch. Papa will have to go back to his ice cold baths in the morning. Perhaps I will join him. He says that will toughen me up. His papa insisted on cold baths and no pampering, not even a pillow to lay one's head. Is this why my sisters sleep on beds that are almost as small as comp cots here in the palace?

6 January 1914, 18 January 1914 – Mama is mad: some of my boy cousins came to play along with some of Countess B.'s grandsons and I locked them up in one of the rooms of the palace. Mama has a memory like an elephant's and she never forgets. Once, one summer day, I commanded my cousins to march into the lake with their wooden rifles. Their sailor suits were all wet and Mama said that I was a despot, just like Ivan the Terrible. A good Czar, like papa would never have done such a thing. A good czar thinks of his officers and soldiers first. She sent me to bed with only a piece of bread and butter and said that I must apologize to Aunt Xenia, Countess B. and the boys, or I may never play with my friends and cousins again. Where is her imagination?

Czars and Czarovitches shouldn't have to apologize. It makes them look weak, besides my cousins were laughing and liked playing soldiers. I was only pretending to lock them up in the Peter and Paul fortress. Eventually, I would have let them out. Didn't Mama realize that whoever controlled the fortress controlled Russia? Mama says that I must write a written apology to my aunt. Monsieur Gilliard, my French tutor, will help me write it in French. At least, she should let me write it in Russian. If I don't, she'll tell Papa. I shall do as she says, because I don't want to disappoint or anger papa. I love him so much.

7 January 1914, 20 January 1914 – Monsieur G. says that I must focus and not daydream or doddle when I'm writing. I must write at least a page worth and show them all that I am a well mannered boy and not a klutz, or a barbarian, but a young gentleman. I shall finish this quickly so that I can go out and play with Anastasia. She wants me to tell her fortune using Auntie Annya's crystal ball. I've thought of a good one, predicting that she'll have at least seven sons whom she'll name after me. I'll let her pick out their middle names, but since I'll be the czar, I'll choose their Christian names, and I'll name them all after me. I intend to be well remembered when I'm dead, because with my bleeding disease, I'm not going to live very long, but my Great Uncle Leopold lasted into his mid twenties, long enough to father children, and so shall I. Father Grigory, my healer, says if I live to the age of seventeen, I'll be cured. He's a prophet of God, but a stinky, ugly wretched one who I desperately need.

Mama tries to keep secrets from me. Still, I know about Mama's brother Fritz, who bled to death when he was three after falling out of the second story bedroom window during roughhousing, and my other young cousin F. who just recently died. However, my cousin Waldemar and I are both still alive and suffering with our bleeding disease; we both have nearly survived our childhoods. I live, only because of Father Grigory, my staretz and his miraculous, healing powers which slow my blood. I must have enough faith that I will live to found my own dynasty. It is my mother's fondest hope and I long to please her.

Our imp, Anastasia was mad when I predicted she'd never marry, because she's too short and no prince wants a short, plump princess. She stuck out her tongue and refused to share her caramels with me. I shall have to learn to think before I speak.

8 January 1914, 21 January 1914 – My leg is swollen again and I can't bend my knee. Mama has read me detective stories from an English author which I have really enjoyed. I can hardly wait to get out of bed so that I can spy on my sisters, especially the imp. She likes snapping photos of us doing embarrassing things. She even caught Marie picking her nose once She says that she's saving it to show to her future boyfriend and that she'll blackmail her for a month's allowance. I plan on taking a compromising picture of her snoring with her mouth open when I get better. She's a mouth breather and always snores like a peasant; that should get her goat. Mama wrote to Father G. who telegraphed back that all would be well. Sometimes I wish I could die because of the pain I suffer, even a loose tooth is life threatening, so are bloody noses, or a bleeding hangnail or a simple cut, yet I survived my hernia operation without complications. Explain that. I long to slide down the palace staircases on a warming pan with Anastasia, and run wildly through the halls, but know that I cannot.

Papa's barber came to trim my hair. I remember when Mama saved my curls. She still wears a brooch with one of my baby curls on a ribbon next to her heart. She says it makes her feel close to me. I used to have golden curls, but now my hair is straight and has darkened like Papa's. However, Papa is beginning to get silver in his beard. Mama used to pluck them out, but she doesn't any more. There were too many. Papa needs to stop smoking because his beard is turning yellow from the nicotine and Mama thinks he should cut down as she is. His fingers are yellow, so he's switched occasionally to a pipe or using chewing tobacco. I tried it once when he wasn't looking, but it made me cough and spit.

9 January 1914, 22 January 1914 – I hopped out of bed with my good leg and placed a hot coin on the stove in my room and melted a peek hole in one of my icy windows. The Snow Queen had visited etching her crystal flower garden covering the glass with a magnificent hoary design, but I long to skate with my Papa and robust sisters on our lake, but I've been forbidden from doing so by both doctors. Through my peephole I watched papa and Tatiana skate together. Papa had to stride out to keep up with her long legs and I saw him puffing heartily, his white breath forming a cloud above his head. Anastasia, the show off, performed an elaborate figure eight while Olga skated backwards. My sisters looked like snow queens themselves in their beautiful white fur jackets, furry hats and muffs. Would Anna hit Marie in the head again with a rock embedded in a snowball like she did last year? Sometimes, she's a little devil like the hellion in the Snow Queen who made the magic mirror bringing misery to the world. Perhaps a wicked fairy put a curse on her when she was born. Try as she might or promises, Anna often breaks her oaths. Mama made her apologize to Marie and told her never to throw rocks again unless our palace was under siege by the enemy, but I knew that she was a hoyden, a valkrie or Mama's favorite word for me: a hooligan. I would never do something like that, because I have become a young gentleman like my Papa. My rough edges are being polished away daily by my sisters, and my suffering.

The huge bonfire in the distance looks so inviting; I long to join them instead of sitting here helpless as a trussed piglet knitting socks for the poor and scarves for the soldiers with Mama. I've completed enough stockings for a small regiment by now and have calluses on my fingers to prove the fact. It's all so boring. Sometimes I beg Anastasia to stay with me rather than go out driving in the carriage or sleigh with my favorite auntie, fun loving Olga..

I've begun to imagine that I hear the sounds of the death watch beatles in the wood of the attic, but Mama told me it was only the ticking of our pendulum clock. My life was ticking away. Must I spend it knitting socks for the poor? I longed to have an adventure so I planned a great train wreck with the new toy train Mama ordered for me for my birthday from Germany. Smoke from the high speed engines filled the room as they raced to their destruction on the track. One of the trains flew off the track into the air upon impact. Mother rushed into the room when she heard the noise and was not amused, neither was Auntie Anya nor Olga. "Mama," asked my eldest sister, "perhaps Auntie Olga can teach the czarovitch water color lessons so that he has something better to do than destroy things"

Mama lured me back into bed with the promise of a cherry chocolate and she put on my favorite golden record about a wolf and a young boy on my music box. I knew that she would play the one about the dying swan next which just happened to be her favorite. I picked up my slingshot and began to fling marbles at the target across the room. I was becoming a deadly shot and hit the bull's eye nearly every time. Practice makes perfect and by now, I've had plenty of practice and so have all of my sisters, especially Anastasia. The birds had better watch out come springtime, especially the large black raven which terrorized our black and white swans which swam in the lake.

Papa has promised to take me hunting if I remain in bed and get better. I've a picture of Papa with a herd of dead deer that Cousin Willy, the German Kaiser, and he killed on a hunting trip in Germany. I've never seen so many dead things at once, unless one counts the photograph of the trampled peasants. Someday, I'll be a great hunter, and give the meat to the poor so that I can stop knitting stockings. I'll put a haunch of venison in every peasant's pot.

10 January 1914, 22 January 1914 – Doctors Derevenko and Botkin say that I'm improving, but still not enough to get out of bed. My knee is bent in a frozen position and I continue the treatment of hot packs and then cold packs put on my knee along with the painful massages. Mama hums ballads to me and sings to me while I soak in Papa's solid silver bathtub. Mama has built a tent over me with a sheet to keep off the chill in the air.

11 January 1914 24 January 1914 - Papa read some of my diary and said that I write better than he does. He usually writes about the weather. My personal descriptions of events are living history he says and intends on adding a few more details. I'm glad I that my style of writing has inspired him. He let me read some of his pages. They were rather dull, but Mama's comments in the margins were anything but. M. Gilliar would have given him a poor grade and told him to use more of his imagination. Now I enjoy writing in my diary thinking it has become a friend. Mama says that if I do anything nine times, it will become a habit. Diary writing is a good habit unlike Anastasia's bad habit of biting her nails.

12 January 1914 22 January 1914 - Papa is busy every day. He gets up early and has some toast and tea and then disappears for hours into his library doing state papers. Mama says that he needs to delegate some of his work to others. There is to much work for one man, but Papa thinks he must handle every situation including domestic affairs between his people. Papa changed a man's name at his request from pig keeper to something more dignified. Mama thinks she should be allowed to help him with the lesser paperwork like the changing of names and the granting of divorces so that he would have more free time to spend with the family. His life as the czar has become a burden. Is Mama ambitious? Grandmama Dear thinks so and so do some of Papa's advisors. I wish that he had more time to spend with me. It must be difficult being prayed to and worshipped like the czar, even Papa's shadow is considered holy. I am practicing improving my posture with Anastasia. One day we walked with books on our heads. She won the contest. My dictionary fell off immediately, probably because I couldn't straighten my leg and hobble about. Papa walks very straight and tall. In fact, though he's not more than five foot seven inches tall, he always appears to be the tallest man in any room he enters. Mama says he has presence. My Mama is taller than he is by one inch, but especially when she wears spooled heeled shoes. Being the tallest woman in Romanov history is something to be proud of, but now Tatiana has grown even taller. Mama thinks that I will be tall, perhaps even taller than Grandpapa Alexander III, but not quite as tall as Papa's Uncle Nicholas who leads the military. He's almost seven feet tall like Peter the Great was. Papa is the shortest one of his brothers, even poor dead Georgy. Uncle Mischka is taller, but Papa is the nicest male in the family.. Mama says that Papa is too gentle and should be more commanding and fierce. Will bellowing and hollering put some fear into those he leads? It worked for my paternal Grandpapa who was always sounding off. Somehow, I can't picture Papa bellowing. He's too refined, dignified and genteel, aspiring to be nothing more than a country gentleman even though he is one of the most powerful men in the world. How did such a gentle man descend from Ivan the Terrible? Yet some call him Nicholas the Bloody. I think they are bloody fools in English jargon. Mama does not approve of the use of that word.

14 January, 27 January 1914 - Uncle Ernie, Mama's brother, has written to Mama and says that Cousin Willy, Kaiser Wilhelm, is requiring Hesse-Darmstadt, his small German principality to rearm and practice military maneuvers. The Kaiser is taxing them heavily in order to build up the German Navy. I hope that he comes to visit and brings his daughter. I love company because they always come bearing gifts and German toys are the best in the world. My toy cannon from Germany shoots cannon balls and terrifies my sisters much to Papa's chagrin. Mama will not let me shoot it at them, or in the family rooms, or in my bedroom, but she does let me shoot it in the tall empty hallways where nothing can be broken.

I shoot it off where our black palace guards can watch, just outside the entryway so that I'm not lonely. I like an audience appreciating my military maneuvers. I can tell that the sentries find it amusing. Their job must be so boring standing there stiff and straight. I'm glad that I'm going to be the czar because I would not make a good sentry and I prefer giving rather than receiving orders.

15 January 1914, 18 February 1914- I am pasting my photographs of Vanka my donkey in my album. Alas his old gray hide looks moth eaten and flea bitten. I think he really must be a prince in disguise because he's so obedient and faithful to me perhaps he's really a cursed prince caught in a spell just like some of the fairy tales my sisters have read to me which have enchanted bears and trolls in them. Anastasia laughed when I told her that perhaps Vanka's her enchanted prince from far off Egypt.

"Yes, Alexei, and possibly your future czarina is the elephant the King of Siam sent Papa and Mama when you were born." Everybody started laughing when they heard this, somehow, Anna can always make us laugh, even staid Mama and humorless Countess Buxhoeveden chortled and dropped a stitch or two in their knitting. I laughed until I had a stitch in my side.

"Do you think Father Grigory and my Uncle Michael will want to kiss my lovely bride?" I asked coyly. Will 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 obstinate grand mothers, Marie Feodorovna and Queen Victoria, both proud women, who could strike a person dead with one of their glowering looks. Apparently both of these dowagers had backbones of steel reinforced with their boned corsets.

Mama laughed at papa and he kissed her three times on each cheek, the Russian way

and then he buzzed her on the lips, the way she liked. I kissed them both and so did my

sisters, we're a kissing, demonstrative family.

Afterwards, we had refreshments: vanilla ice cream with various liqueurs and hot coffee for Mama. I prefer crème de menthe liqueur but Mama likes coffee favored liquer. We all enjoyed cook's hand dipped milk chocolates with cherry cordial and raspberry cream centers that I'd helped her make along with some Pferneusse cookies which contained real pepper which Mama loved during the holiday season when she lived in her Papa's palace in Hesse-Darmstadt.

Anastasia and I helped cook cut out the shapes with heart and cross shaped cookie cutters. Papa loved the treats, but the ice cream made his teeth hurt. He needs to go to the dentist, and be brave like I am, but he says that since he's the czar, he can go to the dentist if and when he pleases, and he chooses not to go and mama cannot even cajole him into going although she makes us have regular dental check ups. Mama has had her front teeth replaced with porcelain ones, and my sisters have had several dental caries, but I have not even one filling. Because I brush and polish my teeth every night before I go to bed or after I eat sweets. Anastasia has told me how unpleasant it is to have one's teeth drilled and I don't want to have to suffer in that way. I suffer enough with my bleeding disease. Is Papa afraid of the dentist I wonder? No, Papa is not afraid of anything, but my medical condition which may rob him of his son.

21 February 1914, 7 March 1914 - When irate Japanese jumped out and tried to kill Papa during his world tour, he scarcely believed what was happening and he never cries when the old wound pains him if the temperature drops like I do. I've seen his bloody handkerchief from the assassination attempt on his life. I hope that I can be as brave. Papa believes that if he had been meant to die, he would have been killed then. His time was not up. Mama believes the same. There is no use worrying about one's death until God allows it. Some things we have no control over.

Mama calls me her brave sufferer. Now I shall not be able to cry out as loudly when my leg pains me. Perhaps that's why she called me that. If anyone can manipulate behavior it is Mama. She is now answering some of Papa's less important correspondence; something my sisters never thought possible. Grandmama Dear is in an uproar about this, especially since she learned that one of Mama's advisors is Father Grigory, the staretz. What is the world coming to?

Will Father Grigory rule Russia from behind Mama's petticoats?

22 February 1914, 8 March 1914 – We received portraits from our English relatives. Queen Mary and King George, papa's look alike cousin who appeared absolutely regal in their royal robes. Mama said: "Now there is the epitome of a queen." when she gazed at Queen Mary's portrait. "To think that I could have been in her place had Prince Eddy survived and we'd wed. Unfortunately, I did not love poor Eddy, Queen Alexandra's eldest son, and refused to become betrothed to him. Grandmother was enraged, but acquiesced to my wishes and didn't push the romance. He was not destined to be the King of England and I was not meant to be the queen. May does an excellent job managing Georgy's temperament. He certainly keeps his sons and Princess Mary in awe of him."

My ears positively stood up perked up like Mama's black Scottish terrier when she said this. What if Mama had married someone other than Papa. Where would I be now?

"Fate intervened and took Eddy during the influenza season. Neither he nor I, could have ruled England, but George and May are reigning magnificently," said my Mama.

"Queen Mary is wearing at least nine diamond necklaces on her tall, stately neck." said Papa laughing when he saw her picture. "Is she trying to out bejewel the Romanovs?" My sisters all gathered around excitedly viewing the portraits for themselves before they were placed in a position of honor in Mama's mauve boudoir.

"How elegant!" said Tatiana putting her hands around her own long, neck envisioning how she'd look in the necklaces in her mind's eye and staring at the queen's crown.

"Perhaps I'll wear that many necklaces one day. One must look as well as act royal." says Grandmama Dear. Ruling is all about appearances." said Mama's second born, Tatiana.

"Is there a picture of the princess royal?" asked Olga. She's in the same position as Alexei being the only girl in her large family of brothers." I wondered if she disliked being the "only" as much as I did?

"I've heard rumors that Cousin George heartily dislikes the Prince of Wales and that hehas no confidence in his ability to rule. Heaven help the English. George has terrified his children and don't they all show it."

"Papa, thank you for loving us and being gentle and kind, I would not want a despot for a father and I would not want to be forced to marry a person I did not love like my namesake Olga" said his eldest daughter putting her arm lovingly around her father.

"Nevertheless, Queen Mary made a fine marriage. She was from a lowly, ignoble family and now she rules over all of them. I'm planning for at least one of you girls to make such a marriage. Don't disappoint me." said Mama looking sharply at Olga.

"Mama, I am afraid I already have; you know that Prince Carol is not for me."

"Nevertheless, I'm certain that you'll perform your duty daughter." Olga looked at her Papa imploringly.

23 February 1914, 9 March 1914 – I wondered who would win this battle of wits, would Mama or Olga and Papa. I knew that kind Papa would never make my sister Olga marry someone she didn't love, and Mama had just told us herself that she refused to marry a prince she didn't love. Olga was home free to remain on the shelf for as long as she wanted. My parents had just out manipulated themselves. Would any of my sisters leave home I wondered, or would all of them remain old maids? One of Great Grandmother's sons had married a Russian Grand Duchess. I would have to discover if it had been a happy marriage for those involved.

24 February 1914, 10 March 1914 – Soon we would begin our yearly migration to Livadia, the beautiful palace above the Black sea, which my parents had designed and built after the dark old gloomy palace where Czar Alexander III had died had been torn down. I could hardly wait for the weather to thaw and began planning what I should take with me. I'd take my dog, Joy, even though she still made messes on our carpets which the servants had to clean up. That night around our dining room table, we all worked in our photograph albums trying to catch them all up before we left for our vacation. Papa meticulously pasted in his favorite photographs while I bribed Anastasia for some of her funny shots. Monsieur Gilliard read to us Victor Hugo's Les Miserables in French, When his voice tired reading, Tatiana read from The One Hundred and One Arabian Nights" while Mama continued her needlework. I was feeling quite healthy and had not relapsed from my illness. Auntie Annya showed me how to end my knitting and bind off my knitted scarf. I was proud of my first knitted item and wondered how much I could sell it for in order to give money to the poor. Surely, something knit by the czarovitch would fetch a large price. I explained this to Anastasia and she laughed and said: "Keep dreaming, Alexei. Perhaps

a blind man will want it for his collection of czarist objects or the blind mole will want to bury the swallow in it in Hans Christian Anderson's Tale of Thumbelina." She said with a wink at Papa who couldn't help laughing when he heard this. We could always count on Anastasia to lighten our spirits during the long winter nights.

25 February 1914, 1l March 1914 – Papa has shown me the beautifully wrapped packages of the Easter eggs that Monsieur Faberge's has made for Mama and Grandmama. They are elegantly wrapped in pale blue marbleized pastel paper with large satin bows of the same color. Papa has no idea what the eggs look like- only that he has never been disappointed by Monsieur Faberge in the past and neither has Mama and Grandmama dear. He is truly the jeweler to the Czars, a most cunning artisan of rare abilities. He made Mama's engagement gift of a long necklace of perfectly matched pearls, her sattoir, which she wears practically every day of her life; Papa gave the opulent strand to her as an engagement gift along with a matching ring.

"Your Mama is my pearl of great price, Alexei. I would have been lost without her in the beginning when my Papa died and even now." confided Papa to me one day as our barber trimmed our hair. "Her grandmother, Queen Victoria's breath was taken away at the magnificence of her favorite grandchild's betrothal gift. The old queen had never seen anything so superb in all of her years." said the czar reminiscing with stars in his eyes.

"You'll need to plan something special for your own betrothal. It is never too soon to begin planning, son. I fell in love with your mother when I was in my teens at Peterhoff where we were playing a game. I was about sixteen at the time and your mother was nothing more than an enchanting child. I tried to give her a brooch as a token of my affection, but she stabbed me with it."

"But Papa, her Grandmother had told her that proper girls didn't take bribes from strangers or they'd be considered fast." This made my father laugh. Papa said that the chain of pearls was the most costly creation that Monsieur Faberge had ever been consigned to make, but Mama was worth the cost of every perfect pearl.

"Alexei, I hope that all of my chicks will be able to follow their hearts as I was. Never forget that I love your Mama. My Mama and Papa didn't want me to marry her, but I defied them despite the obstacles and the pretty ballerina placed in my pathway and I've learned that things that are meant to be have a way of working out."

All of papa's "chicks" look forward to the unveiling of the artisan's creations every Easter and I can hardly wait to see what Monsieur Faberge has dreamed up. Perhaps the royal eggs will have a picture of just papa and me in our matching military uniforms reviewing the troops or one of us in our peasant shirts or another photograph with a hidden spring which when pressed pops out to reveal OTMA, my occasionally overbearing, annoying sisters, Olga, Tatiana, Marie, and Anastasia. I would like to have an egg containing a small replica of our new yaught, The Standardt, done to scale.

What surprise has he secreted inside the marvelous eggs this year? I try to think what I would surprise my parents with if I were Monsieur Faberge. I think that I would like to be a jeweler creating surprises for people if I were not destined to be the future Czar of all the Russias.

25 February 1914, 10 March 1914 – Monsieur Petrov, my Russian tutor, has me writing about one of my favorite subject, Peter the Great. I love hearing stories about this tall leader, he was almost seven feet tall, and he founded St. Petersburg. He was even taller than my dead Grandpapa, Czar Alexander, who was a gruff bear of a man according to Grandmama dear, but one whose bark was worse than his bite. Peter tried to modernize as well as civilize Russia. He would cut off all of the old men's beards and imprison them if they slept in their boots.

"Holy schmoly!" What would Mama say if I did that? I tried cutting off Anastasia's braid once and I'll never do that again. Monsieur P. said that he was trying to update Russia because he had visited the European royal courts and wanted to revise antiquated Russia whose traditions and customs lagged far behind those of the European courts he had visited.

Writing a two page essay in Russian on this great man, who is one of my idols, took a great deal of mental effort. Peter the Great drained the swamps of St. Petersburg and built a great city. Perhaps I shall build my own city when I am czar. I shall call it Saint Alexei's without the burg, because burg is a German word and I only want Russian names for my Russian cities.

26 February 1914, 12 March 1914 -Mama isn't feeling well and insists on being pushed around in her large rattan wheelchair. Her sciatic nerve is bothering her and so is her enlarged heart. She has been chewing on nitroglycerin tablets recently and coughing up a storm. Papa worries about her constantly and so do I. What would we ever do without her? Auntie Anya thinks she's a hypochondriac, and can do more than she appears to do if she wills it so. But Mama is our strength and the heart of our family. My world and that of my sisters and Papa revolves around her and her mercurial moods.

After my lessons, I went to Mama's mauve boudoir where she allowed me to sketch while she reclined on her chaise longue with her needlework. Anastasia came too; she is becoming quite the artist. Her excellent photography skills make her think like an artist. My sketches are rather rough and my portraits look more like monsters than real people, but Mama says that if I keep practicing, I'll get better at portraiture.

I love being in Mama's mauve boudoir where everything is comfy and cozy while the bitter Russian winds blow mercilessly outside rattling the windows. I feel that I am wrapped in a snug cocoon of love, a real one which emanates from Mama's loving heart.

Inside our one hundred room palace, it's as if we're in a country garden covered with mauve roses and on the mantle and on Mama's light colored wooden tables are vases filled with fresh hot house flowers. On the mantle are stunning photos of my four sisters which capture their beauty and personalities and Papa and Mama enjoy looking at them. For once they are like frozen Charlottes and are still.

A portrait of Queen Marie Antoinette hangs above us. The portrait was given to her by the French people for a wedding present and Mama cherishes the portrait of the ill fated French queen who left those she loved behind in Austria to become queen in a strange country just like Mama did. The beautiful queen was called to give up her life for her new country being beheaded by her traitorous French subjects. Would my Russian subjects ever dare do such a thing to my beloved Mama? Shivers ran down my back and goose bumps raise like sentinels on my arms. I put the thought from my mind. My mother's time as well as mine is not up yet, but why do I feel as if phantoms are crossing my grave so to speak?

The best thing in the boudoir is of course Mama. I love her and hope she gets better. Do cigarettes make one cough? Mama and Papa are chain smokers, but Mama insists that she never be photographed smoking a cigarette. To do so would be indelicate.

11 March 1914, 25 February 1914 – I found Marie's diary which she concealed behind a large vase and peeked in it. She thinks she is in love with one of the officers she met on our vacation last year. My sisters are always falling in and out of love. His initials are P.R. and she wants to have a passel of children when she's married. Yuck! Is that all girls think about? Olga is dreading her meeting with her tentative betrothed and I'm beginning to wonder if it will ever take place. Mama and Papa say that she is worrying needlessly over nothing. Perhaps she'll fall madly in love with Prince Carol, even if he's only a minor prince on the chessboard of Europe.

I shall pick out my own princess, like Papa did and shall refuse to marry if I don't get my own way just like Papa. No one can make me do what I do not want to do. I may look frail, but I have my Mama's backbone.

12 March 1914, 25 March 1914 – In a few weeks we shall be leaving for Livadia. I can hardly wait. I love the adventure of traveling and know that just mentioning the beautiful new palace cheers up Mama. Auntie Olga sent us some hard candies from a confectionary in St. Petersburg that have a flower in the center that grows bigger as one sucks on them and a box of specialty chocolates for Mama. Mama let us each have two pieces and I chose the biggest one in the box, but it was big because it had a large brazil nut in it, Mama calls them nigger toes. I asked our door man Jim if he'd ever heard about nuts called nigger toes when he lived in America and what he thought of their name? He said he didn't care for the nut, either. He said he'd eaten black licorice candies in America called nigger babies, but thought they should be called by another name. He felt like a cannibal whenever he chewed on the black treats and felt that the name was an insult to his prestigious ancestry. After all he descended from African kings and queens according to his grandmother and the name was an insulting one for the race. How would I like eating candy called white Russies' or emperor's tongues? He has a way of helping me see things clearly.

Anastasia pulled out one of her hatpins and stuck them in Mama's chocolates looking for the cherry creams. There is a pin prick in each of the remaining chocolates. Mama told her to be adventuresome and just pick one and eat it. Usually the C's on the tops of the chocolates stand for caramels or cherry. Anastasia selected one with a W on the top and thought it was an M for mint, but it turned out to be black walnut which she loathed. so she traded it to Marie for a mint fondant. Sorry, I don't have anything more exciting to write about than my sister's quirky habits. Sometimes life is boring. How I wish I had a little brother to play armies with instead of four overbearing sisters who talk of dancing and gowns.

25 March 1914, 7 April 1914 – Perhaps when I am czar, I will use the immense Catherine Palace which I can see from my bedroom window. It is huge with over two hundred rooms. I asked Mama why she didn't choose to live in that elegant palace since she had her choice of palaces. She replied: "I wanted my home to be just like an English country cottage, like the ones I'd visited in England. I didn't want my children to feel that they lived in a museum." Mama's right about that, whenever I visit the Catherine Palace I feel that I'm in a museum since it is loaded with beautiful works of art; I prefer our smaller palace, but my mind may change when I become Czar. Will they call me Alexei the Great? Of course Anastasia doubts that I'll do great things; In her opinion it would be great if I could walk and chew gum at the same time or lock the door when I enter our new water closet with its flushing toilet. Sisters can be so annoying. I do think that chewing gum is a marvelous concoction. My Grandmother dear forbids me from chewing it, but Anastasia gives me hers whenever she spends her allowance on it. It's hard to imagine that it comes from the chicle plant.

Shura and the maids are packing our trunks for our vacation and I'm quite ready for spring to come. I don't think I'll ever thaw out. Next week we'll board one of the two trains, the real one carrying Papa and the decoy one. We'll ride in comfort at a speed of about twenty-five miles per hour. I compare my train with my own toy train which is an exact replica. The nine cars easily accommodate our entourage of servants. The black locomotive puffs out smoke into the air. Is this how clouds are made? Are they the remnants of volcanoes? I'll have to ask one of my tutors.

Initially, I shall ride with my Mama because Papa will be bogged down with his papers and I would find that too boring. My man servant Derevenko will take turns with Nagorny and spell off my mother and sisters. My mother has a few surprises that's she's packed to keep me entertained and out of her hair and out of harm's way. Of course our animals are coming along. My other relatives will be along later. The yearly migration of Russia's aristocracy to the Crimea has begun and all of us are more than ready for fun in the sun.

26 March 1914, 8 April 1914 – Father Grigory came and blessed all of us before we leave for Livadia. Mama and I were especially glad to feel his soothing hands. Whenever he touches me or stares in my eyes, it is almost as if he is sucking the bad vapors out of my system. I wonder if Mama can feel this, too. Auntie Annya can and knows that he is a saint because he saved her life after a tragic accident where she almost died. Perhaps he really is saintly, only it's hard to believe from his sexual proclivities.-Mama fired one governess who said that he was trying to seduce my sisters who aren't attracted to the bizarre married staretz in the least when compared to the handsome officers in the Russian army and navy; only time will tell. If his body never becomes corrupt after his death, I'll have the church canonize him. Will I have the guts to look in his crypt or dig him up and look at his alarming old face when he's dead since he looks so alarming in life? The thought is the stuff of nightmares. His messy beard and hair looks as if birds have built their nests within. Perhaps I will delegate this task to one of my ministers when I am czar.

27 March 1914, 9 April 1914 – We boarded one of the two imperial trains and are slowly chugging along the countryside to the Crimea. I am riding with my Mama who gave me a gift to open when I am outside of St. Petersburg. Mama likes to spoil and surprise me. She calls Papa and me both "Boysy."

Inside the package is a dart board which I can use to entertain myself with while we travel through the countryside. I place the large cork board across the train on the wall of the coach car and practice throwing the darts. The metal darts have colorful feathers which were made and sent to me from someone in Siberia using real bird feathers made from exotic birds.

Derevenko, and I will share a room in the train. In some ways our imperial train is fancier than the rooms in our palace home and so are some of the rooms on our yaught, the Standart which is much nicer than Grandmama's yaught. The weather is still freezing outside and I can hardly wait to arrive at the warmer climate at Livadia. Will I ever be truly warm again?

Anastasia came in to see what Mama had given me and wanted to play. I let her have ten tries first. She could barely hit the board, let alone the bull's eye center. One stuck in the upholstered coach chair. Derevenko, one of my sailor nursemaids, took cover in another car. What a relief- out of sight, out of mind; sometimes I grow weary of his toadying. I am quite a good shot and will no doubt be able to outshoot Papa and Uncle Xandro soon. Both have their own dart boards and are experts at the game, but they like to drink vodka before they aim at their boards and since I'm not allowed to drink the stuff, I'll easily win. Mama likes to give me things that I can conquer easily so that I do not feel handicapped. She thinks this will build my confidence. She's right about this. It takes my mind off the things that I cannot do easily like run like the wind.

28 March 1914, 10 April 1914 – Papa has brought a new toy gun for me and I pretend to look out the window and shoot any animals that I see roaming the terrain. He told me how one of his uncles went to America and shot buffalo from his train while he was visiting in the wild west. My gun has a telescopic lens and makes a loud "pop" which is disconcerting to Mama and my sisters, but Papa's certain that it will help me to become a good shot like he is. It is one of my favorite toys and soon Papa will allow me to go shooting with him at our hunting lodge using a real gun, if I can stay healthy long enough. I may kill my first deer and be blooded. I shall try not to bruise myself and start the nefarious bleeding process. Papa wants me to be able to use guns so that I can defend myself if necessary and lead out in battle like a fierce warrior.

Baroness Buxhoeveden who has grown relatives and nephews in the military thinks this is a wise thing to do, especially in this time of revolution, war and anarchy. One never knows what the war mongering Prussians are up to and being forearmed is being forewarned as far as Kaiser Wilhelm is concerned. From the Baroness I've learned that Papa's war with the Japanese did not go well. Ironically, the man who charged up San Juan Hill, President Theodore Roosevelt helped mediate the situation between the two countries and earned a Nobel peace prize. She thinks that war is in the cards with the Prussians and simply does not trust the provocative Germans; no one should.

Mama is afraid it will turn me into a war hawk, like her cousin, Kaiser Willy and other Prussians whom she doesn't like or trust. "Nonsense, Alix, everyone has enemies and we must prepare our sons to be able to boldly confront them." said the Baroness one afternoon. Now I actually am beginning to like Baroness Buxhoeveden; in the past I always thought she was an annoying large nosed busy body, but she's a wise old aristocrat who was married to a husband who loved blood sports just like Papa and my uncles. She thinks powerful people should be able to defend themselves, as well as kill animals and so do I.

29 March 1914, 11 April 1914 – We are crossing the Steppes of the Ukraine and the area looks dry and desolate. I would not want to be alone out here. I see many four legged animals and strange birds and I continue to shoot at them. Mama has limited my shooting time to two hours in the afternoon and she has stuffed cotton from her vials of nitroglycerin tablets in her ears. Baroness Buxhoeveden and Auntie Annya migrate to another coach when I begin my practice shooting. Mama limits my practice time by saying that my two doctors insist that I soak in the spill proof tub before tea time so that my leg will not become any stiffer. I don't complain as I find the tub fascinating and I try to make it spill its contents, by moving around wildly whenever the train tracks curve, but I am unable to spill water. Whoever invented the spill proof rim is a genius or at least a cunning inventor. Was it my own smart Mama or grandmother dear? Mama is always reading about the latest scientific studies and my intelligent Grandmama is very practical. I'm very curious to know. If I find out, perhaps I shall give them a gold medal designed by Faberge when I am czar.

The temperature is getting warmer, Papa has noted the thermometer readings carefully and has recorded them each day in his own diary. We will soon be to the Crimea. He and Mama and I have played many card games together and I have outwitted them several times in Baccarat and Bridge. At least, I don't think they are letting me win. Papa and I have had some intense chess games with my miniature chess board made from exotic woods. He is not easy to win, unlike Nagorny and my other nursemaid, Derevenko stanko.

30 March 1914, 12 April 1914 – We are finally here. The air is so sunny that Mama and I must cover our blue eyes with our hands because of the brilliant light. Mama and Baroness Buxhoeveden don their large brimmed straw hats and so do my sisters. Papa and I put on our hunting caps and squint in the brightness of the sky. There is not a cloud in sight. The dazzling sunlight is so cheering that our winter pallor will soon disappear. Mama tells my four sisters to wear their hats in order to save their precious white complexions.

Independent Anastasia, naturally, ignores this advice and wears hers dangling down her back having tied the ribbons loosely together. She likes being as brown as a nut and thinks she looks prettier toasted by the sun with the tendrils of her hair bleaching out blonde. She's hoping that Papa and Mama will give their daughters a ball like the one they previously gave Olga when she turned sixteen. She's practicing Scottish schottishes, quadrilles and even the Highland fling along with the Mazurka that Mama taught her hoping that they will acquiesce to her demands.

Watching Anastasia do the tango is something to behold. I can hardly imagine anything less romantic that partnering her in a tango. It's like dancing with my pet donkey. She doesn't want Papa and the others to out dance her and practices like crazy with Mama's latest records and new phonograph. Sometimes I wish I could join in with her, but I can't because of my gimp leg so I just take amusing pictures of her making a fool of herself with my Kodak camera. I have several photographs that I intend blackmailing her with in order to collect a huge ransom from her, perhaps even as much as half of her monthly allowance; they are very, very embarrassing. One in particular makes her look like a fat, smooth little troll. She will not be amused when she sees the photograph or the home movie I am splicing together.

31 March 1914, 13 April 1914 – The sea churns like a whirlpool below us, a malevolent dark cauldron, and is so lovely and mysterious by the light of a full moon; I am mesmerized by it. Has a great magician enchanted the scenery and put us all under his magic spell? It's too cold to swim, but Papa braves the cold water anyway and swims out alone. My sisters and I bravely dip our toes in, but don't go near the water. No wonder, Papa is the czar. He's braver than any of his soldiers and kinder, too.

Tennis lessons have begun for my sisters, and horse back lessons as well as table tennis lessons have begun for me. Why is Deverenko only allowing me to ride a flea bitten old nag? The future Czar must certainly learn how to manage a steed with at least a little spirit. Papa is very competitive with his tennis and implores Mama to play a few matches with him, but she politely refuses stating that her tennis days are over. She prefers sitting under the shade of a large white umbrella gossiping with Auntie Annya and her sisters-in-law.

Papa lobs a few balls to me and I make Deverenko chase them for me. Nagorny is a better sport and Deverenko walks off in a huff stating: "I am not your gofer, Alexei!" I can hardly wait for my cousins to arrive so that I will have someone fun to play with. Adults over thirty have no sense of humor or much imagination.

31 March 1914 continued – Palm Sunday, today Christ entered Jerusalem riding a pure white, unblemished donkey. I wonder if he was as gentle and well behaved as my own donkey? Later this week, I will lay some palm fronds down and envision myself as a great leader riding bareback on a donkey over the branches for future reference. I shall not tell Mama or she probably won't let me thinking that I am being sacrilegious. I shall do it when she is praying to the Icons in her private chapel. Tatiana and Papa go with her and sometimes she tries to make me go with her, but I say that I am too tired. Occasionally, my disease works towards my benefit.

Is this wicked? I'm not lying, because I am often too tired to pray as long as my devout Mama does. I am saving egg shells to use in a mosaic. Auntie Olga gave me the idea. I shall color the small pieces with my water colors and create a masterpiece of my own. When I grow up, I shall be as good an artist as Olga and Mama who designs her own gowns and those of my sisters. Papa doesn't care much for painting, but he does like snapping his photographs and is quite an accomplished photographer. We all are.

Mama is growing some grass seed in baskets of peat moss for us to lay our Easter eggs in. We shall have actual new grown grass instead of shredded paper grass to deposit our Easter eggs in. Mama read about this in one of her magazines which she delights in reading. Clever Mama!. My Ukrainian painted eggs for Mama and Papa turned out rather well and I didn't smear the black ink; I'm proud of them. Even Anastasia's eggs turned out better than she thought they would, thanks to Auntie Olga who over saw the delicate project and our renderings in the fascinating medium. –

Much later – The Sunday service was spectacular. Our Archbishop was dressed in ornate costly robes and the smell of incense filled the church. Hundreds of scented candles lit the church. I was overwhelmed and proud to be of the Russian Orthodox faith. My cousins and I didn't stir or make a peep during the ceremony and tears fell freely from Mama's beautiful eyes. I felt full of the Holy Spirit. Was I possessed? I felt the presence of my ancestors hovering overhead in the hallowed dome. Papa looked handsome in his new uniform and so did I. I managed to keep clean throughout the day by playing quiet mind games with my male cousins and Anastasia taught to us by our tutors. Coloring with my new art pencils which Auntie Olga gave me made time pass quickly. Mama was pleased with my caricatures of Papa Czar, my sisters and my Romanov relatives.

"Alexei," she cautioned me: "Do not show these to Grandmama; I made that mistake once. She was not pleased with my humorous artwork. Somehow they fell into the wrong hands and appeared in the newspapers the next month which caused quite a stir among the Russian nobility. My son must not make the same mistake as I did." Why would Grandmama have done that? How have her hidden actions impacted on the dynasty? There is much I do not understand about the family dynamics. Grandmama never had a mother-in-law to deal with, let alone an interfering one like Mama has to suffer and put up with.

I've put the caricatures in my photo album for safe keeping. If I wasn't destined to be Czar, I would like to be an illustrator or an artist, but I was born to be the Czar, but I still like to have my dreams. According to Mama, Papa and Grandmama, there is no way to give up my responsibilities. Will I be a good ruler? Controversial Anastasia, who has ears like a bat which miss nothing, told me that Papa is sometimes called "Bloody Nicholas" by the people. I asked Nagorny if this was true and he did not deny it.

Mama's Easter dress which she designed is spectacular with broderie anglaise on the white bodice and on the white skirt. Her personal embroideress must have worked for weeks on the lavish embroidery. My sisters dresses are a pale green, the color of celery called celadon and mama says that OTMA appeared as delicate and breakable as fine porcelain in their pastel spring finery with their tiny pleats cascading like miniature water falls down the front of their skirts. Thank Heavens Papa and I don't have to wear pale pastel colors unless we want to do so. Mama was considering having both of us wear white suits and celadon colored bowties, but papa convinced her that would not be wise nor very Russian since then we'd look like plantation owners from the American South. What would black Jim think of this?

Grandmama dear's dress was lovely and was a duplicate of her sister Queen Alexandra's dress. The British Queen was still in London. However they exchanged pictures of each other wearing identical gowns and sent telegraphed comments of the reactions of their courts to their new gowns via the telegraph. Aren't modern inventions marvelous? They delight in wearing identical outfits as if they were twin sisters. Mama calls them the "sin twisters" under her breath, but I heard what she'd said. I wish that I had a brother. I wouldn't mind wear a matching outfit with him; perhaps if I wish hard enough, my wish will come true, but Mama says her child bearing days are over.

Everyone is wearing new Easter shoes for the occasion. Papa and I have new brown leather boots with ornate military buckles. No doubt, we'll polish up nicely for Easter- like two shiny American pennies in our matching new military uniforms. Antie Anya complimented Papa until he blushed profusely through his beard causing his blue eyes to appear bluer. Mama didn't seem to mind a bit since she doesn't have a jealous bone in her body. Everyone knows that Auntie Anya is in love with my handsome Papa.

Shura, our ladies maid, helped my sisters with their gowns so that they fit perfectly and has made one for herself. I think M.Gilliard is sweet on her. Romance is in the air. I caught him gazing at her as if he was a sick puppy with his pink tongue hanging out. Will I ever make such a fool of myself I wonder? Perhaps I shall write a poem about it during my composition times in order to tease him and blackmail him into easing a few of my language assignments. Does spring render one susceptible to cupid's arrows? I'll have to ask Anastasia's opinion on the matter, she's not quite as foolish about love yet; my other sisters are head over heels in love with the idea of being in love.

Rumor has it that Prince Edward, Prince of Wales, is in love with several married women. Olga, is glad that the prince was not smitten with her charms when the subject of matrimony was broached in recent months. She thinks she escaped a fate worse than death. Now she must throw Prince Carol off her scent. Olga never plans on leaving Russia. I don't blame her, I couldn't either. I am a true Russian, body and soul, just like she is and would not be happy anywhere else.

1 April 1914, 14 April 1914 – Today is the special day when we like to play tricks on each other. Anastasia has tied papa's best shoes together in elaborate knots. Papa is unlikely to be amused. She's also urged me to put salt in the sugar shakers knowing that Mama will never discipline me when she puts it in her tea. I did and laughed when Mama and Papa both spit out the disgustin liquid in their napkins and winked at them saying: "April Fools!" Anastasia and I short sheeted Marie's bed and put onion juice in Olga and Tatiana's tooth powder. What are younger brothers for anyway? We sent a letter to Olga from Prince Carol sealed ornately with wax stating that he was in love with another Rumanian, a peasant girl from the country, but that he would do his duty and marry her anyway. She was not amused.

We sent her a love letter from Dmitry heavily scented with his cologne, a spicy toilet water which Monsieur G. also wears. I purloined a drop or two from his scent bottle when I was doing my math lessons one morning. The epistle stated that he was taking a grand tour in America and wouldn't be back for a year. Anastasia and I both felt positively wicked when she read the love letter and tears filled her eyes. Then she picked up the faux letter from Prince Carol and reconsidered it-- holding it to her bosom before she threw it in the fire. Perhaps she likes Prince Carol a little after all; he's handsome enough. Maybe we're both impisches. Then we both shouted in a duet: "April Fools! Even Mama and Auntie Annya laughed at our antics, but Olga has stopped speaking to us until she has her revenge which I no doubt expect to come within the week. Olga is not as longsuffering as I am.

Papa did not care for the limburger cheese smell which permeated his bathroom from a small piece of cheese which we hid under the lid of the throne. It smelt terrible, just like toe jam or a peasant's dirty feet rather like Rasputin's dirty socks before Auntie Annya washes them for him in her tiny cottage.

"I believe there's a dead mouse in here. Would you see to it dear?" said Papa to Mama as he exited the bathroom swiftly plugging his nostrils. Anastasia and I almost died laughing but we were still able to shout joyfully: "April Fools!

The older pair would not be out done and put clear tracing paper under the toilet seat which Anastasia and I shared. We both had to clean up the nasty mess when it ran on the floor, because Shura refused to clean up the filth from the prank. Am I becoming lax to servants as I near adolescence, or has Mama's politeness to servants begun rubbing off on me? Derevenko took one look at the mess and simply walked away quickly to talk with the faux Ethiopian.

We had Mama called to the phone with a message from a prankster (our chaffeur we bribed with a gold bracelet) stating that Auntie Ella had left her monastery and run off with an English Lord. Mama was not amused when we yelled, "April Fools."

Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable, fun day which I shall always cherish and remember. Days like this make my severe pain more bearable.

2 April 1914, 15 April 1914 – Monsieur Gilliard is making me write in cursive which I detest. He uses copper plate writing and insists that I write in this fancy handwriting. I prefer printing and always manage to smear my letters with the ink. M. Petrov states that one can tell much about a person from his handwriting while insisting that I form my letters correctly as did Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth president of the United States. Therefore, I am trying to make my signature more attractive with embellishments like Mama uses. She has beautiful writing. The capital A in her name is something beautiful to behold. Papa's signature is rather boring and Anastasia's handwriting is crude and looks like something that a plump, short person with fat fingers would write. I practiced signing my compositions: Alexei the Great with several flourishes underneath the lettering. Perhaps people will collect my handwriting and study it someday. Imagine, maybe my diary will be a bestseller some day as are other diaries from the French Revolution. Elizabeth I kept many diaries, and so shall I. I shall have to be careful what I write about. Mama says that she plans on burning all of her letters and diaries. Her life shall be her own. I think that is a waste of history and I want to be well remembered. Papa agrees with me, but still continues to write only about the weather and mundane, everyday things. Boring!

3 April 1814, 16 April 1914 – Papa and the older pair took a long walk and I played on the beach with my cousins. Nikita and I made a sand sculpture of a large beached whale with tiny rocks for its eyes. The water is still freezing. Mama and Auntie Annya shared our sandwiches and we drank brown ginger beer which I happen to love. I relish the fizzy brew pretending it to be German lager drinking several bottles. Nikita and I pretended we were both drunk. It's even better than lemonade. Anastasia laughed but matronly Olga said we were uncouth boors.

3 April 1914, 15 April 1914 – This leather bound diary was given to me by my papa. One Christmas, he gave all of his children each a diary and told us that he expected us to keep them and to act as if we were constantly being viewed by a multitude of people. We were all making history. That's what he always tried to do, however, some things in his life, were embarrassments for him: the night he and Mama danced together at a ball when thousands of Russians had been trampled in a muddy field had been an excruciating event for him. Dancing was not a wise thing to do after that tragedy and both he and Mama regretted making that decision that night. Papa's uncle had advised him incorrectly and he died because of it in another ruthless assassination.

"Alexei, always try to gather the real facts before you make your decisions when you are Czar, don't trust anybody and always follow your heart. I did not feel comfortable going dancing and should have listened to my own feelings. Julius Caesar trusted people who slew him on the ides of March, be careful about those near you, Alexei, and keep your own counsel."

Easter Day 1914, - At midnight, my cousins, sisters, and extended family gathered in the darkened church. "Christ is risen." said the white bearded bishop, and the congregation shouted back: "He is truly risen!" Three small candles which the bishop carried when he entered the building were passed around by the holy priests and everyone lit their own candles until hundreds of candles illuminated the darkness. The scene was beautiful and I felt a feeling of reverence that I had never sensed before. I felt the symbolism for the first time in my life that Christ is the light of the earth. My faith and knowledge increased. Mama's eyes were watering and she smiled at me tenderly.

Afterwards we returned to the palace and had an incredible feast. Lent was over, and I was so glad, forty days of deprivation were over. I ate so much sweet pashka cheese that I had to unbutton my trouser button and so did Papa. We had roasted leg of lamb surrounded by onions and carrots and mashed potatoes, hams, chicken, and slices of all kinds of cheese. My cousins and I tried bits of everything and loaded our plates and ate until we could not eat another bite. My sisters and I gave our fancy decorated eggs in their baskets of new grown grass to Mama and Papa and Papa gave Grandmama and Mama their costly eggs designed by Monsieur Faberge. Mama's egg was an elaborate mosaic covered with gems in delicate floral designs. OTMA and I were displayed in a photograph which stood on a small stand when a hidden button was pushed. Monsieur F. had done it again. Mama was enraptured and could hardly speak when she saw her beautiful egg. Mama displayed the egg that I made for her in her boudoir and Papa put his in his library. Mama and Papa kissed all of us and were much pleased with all of our artistic efforts and then kissed each other. They still act as if they are newlywed which vexes my fastidious Grandmama who thinks Mama's sitting on my Papa's lap in family gatherings and photographs is indecent. Olga thinks it proves they are still madly in love and intends on keeping up the tradition when she marries. I agree with Olga. There are certain family traditions which need to be followed.

7 April 1914, 20 April 1914 – My cousins and I rowed out on the Black sea in a row boat and dived off into the water. Nagorny helped haul us back into the boat. It was fun jumping into the water, but the water was still freezing. Papa swam nearby and tried to tip over the boat. I pretend that my cousins are my brothers, and I join their fights and bickering, too. I will be sad when they leave. Papa built a bonfire on the beach and we toasted bread and bits of melted cheese on sticks. Everything tasted delicious.

8 April 1914, 21 April 1914 – We had a picnic on the beach and laid down on the blankets and imagined shapes in the fluffy clouds. I saw a cloud shaped like a sword and it bothered me.

"Papa, what will become of us?" I asked. Mama crossed herself and said a quick prayer.

"Alexei, you make me feel uneasy. Our rasputin has told me that as long as no Romanov sheds his blood that we'll be safe, and so we have nothing to fear. The dynasty will continue for another three hundred years. All will be well for who would dare harm him when he has your Papa and Mama's protection?" Nevertheless, despite her words, I felt uneasy and could not shake off the dismal feeling.

9 April 1914, 22 April 1914 – We said farewell to our cousins. I kissed them all in the Russian way and they kissed me back. I will truly miss my brother cousins. Anastasia was glad to see them go. She did not like the tricks that we played on her and said: "Good riddance to bad rubbish." Of course she said it quietly so that Mama wouldn't hear her. Had they actually tied her pigtail with its white ribbon to her chair as she was posing for a photograph Papa was taking of all of Grandmama's grandchildren for a surprise for Grandmama? Anastasia complained that she'd suffered from whiplash when she stood up. It was rather hilarious to see proud Ana tethered to a chair for once unable to move.

Now, I shall have to play with my sisters again. Papa and the girls went for a long walk and Mama and I made up stories on the beach trying to entertain me since I couldn't walk with them. She would start one, and I would make a surprise ending. Auntie Annya was much amused. Perhaps Mama and I can publish our stories abroad one day under a pseudonym. I would like that. Auntie Annya took them down in short hand. They are very Russian.

17 April 1914 30 April 1914 – Today papa received a letter from his English lookalike cousin, King George. It's final: The Prince of Wales has not offered for Olga's hand after all, and Mama is very upset. She wanted one of her daughters to be the future Queen of England. Olga was much relieved. Perhaps she really will be a spinster. Auntie Olga said that she wished she'd remained a spinster rather than marry the nearly dead aristocrat her mother had chosen for her. Grandmama had said: "Love came in my marriage and I'd never met my big bear of a husband before my wedding." Auntie Olga's eyes rolled up in her head. "What's this new generation coming to?" asked Grandmama rolling her own eyes mockingly to nobody in particular. "Doesn't anybody do their duty any more? Divorce within the family is bringing down the dynasty. Am I the only one who can see the damage?"

Loyal Tatiana muttered that perhaps there's something wrong with Edward or David which is what his family calls him. Who wouldn't want to marry intelligent Olga? Mama says that she'd heard rumors that her daughters were too backwards for his tastes. Papa said that Edward is too fast for his tastes and that King George has no confidence in his son's ability to rule. Mama says that he's another Prince Eddy all over again. Mama should know since she was almost betrothed to Prince Eddy, He's too fond of golf, carousing, fine clothing, and dancing. God wished otherwise or my Mama would now be the Queen of England rather than Czarina Alexandra of all the Russias.

There's even a record about the Prince of Wales in America with words which say: "I danced with a girl who danced with a girl who danced with the Prince of Wales." Of course Anastasia was able to procure the record from a married officer aboard Grandmama's yaught who had the record in his possession and we all laughed as she danced around the deck with her broomstick, the Prince of Wales. I'm pleased that Olga won't be leaving us yet, even though she's always watching me to be sure that I do things correctly: like eating with the correct spoon and not talking with my mouth full , and not chewing with my mouth open; I would miss her if she were gone despite her overbearing ways.

18 April 1914, 6 May 1914 – The Emir of Bokhara came to pay respects to papa. He was wearing a large white turban with jewels and he reminded me of our white turbaned sentries at home. I wonder what Jim will bring me when he returns from America? The Emir has a bushy beard, but speaks and bows with reverence to Papa and he's brought presents for all of us. I can hardly wait to open mine. I would not want to wear his heavy black robe in this heat. He smells like a flower garden and his beard reminds me of Rasputin's. They are both natural and wild looking.

We went swimming in the afternoon and either I am getting used to the water, or I am becoming stronger. In the water, I swim like a fish and am not handicapped which is a great relief to me. I hold my breath and swim beneath the waves.

28 April 1914, 11 May 1914 – Papa's birthday is next week and I am trying to make a surprise for him, my twenty ruble allowance has been increased with the ransom that I received when I traded a photograph of fat little Anastasia sticking out her tongue during a piano recital. She knew that she didn't want one of her beaus to see this when she was older. She paid me what I asked for it and then promptly destroyed the picture. Luckily, I kept the negatives.

Anastasia said that she would help me design a birthday card for Papa and I have bought him a bubble gum cigar as a hint to help him curb his smoking since he smokes like a chimney. I went to the village store with my tutors and I have made him a miniature kite which really flies from a silk handkerchief of Mama's and we shall fly it from the balustrade on a windy day. A tiny spool of thread is the kite string and I've made a long tail for it. I think Papa will love it. It is designed like a ruby throated hummingbird and I painted it myself with my water colors.

29 April 1914, 12 May 1914 – Anastasia helped me with a limerick; it went like this: There was once a Papa Czar, who had yaughts, ships, and a fancy car. Nevertheless the thing that he loved most, was creamed tuna on toast. Happy Birthday Papa! She signed it "Baby" I cut that part out with my scissors. I am not the baby of the family any longer since I'm almost a teenager, but Anastasia says that even when I'm fifty years old, I'll still be the baby of the family. I was not amused. She won't be able to tease me when I'm the czar.

6 May 1914, 14 May 1914 – It's Papa's birthday. Mama gave him a shirt that she'd embroidered for him. He's said that he was jealous of the ones that she'd made for Father Grigory, and so she made an extra special one for him with flower embroidered buttons and motifs in red which looks like spiders along the hem of the shirt which is a favorite symbol of hers and is a good luck symbol. Papa was delighted with the hand made gift sewn with love.

Papa was glad to be able to celebrate the occasion with close family rather than making it a state occasion. Mama had a cake filled with pineapple curd and whipped cream and birthday candles for him. Papa made a wish and blew out all of the candles. I wonder what he wished for? Knowing my Papa, he probably wished for, peace on earth since he hates war and killing. The rich cake made his teeth hurt, but he had two helpings nevertheless.

Tatiana gave him an embroidered bookmark and Olga gave him a book and a bottle of garlic flavored green olives which he enjoyed. I hope Papa has time to read the book since he is always doing his papers. He never thinks he can delegate anything.

Marie gave him a penknife with an angel on the top and signed it: from your angel. Papa really thinks that she's angelic. She never gets angry like the rest of us do. Anastasia made Papa a self portrait of herself with a red pencil that had turned out quite nicely. I was surprised. She signed it from the imp. It looks just like her and Papa was pleased. We sang happy birthday to Papa and I played a song for him that I'd composed on the balalaika in honor of his birthday and the girls performed for him with duets on the piano, the older pair and the younger pair. Mama was thrilled at their prowess on the instrument. Too bad that Grandmama dear wasn't invited. I shall have to play my song for her again at her palace no doubt in front of her court.

My sketches are rather rough and my portraits look more like monsters than people, but mama tells me to keep practicing. Her grandmother, Queen Victoria was quite an artist so it's in the blood.

I've brought my small chess set and Derevenko is setting it up for us to play. It is made with small chess pieces with holes in them that stick into the chess board so that they will not tip off. I'm planning some new strategy that I read in a book which Mama ordered for me. I should be able to outwit Derevenko stanko in less than ten moves. We'll see.

7 May 1914, 14 May 1914 - I wonder if Mama and Papa will have a grand ball for Tatiana now that she's turned seventeen. Olga had one and wore a beautiful pink gown. Tatiana is looking at magazines from Grandmama's Paris couturiers and drooling over ball dresses. I know that Grandmama will expect Papa and Mama to present her at court so that suitors will fall at her feet and she longs to dance at her own ball. Grandmama dear loves to dance publicly, but Mama prefers the solitude of her family.

When Mama's out of sight and ear shot, Tatiana unbuttons her white shirtwaists and bares her shoulders saying boldly: "I shall wear my gown the Russian way." This never ceases to make her sisters laugh. This hilarious bravura dates back from an old story about when Mama first arrived in Russia and told a brazen Russian female countess that her gown was too immodest and that in England a "lady" didn't dress that way. The haughty woman replied disrespectfully to her new czarina: "Here in Russia, we do wear our gowns this way." Tatiana danced around the room while Anastasia plays gypsy music on the piano making her siblings laugh out loud. I will be sad when Tatiana is betrothed and leaves us, despite her bossy ways, but I hope for her sake, that Papa and Mama let her have a ball so that her charms may be advertised near and abroad since she longs to be properly married. I feel guilty about my "problem: and hope that she won't be denied a ball on account of my poor health. I certainly don't want her to resent me.

13 May 1914, 26 May 1914 - Papa's and Mama's professional portraits of Olga paid off. Crown Prince Carol of Romania wants to meet her and is determined to marry her. He's only a minor prince and Olga is a Grand Duchess of Russia. Is he ambitious? Nevertheless Olga is all a twitter about the proposal. However, she's adamant about not leaving Russia. Will Papa and Mama make her? Carol is a double cousin and my parents are certain that the pair of them will fall madly in love with each other. Prince Carol's half in love with her anyway because of her stunning photograph.. The Standart is coming to take us all to Romania. Olga is mortified and very, very nervous. I see and hear her practicing the grand piano and hear her pounding furiously on the piano keys trying to relieve her angst as well as her anguish. Having met Carol before at a family gathering, she didn't cotton to him and doubts she'll like him any better now that they are older. What is she afraid of?

14 May 1914, 27 May 1914 - Papa has given Olga some of the crown jewels to impress the prince with and Mama has given Olga lots of advice about how to capture the prince's heart by playing hard to get. Olga pouts in her room and looks as if a black cloud is hanging over her head. Mama says: "Olga, we must all grow up some day, you must leave the nest first so that your sisters may fly also. It's only proper that you marry first." Olga is biting her long fingernails and is choosing her plainest frocks to bring with her in hopes of dampening Carol's ardor. Mama and she are having a power struggle. Who will win?

15 May 1914, 28 May 1914 - Our beautiful yaught, which is the envy of royals the world over, has arrived and our trunks have been packed so that they can be delivered below deck. The sailors and officers have welcomed us all aboard. Anastasia is polishing up her dances so that she can show off her fancy footwork. I wish that I could dance gracefully instead of hobble around jumping on my good leg.

Mama is ignoring Olga completely while Tatiana has been following Mama's orders to talk some sense into her. This betrothal needs to come off for diplomatic reasons. I am so glad that I'm not a girl. I'll be relieved when this life game we're all engaged in is over. I would not want to be in Olga's shoes. Mama is fit to be tied saying continuously: "Olga, you must do your duty."

16 May 1914, 29 May 1914 - The Standart sails out of the harbor with all of us on board. I don't know why Olga is so nervous; she's met Carol before at her coming out ball two years ago and should know what to expect. After all, he's hardly a frog prince. Marie would marry him in a minute thinking him quite handsome, but he has not asked for her and Mama demands that the eldest daughter be married first which makes sense. However, my Grandmama has told her that she was married before her older sister Dagmar who is now Queen Alexandra of England and said that Mama is being foolish. This incensed Mama making her more determined than ever.

Olga wants a sober, studious helpmate, not someone who takes thing lightly as Prince Carol does. She just know that they will not suit each other.

Mama raised her voice saying: "Olga, try being positive for once in your life. Learn how to give a little." Olga looked angrily at Mama and stamped her foot. Papa only shrugged his shoulders not wanting to take sides.

"My darling daughter," said Papa. "Nothing is set in cement, but do try for your parents' sake to be subjective instead of objective for once. Let your heart rule rather than that practical head of yours but. don't wear your heart visibly on your sleeves wear it can be broken. Remember to smile Olga. You're so beautiful when you smile. Remember that I have four daughters to marry off, not just one; you can be so winsome if you want to be."

Anastasia is trying her best to make Olga better humored, but nothing amuses my nervous older sister who has entirely lost her sense of humor. Mama says that she'd better find it quickly.

17 May 1914, 30 May 1914 - The Romanovs all danced after the sun went down aboard the ship to the strains of Papa's Military orchestra. Papa and Olga danced together, maybe for one of their last times. Papa was nostalgic. Could this beautiful vision of loveliness possibly be his first born daughter who'd had such an immense head at birth which had caused more than a few comments at both courts. Of course, that head was loaded with brains. Nevertheless, the baby had charmed her persnickety Great Grandmama, Queen Victoria, when presented to her at Buckingham Palace. How time had flown on wings of lightening. Soon she'd be having her own babies.

18 May 1914, 31 May 1914 - My sister Olga was as cold as ice to Prince Carol, I had never seen her so tense and stiff before. What had happened to my charming, sweet sister? I peeked in her diary to find out what was wrong. Her words struck my own heart: "I could never leave Russia, nor Mama or Papa. I would rather enter a holy order like Auntie Ella or remain a spinster at home. I'd shrivel up and die if I left my country." Here, her writing was smeared with her tears. Then I realized how my sister felt. I felt the same way. We were a very closely knit family. Papa would have to find a wealthy Russian for her, but I couldn't think of anyone except for cousin Dmitry, who Mama couldn't stand who was our first cousin. Recent scientific articles have been written about the danger of inbreeding within families which Mama read aloud with alarm.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed the firework display that night on board the deck of the Standardt. Imagine, the Chinese who'd tried to kill Papa were the first ones to invent fireworks many hundreds of years ago. The noise was loud and Mama said her excuses early because of a headache. The color and the fireworks lit up the night sky and were something that my young eyes will never forget. The exhibit was magnificent. I shall have fireworks when I am betrothed.

19 May 1914, 13 June 1914 - Our arrival at Constanta in Romania was noted by a great turnout. King Ferdinand and Queen Marie were gracious hosts and the celebration began. Mama and papa were happy to see their cousins and everyone but me chatted away in French at the banquet they gave us at their palace. I am Russian and will speak only Russian; Mama was peeved at me, but had more pressing concerns since Olga refused to warm to Prince Carol. Marie and I both liked the prince but it doesn't matter if we like him, Olga must and she refused to be more than polite to him, despite Mama's fervent pleas. Olga can be very obstinate. I enjoyed the fireworks from the deck of our yaught, but they only gave Mama a headache. Mama did not win this battle of wits and there will be no wedding. We sail off tomorrow, much to Olga's relief.

20 May 1914, 3 June 1914 - Early in the morning, the Romanovs sailed away quietly on the Standart. Mama and Olga are avoiding each other trying not to break each others hearts by saying inexcusable words. Papa is chain smoking and has buried himself in state papers. Auntie Annya is trying to soothe things over. The only one who is acting normal is Anastasia who is roller skating on the deck and running into people whenever she can. Thank Heavens for her antics and her joie d'vivre. Things will soon be back to normal, whatever normal means. We are headed back to Livadia. Olga and Mama are licking their open wounds.

Marie is writing a letter to Grandmama dear who is probably dying to know what happened in Romania, but who will be upset at the news. She thinks that my sisters should do their duty without complaining and marry whomever is selected for them as if they were chess pieces on the game board of life. Grandmama married her husband Alexander III sight unseen, but love came. However, Auntie Olga, her daughter, was required to marry an old Russian aristocrat and the marriage had been a true disaster. Papa had absolved their marriage.

"Why should the younger generation think that love is necessary?" asked the dowager Empress. My Grandmama thinks we're all too spoiled. But I feel that their needs to be some chemistry there. for a successful marriage.

A tale told about my ancestress, Anastasia, for whom my youngest sister is named proves this. Czar Ivan had all of the beautiful girls of the land paraded before him and he selected his bride from them. Anastasia, who was a member of the Russian nobility, was his choice. They wed and both grew to love each other; however, she died in childbirth. Czar Ivan went crazy with grief and turned into a monster killing many innocent people.

Perhaps Papa should select several young men and parade them in front of Olga and let her choose a Russian noble since he's the czar of all the Russias.

20 May 1914, etcetera continued.– Doctor Botkin examined me carefully this morning and said: "Alexei, at present you're condition is stable, but you must do nothing to upset your Mama. Sometimes my own children, Gleb and Tatiana, cause their mother undo alarm." I looked at his large head with the few hairs that he had remaining on his head which he parted and combed over to cover his bald spot and then at his concerned dark eyes through his thick lenses in amazement. Did he think that I caused my bruises? I hadn't done anything to upset Mama. Olga had upset her. I will never understand adults nor my sisters.

Soon I will be back in the Crimea lying on the beach soaking up the sun for the winter. Mama calls me her sunbeam because I'm so much like her. I admit, I've been anything but sunny during this vacation. Mama's nickname as a child was Sunny and she was happy before the death of her mother from diphtheria when she was eight, but then she never smiled again until her betrothal day when she was almost twenty-two, at least that's how it appears in the family pictures. I have not felt well, but the warm climate and sunshine will recharge my batteries.

Father Grigory told Mama that as long as he's alive that I will recover and live to an old age. Mama said that her grandmother Queen Victoria, her gangun, told her that her youngest son, Leopold, lived to marry and have children and he was a bleeder like I am. I should not despair, but sometimes I cannot stand the pain. To take my mind off of al of my worries, I asked some of the officers if they'll bait several fish lines for me so that I can trawl off of the back of the yaught. I thought that this would amuse Papa if we happened to catch anything. To my amazement, we caught a sea turtle which had eaten the meat when he swallowed the hook. The cook made delicious turtle soup enough for the Romanovs and the crew.

21 May 1914, 15 June 1914 - Dr. Botkin examined me this morning and told me not to do anything that might upset my mother, because she's distressed enough and doesn't think she can take much more. Does he think that I cause my bruises?

I looked at his big head and the funny way he combs his hair over his bald spot and made direct eye contact with those dark eyes through his thick glasses saying: "I love my Mama and worry about her heart as much as you and Dr. Dervenko. I don't know what I'd do without her. I pray continually for her health do you?" He didn't answer me.

Dr. Botkin told me not to mention our conversation to Mama or Papa. I won't. He gave me some cod liver oil to drink and I plugged my nose and swallowed the nasty stuff like a good soldier must. Then I asked him if he was punishing me. He didn't say a word, merely stalking away. Next time he gives me the nasty stuff, I shall give it to Joy who eats anything when he's not looking.

Auntie Annya has begun to patch things up between Mama and Olga. I heard her say: "My dear Alexandra, you'll live to see that this event is a blessing, just as it was a blessing that you didn't marry Prince Eddy." Where would we all be if you'd done your duty; I feel in my heart that this marriage was never meant to be" Mama, looked surprised, but I heard her mention what Annya said to Papa and his eyes popped nearly out of his head as a sign of relief. I know that my parents both want to forgive Olga's stubbornness. -

In a few days it is Tatiana's seventeenth birthday and she is hoping that her family remembers her happy day following the disaster in Rumania. I have made her a tiny set of shadow puppets, one representing each of us which she should find amusing. I have written a funny story to go along with them. She has not been nearly as bossy as she usually is since Olga's disastrous broken engagement.

22 May 1914, 4 June 1914 - Sailing on the Standart always lifts everyone's spirits, but nobody's smiling today despite the beautiful weather. Olga remains silent and distant and Papa smokes one cigarette after another and reads his dispatches and I notice that his eye is twitching, a sure sign that he is vexed. Mama embroiders silently in her white wicker deck chair next to Auntie Anya and sighs loudly every few minutes. Marie is writing to Grandmama, for whom she's named, and telling her about what happened in Rumania because she knows that Grandmama is dying to know so she can gossip about it with her friends. I'm lining up my lead soldiers and bombing them with my canon and then performing burials at sea.

Anastasia has put on some cheery music and roller skates around the deck crashing into everyone which makes me laugh. I can't help it. Thank heavens for Anastasia. She'll see that soon things are back to normal.

No one would believe that it is Tatiana's birthday because most of the adults are acting as if someone died. However, our trusty cook prepared a celebration feast for Mama and Tatiana who both celebrate summer birthdays. Mama usually has a lavish quiet family dinner, but auburn haired Tatiana is turning seventeen and the occasion at least needs to be noted; Mama needs to arise to the occasion.

Cook has come through for the Romanovs once more, she baked a three tiered cake with whip cream and custard filling topped with fresh berries and created a buffet with Tatiana's favorite dishes. After dinner, Tatiana received her diamond from Mama and Papa and now she has enough diamonds to complete her necklace for her coming out ball which is overdue that will take place here or in St. Petersburg in November if all goes well, if the country remains stabl and the strikes stop..

Papa wore his gray blue shirt, the exact color of his eyes, which my sisters had all helped embroider and sew for him which he received from them on his birthday.

Joyfully he donned it prancing about saying: "I was jealous of all of the handmade shirts that Father Grigory received and was wondering when it would be my turn to get a few. Many thanks for your efforts my darlings and remembering your proud Papa. I'll gladly show off your talents with the needle telling everyone that my daughters made this." said Papa fingering the fine fabric before making a charming wink in my sisters direction. Papa has already forgiven his darling Olga. Perhaps he, too is relieved even more than I am that she will not be leaving our family circle. Papa was so happy he danced for us the Ukrainian dance that he learned last time he was at Stavka, military headquarters. Looking like an elite Russian peasant more than the Czar of all the Russias, he entertained all of us as we clapped to the beat of the lively music. As he danced, it seemed as if the weight of the world fell from his shoulders.

23 May 1914, 5 June 1914 – We've arrived at our beautiful palace in the Crimea again. Mama has her birthday coming up. She thinks that gifts from the heart are more valuable than costly diamonds unlike our picky Grandmama so we are trying to oblige her. Anastasia is making a beautiful corsage for Mama out of pink baby rosebuds and daisies from the garden and scraps of ribbon and lace. I have made a card for her which reads: Mama-- dearer to me than any other, you're precious because you're my mother. With love, from Alexei, l'infant terrible. I designed it so that a large heart pops up when Mama opens the card. I chose to use French which is the language of love so I've heard which should please her. I found a beautiful seashell on the beach which I'm going to give to her. My sisters have all been practicing their piano duets and have written her some poetry.

I love the beach and dug for clams and built an immense sand castle filling my red and white striped swimsuit with sand making Anastasia and Mama laugh. Mama stayed under a canopy, but Papa and I gamboled about soaking up the sun storing it for the bleak winter days in the future. My dog Joy and I romped around and I taught her how to fetch and how to shake hands. She's not as smart as Mama's dog, Eira, but she's not nearly as cantankerous either, I've never seen her nip at anyone and she loves being in the water as much as I do. I love her and know that she loves me. Can dogs smile? I swear that Joy smiles at me when I throw her stick and call her name. What a talented spaniel.

Papa made a large bonfire for us on the beach and we toasted sausages and had slices of cheese for dinner with toasted bread, butter and baked savory clams in sea weed. The stars never looked as large before and the moon glowed like one of Mama's large pearls. Papa showed me how to find the North Star, Orion, and we saw several shooting stars. We stayed up singing until the fire died and then we went to sleep under our nets in the palace.

24 May 1914, 8 June 1914 - Papa played tennis with Xandro. Grandmama who has her own mansion not far from our palace came to watch the game sitting under a large parasol so that she could catch up on the scuttle but about what her sons, their wives Xenia and Alexandra, and various offspring were up to. I sat nearby in my sailor suit painting her portrait in watercolor, but she was less than pleased with the likeness. Anastasia said sarcastically pointing to my portrait with her plump finger saying: "But Grandmama, what big eyes you have. But Grandmama, what big teeth you have." As if she were telling the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. This made Grandmama and I both laugh. In retrospect, her eyes and teeth did look rather wolfish and so did the smirk I'd painted on her face, but I'm determined to improve. Everyone but Mama dined at Grandmother's house for tea in the afternoon. Mama was having one of her headaches.

25 May 1914, 7 June 1914 – Mama's birthday was today and we had a celebration dinner. Mama loved my card and sea shell and she wore Anastasia's beautiful corsage. Papa gave her an exquisite jeweled brooch and Tatiana and Olga combed her hair and put it in a new style complete with new ivory hair combs they had decorated for her with tiny seashells. Marie had hand painted her a paper fan. Mama and Olga had a peace truce for the day. Nothing was to mar Mama's perfect day.

Papa gave Mama a heart shaped brooch with three diamonds dangling from platinum chains made by Monsieur Faberge which brought tears to Mama's eyes as well as Olga's.

"Mama, I want a love like you and Papa share."

"Olga, our love cannot be duplicated, but I hope that you find love daughter."

Mama said that she felt like a young girl again, but she can't fool me, I know that she's unwell because of her enlarged heart; otherwise she would have played tennis with Papa; she wants to see Father Grigory again or does she just want to consult him about my health and future? Who can really say? But I am feeling fit as a fiddle now that I'm here on the beach feeling almost as if I have escaped my bedroom prison which I have.

Today, I let my pet hermit crab go in the water that I had rescued from my dog Joy's teeth. Papa says that it would only die if I brought it with me. I know that he's right, but it was hard to set it free.

26 May 1914, 6 June 1914 – We boarded the train and began the journey back north to Tsarkoe Selo. For some reason, I didn't want to say goodbye to Livadia. We'd had such a happy, carefree holiday and I refused to turn my head and look back. Papa and Mama have promised my sisters a ball when we returned to St. Petersburg in November provided that everyone's health remains stable. The train seemed to go even slower on the way north. My leg begins to ache, but I won't mention it to Mama, because I'm her brave sufferer. I've grown two inches taller recently. I'm shooting up like stalk of corn; I just know that I'm going to be a tall czar. Will I be as tall as Peter the Great? That is my fond wish.

I've brought my water colors and my Auntie Olga is giving us an art lesson. She's a genuine artist and if she wasn't a Grand Duchess, I'm certain that she could make a living selling her paintings. Perhaps she does so under a pseudonym anyway. Her pictures disappear off the walls of her townhouse. Where do they go? She painted a magical picture of my sisters as sea nymphs. I treasure it and have begged her to make me a gift of it for Christmas. Auntie only replied vaguely like Mama does many times: "We'll see-which means no more often than not."

I will remember this holiday always as I bid farewell to beautiful Livadia. Our carefree days will long be treasured in my heart. Do turbulent days lie ahead? My tutors read the newspapers and so does Mama, but then she burns them because they are full of strikes and strife. I cannot help but gaze wistfully from the end of the platform on the train.

We boarded the train very early so that we might take advantage of the cool air in the morning. I was very sleepy and dozed for the first few hours on the train leaning against my Mama's soft shoulder.

Slowly, I woke up and wiped the sleep from my eyes. I am riding with my sister Anastasia and she suggested we play a word game which M.Gilliard has made up for us to increase our English vocabulary and use of adjectives which we've quickly adapted to our own amusement. Anastasia was holding my sister's miniature bulldog on her lap and began: "Olga fell in love with a foolish prince with an elephantine nose. The objective is not to use the same adjective more than once. Tatiana said with twinkling eyes: "Olga fell in love with a rotund prince with a beaklike nose and we all laughed uproariously even Mama. Naturally Olga was not riding with us in our car; she was reading a book to Papa in his car while he worked on his never ending correspondence.

Mama was delighted at M. Gilliard's clever way of providing our language lessons in a fun, interesting manner. It also helped dispel Olga's recent trouble and turned a mess into an amusing game and one which we could laugh over instead of cry over. She had the Baroness join in: "Olga fell in love with a simpering prince with a Hanoverian nose." The baroness winked at Mama and both laughed at the innuendo. Most of Mama's English cousins had Hanoverian noses because they were of German extraction with the exception of David who had a petite nose and was known for his blonde Prince Charming good looks during his trip to America. Mama replied: "Olga fell in love with a selfish prince with a globular nose. We continued with this until the air within the train became unbearably hot. I notice that a fly which had flown in was buzzing against the hot glass and quickly expired as Mama pulled a cord which signaled for the engineer to begin looking for a grassy spot where we could stop the train and picnic in a shady spot for a few hours.

Soon we were wading near a small stream and lolling on our blankets eating canned salmon and melba toast washing it down with ginger beer and lemonade. Olga and Papa joined us and wondered why we all kept smiling at her oddly as if she had something strange on her nose. Thanks to Auntie Annya's wisdom and the passing of time, things were almost back to normal until a telegram arrived for Olga from Grandmama Dear chastising her and my parents for the broken betrothal.

27 May 1914, 9 June 1914 – The servants welcomed us back and Joy raced around the palace grounds and wagged her tail glad to be back home and Eira, Mama's black little terrier, marked her territory. The animals and humans were glad to be back at Tsar Koe Selo and the Alexander Palace. A long letter was waiting for Olga from Grandmama chastising her for her failure to marry Prince Carol. Olga was not happy about this and began pouting again. She tore up the letter into tiny pieces before letting the wind carry them off to the ends of the earth.

After arriving back at the Alexander Palace Tsar Koe Selo, a visible change came over my Mama as if a dark cloud had descended over her. She became weak and pale and Mama was once again the invalid. Our servants appeared happy to see us or were they just good actors? My dog, Joy, took off running and I didn't call her back knowing that she would return to me after she'd chased all of the birds from the bushes and the trees. I had named her aptly as she was wild with joy to be out of the train and allowed to run free. If only I could do the same, run like the wind.

Big Jim, our Ethiopian sentry, from America had returned from his vacation and we exchanged our small gifts. Besides the guava jelly his Mama had made for him to bring us he handed me a small American flag and a picture of President Theodore Roosevelt who had acted as a mediator between Papa and the Japanese and he'd allowed Papa to save face despite Russia's defeat and their loss of the Russian navy. Jim, our tall extremely black sentry, and I talked about our travels. He brought me a small American flag and I gave him a small military pin Papa had given me that I'd saved for him to wear on his white turban. I told him about the Emir and his white turban. His Mama had wanted to hear all about the young Czarovitch, and his four sisters. I hoped that he had told her nice things about me and about the three hundred salutes when I was born. I know that Papa and Mama had prayed for years that I'd be born and they were both so happy when I showed my little face. Mama said that I was worth all of the trouble that she went through and that I was her pride and joy. My dog Joy is my pride and joy until I have my own son.

"Alexei, this here president received the Nobel Peace Prize for the role he played in settling the conflict between your Papa and the Japanese. That's not the only reason why he's famous. I thought you might like to learn about this brave man. When he was your age, he was puny and underdeveloped and had asthma which made it hard for him to breathe.

One day his Papa told him: "Son, you don't have to be a weakling; you can change your body by lifting weights and by rowing your small row boat." After that, Theodore did just that. Everyday he lifted weights and worked out. Rowing was the perfect exercise for him. He became barrel chested and confident because of his physical strength and prowess. Eventually, Theodore who didn't like to be called Teddy any more than Abraham Lincoln liked to be called Abe became a rough rider and a hero in battle. You can do the same thing, if you want it bad enough, Alexei."

"Do you really think I could, Jim?"

"This president is living proof of mind over matter." That day I resolved to do the same thing. I was tired of being trapped in an undersized, underdeveloped puny body.

30 May, 1914, 14 June 1914 continued – That night before I soaked in Papa's silver tub I gazed at my reflection in the mirror and measured my chest with Mama's tape measure and recorded its dimensions.. I told Papa about my goal and he thought it was a wonderful idea and wanted to do it, too. It became our secret. It is extraordinary to share a secret with my own beloved Papa. We'll now share our mirth and build our girth.

31 May, 1914, 15 June 1914 – The next morning I began my attempt at developing my upper body. Anastasia and I rowed over to our small island. I could barely row across half of the lake before I had to rest. My strong, feisty sister rowed us the rest of the way much to my chagrin. On the way back I insisted that I row the entire way, and I did. No doubt, that my muscles will be stiff tomorrow. Rowing is the perfect sport for me. I am the engine, the crew, and the captain of my little ship. The exercise is tiring, but good for me. I repeat my mantra: Everyday, in every way, I'm getting better and better. I am proud of myself for the first time in my life.

1 June 1914, 16 July 1914 – I was stiff and could hardly move, but Papa showed me how to do push ups so that I don't have to put pressure on my weak knee. My goal is twenty-five push ups and sit ups, but I am determined to work up to fifty per day.

2 June 1914, 15 June 1914 Papa swims in his saltwater pool everyday and I'm going to try it. Now that I'm still quite healthy from my swimming during our vacation, it should be easy for me. I am not handicapped in the water and it is difficult to bruise myself surrounded by water. Why didn't my parents and doctors figure this out before? Perhaps I'm more intelligent than they are. Swimming is another perfect sport for me besides rowing.

Anastasia is spying on me trying to find out what I'm up to. I don't intend for her to find out because she would blab about it to everyone. Last year, Mama, shared our family secret with Aunt Olga about my bleeding disease hoping to ease the situation and tension between various family members namely Grandmama and Mama.Auntie Olga can't keep anything confidential and Mama knew this possibly using her to her leak the information to my Grandmama dear about my inherited affliction. However, Mama's plan backfired on her; now my Russian relatives blame Mama for infecting the Romanovs with a loathsome disease. Poor Mama.

"I told Nicky never to marry the girl. Now she's only getting her just desserts having inherited the "English Disease." said my Grandmama to her courtiers. "However, she's polluted the pure Romanov blood lines with an incurable malady which shall bring down our dynasty. Why didn't Nicky listen to his Papa? Papa and I chose another princess for him, but he refused . Now he's paying the penalty for his disobedience and so will all of Russia." Soon that secret was flying throughout Russia. Mama should have known better than to mention my condition to her enemies, but who would have thought her inlaws were really outlaws?

Papa and I and the older pair, Olga and Tatiana, are going to Peterhof to meet the French Prime Minister Poincare. We always stay at the farm instead of the deluxe palace, it's more cozy than Peter's grand Imperial palace. Papa only occasionally has stayed at the big palace; however he keeps his main library there where I enjoy reading leather bound books about Napoleon's famous battles.

The German minister has been giving elaborate dinners and balls at his mansion and Papa plans on attending a few of them with the big pair. He doesn't want the minister to feel slighted, but Mama doesn't want to call attention to her German roots with all the trouble brewing. Prince Albert, Grandmama' Victoria's consort was from Saxe Coburg, a province in Germany and was her first cousin. Her Mama couldn't even speak English. My English cousins are more German than English and so is Mama according to our genealogists and Queen Mary II who knows what she's talking about. Papa's proud of his children's ability to fluently speak four languages and wants to show them off. Mama is delighted that she can delegate her responsibility to her older daughters and need not attend the German affairs. Luckily, I don't have to bother with any of the diplomacy because of my age.

Grandmama is worried about the strikes, the Germans, and vicious rumors about Father Grigory. Papa is too, but he thinks that Cousin Willy is no cause for alarm. He thinks that despite the worrisome letters from Uncle Ernie claiming that Kaiser Willy is demanding that he build his troops, Cousin Willy is all bluff and bluster. Mama and I hope that he's right for all our sakes, but especially Mama's. I hope Russia never have to fight Germany. Russians would have to kill Mama's German relatives as well as mine.

Mama continues to write to her sister Irene, Ella, her Aunt Victoria, and her brother Ernie and hopes that they can spend some time with her at Livadia in August.

3 June 1914, 16 July 1914 – Papa and I are going to be reviewing the troops at Krasnoe Selo and there will be bands and marching. I can hardly wait. Papa is going to ride his magnificent white stallion in front of all of them and my uncles and cousins will be riding behind him in full military dress uniforms. I can hardly wait for the parade.

I shall ride with Mama and my sisters in a special carriage escorted by horsemen wearing red and gold uniforms with gold epaulettes. Mama is planning on wearing her most elaborate gown during the dinner with the French diplomat, she'll appear splendid in her gems and tiara as the Czarina of all the Russias. She kissed me before she headed off for the dinner and she allowed me to see her all decked out. Mama looked like a grand fairy godmother in her stunning gown dripping with emeralds and diamonds. I told her not to worry and that I would be praying for her success and bravura

"In that case, Alexei, I have nothing to worry about. The saints listen to the prayers of innocents." Mama always succeeds when she's performing for Russia. She knows how to do her duty unlike some of my divorced uncles and aunties.

Franz Joseph, the Austrian Duke has been assassinated and Father Grigory has been attacked, too. Poor Mama and Papa and poor me whatever are we to do? I've never seen Papa's face so white before. It was as white as chalk as if drained of all its blood. Does this mean war?

Mama has been praying constantly for Father Grigory's recovery and so have my sisters and I. Heaven help Mama and me if we were to lose Father Grigory. He must not die.

Papa says that Russia is not in a position to go to war, but we must honor our treaties and he's been tricked by Cousin Willy. Kaiser Wilhelm is a war monger after all. Papa and Mama went out on the balcony of the Winter Palace and it sounded as if all of Russia were cheering for the czar and for victory. I was proud to be a Russian and think that the war will end swiftly. Holy Russia with all of its might, will easily defeat the Prussians and Germans. How can we fail?

Baroness Buxhoeveden is not as certain, but what do women know anyway? Although Papa did lose the war with the Asians didn't we taking most of our naval ships down to the bottom of the ocean.

Father Grigory has sent word that Russia must not fight. Papa has never been as angry as when he received this telegram from Rasputin. He says contemptuously that Father Grigory should stay out of his affairs and would like to banish him from his kingdom. Mama says that he must listen to Father Grigory, after all he has been correct in many things.

"Nicky, he's a saint and he thinks only of Holy Russia. You must heed his advice." said Mama stamping her foot in the same manner Anastasia and Olga stamp there well shod feet..

Papa is the czar and has the final say. After all, he was born the czar. I am glad that I am not the czar with all of Papa's responsibility over life and death, but in a few decades, I will be. I hope Papa continues to live for a long time. My Great Grandpapa's both died much too young. How will I measure up?

We are going to Moscow. All of the czars have lead their armies from Moscow and Papa Czar will honor that tradition. God bless Russia.

So much has happened so fast that I don't even know what day it is really, only the year is certain in my head. I only know that it's the heighth of the summer heat and hope that it is not the end of our peaceful way of life.

Tonight I shall sleep with Joy next to me surrounded by all of my stuffed animals for comfort. Perhaps that's wimpy, but I sleep better that way. Tomorrow I shall be brave again and work on developing my body as well as my stamina. There's enough evil that has happened for the day. I shall have time to absorb what has happened on the train ride to ancient Moscow and renew my energy while strengthening my backbone and resolve. Perhaps then, I will be able to predict what's ahead for Russia.

? July 1914 - Waving paper fans in our hands and drinking ice cooled water, we continue our journey to Moscow in one of the Imperial trains. When things became unbearably boring, Mama reached in her large carpetbag which contains her needlework supplies and brought out tiny gifts for me to open which she wrapped to take the edge off of the monotony of traveling. I know that I am the most important child in Russia and perhaps the entire world since every year for my birthday and Christmas, I receive hundreds of gift from relatives, nobility and even from peasants.

Once Papa received a tame mink which could do many tricks from an elderly couple and he let us play with the soft varmint. We children loved it and its antics for a few days, but wisely Papa let the old couple take it back to Siberia with them knowing that the wild creature would soon wear out its welcome and that it would be hard to supply the animal with fresh meat. Some gifts, like my elephant which eats several bales of hay daily and the Trojan horse are more trouble than they are worth.

Mama not wanting to spoil me needlessly, doled out only a few of these gifts whenever circumstances called for them. Opening one now, I discovered a small round board covered in clear glass. A man's face had been drawn inside and it was covered with iron filings. Several magnets were included and could be placed below the picture to create beards, moustaches, and eyebrows on the face. Using these magnets which came with it, I shaped amusing goatees and facial hair on the portrait. Lambchop mutton sideburns were added until I made a caricature of my Great Uncle Nicholas. Papa who was riding beside us for a spell was enthralled with my art work. Anastasia and I took turns making the face resemble our father, various uncles and our bald dead grandpapa Alexander III whom I'd seen in pictures along with other members of the court and our family.

Tiring of this game, I unwrapped a marvelous kaleidoscope which created fantastic colorful designs from pieces of broken colored glass when one turned the bottom of the device which was guaranteed to keep me quiet for at least ten minutes. What an amazing mechanism. I longed to take it apart and find out exactly how it worked, but Anastasia wouldn't let me saying:

"Why must you break everything you touch, Alexei?" How clever people were who made such incredible devices. Papa and Mama enjoyed looking through it after I tired of the thing . Had it come from the hands of a German artisan I wondered who was also a magician? Anastasia viewed the fabulous designs and then the imp took one of her charcoal pencils and colored charcoal around the eye piece before handing it to Olga who was sitting with Auntie Annya reading poetry.. Everyone laughed out loud when fastidious Olga visited us with a blackened eye and wondered why we were all laughing. Impisch had done it again. Anastasia quickly snapped Olga's picture with her Kodak camera intent on gaining another picture to blackmail her sister with in the future.

"Papa, perhaps we can send this portrait of Olga to a zookeeper in America who is looking for a bride who looks like a raccoon." Papa couldn't help but laugh. Olga was not the least bit amused.

When I grew bored, I asked Mama to tell me about the day I was born which just happens to be my favorite story and one which I will never grow tired of hearing. She said that shortly before I was conceived, she'd made a special pilgrimage to a holy pool and bathed herself in the water three times knowing that its curative powers would help her become the mother of a male child.

Mama had had six pregnancies, her first which she'd miscarried was believed to have been a male. I always shudder when I hear about this; To think that I might have had a brother after all who would have been the czarovitch rather than me was something I often contemplated..

Then Olga was born and Papa and Mama were so happy to have a healthy, lively baby. They took their first born to England to show her off to gangun, Queen Victoria who declared her a beautiful child despite her immense head.

This always make me laugh when Mama tells about Olga's large head, because in her baby pictures, her head was gigantic in comparison to her tiny spindly body. Papa always interrupts at this time of the story exclaiming: "that's because her head is chockfull of brains"

"And stubbornness." says Mama which always makes everyone, but Olga laugh out loud. Olga with her pale complexion always turns beet red, blushing charmingly.

Then Mama had a second girl child and Papa was still thrilled knowing that Mama and he had plenty of time to have another child. They named her Tatiana and now Mama had two bebes to dress up and cherish. Mama was ecstatic to learn that she was again "enceinte" and prayed for a czarovitch. Her most important duty as a czarina was to bear a male who would become the next czar. Grandmama had criticized her for not bearing a male first off like she had. Uncle Xandro and Aunt Xenia had born six sons so far and Mama was so jealous at Xenia's ease in producing males. Was something wrong with her she wondered?

When Marie was born next, Papa was not so delighted. Mama named her baby Marie, after Grandmama, to appease her and the Russian people. Grandmama was delighted that she had a namesake with such beautiful saucer like eyes. I think Mama was very diplomatic to do this, but doubt her ploy worked, but it did for awhile. Marie is so angelic that we often wonder if an angel isn't residing amongst us.

Mama prayed again, day and night for a czarovitch. Why was her fondest desire not being granted? Auntie Annya fasted and prayed with her, too, and soon Mama was expecting again. Surely, now their prayers would be answered but then Anastasia put in her appearance in all her glory..

"A fourth Grand Duchess was nothing to celebrate.' Thought your Papa much to my mortification.' said Mama sadly remembering the occasion. Headlines of the newspapers blared: The Czarina is Incapable of Bearing a Male Heir.

"Your poor Mama was humiliated in the newspapers as well as at court." said Baroness Buxhoeveden looking out from the veil of her dainty blue hat.

"Your Papa cried like a baby when Anastasia was born and so did I," declared Auntie Annya.

"I had to chastise him and tell him that children were gifts of God and that they should be grateful that they had healthy, lively children because many like Uncle Sergei and AuntieElla and I weren't so privileged," said Auntie Annya knitting furiously.

"Your Papa had to take a long stroll before he controlled his emotions long enough to return to welcome his fourth daughter into the world and come and kiss your Mama."

I always wrapped my arms around myself at this point and kicked Anastasia with my toe knowing this part of the story perturbed the imp.

"Sorry, that I was such a disappointment, Papa and Mama. I hope you still don't feel the same." says my impish sister sticking out her tongue at me brashly.

"Then what happened Mama?" I always ask in suspense because I know that the story gets even more sensational and mysterious.

"I was so nervous and distraught at not having the boy child that I'd prayed for that I actually had a false pregnancy in a few months. I thought I was pregnant, but I wasn't."

In unison, my sisters yell out: "Really, Mama, how could this be?" Mama always answers: "Sometimes, your mind and your body can play strange tricks, especially when you want something so badly. Queen Mary I of England had this happen to her also. Her court sewed and prepared clothes for a child who never was conceived yet alone born. Growing fatter and fatter as if she really were with child, her body deceived her in the same way mine did. When the allotted time had passed and no child was forthcoming she had to admit that there wouldn't be a child as I did. Imagine Queen Mary's embarrassment as well as my own."

"But mother, you'd given birth before, how could you have not known the signs?" asked Olga curiously.

"I'm still asking myself this and so does your grandmother much to my chagrin."

"Is that another reason Grandmama and you don't get along?" asked Tatiana.

"That's one of the many reasons dear hearts." Then I mad a pilgrimage and bathed in the holy pool where cripples had been healed and so did your Papa. Three years later, you were born, Alexei. When I held you in my arms, I couldn't believe that you'd finally arrived. Papa took you naked out into the hall to show everyone his son. He didn't even bother to wrap you up." said my auntie as if it were one of the seven deadly sins.

"Three hundred salutes were fired off into the air in celebration notifiying the world that the next Russian czarovitch had been born. I bowed my head and praised the Virgin Mary and St. Seraphim for finally granting my prayers."

"And they lived happily ever after," said Anastasia jabbing me back with the sharp toe of her new white shoes.

"Except for the fact that the czarovitch was stolen from his crib and a changeling was left in his place." Anastasia smiled at me wickedly. Everyone laughed at this. Baroness Buxhoeveden almost popped her buttons on her traveling jacket when she heard this and Auntie Annya dropped a stitch and had to pull out some of her knitting. I stuck out my tongue knowing that properly raised young gentlemen didn't do this, but I was willing to risk it. Mama didn't reprimand me.

"Anna, when are you going to prick your finger and fall asleep for one hundred years?"

Finally the train arrived in Moscow and we went to our rooms in the old palace. It is beautiful, but cold and uncomfortable, but it is the home of my ancestors and I feel their spirits about me. I hope the fighting ends soon so that we can return to Livadia. Is this a selfish wish? My parents are happiest at this beautiful palace with all of its flowering gardens and so am I.

5 June 1914 18 July 1914 - Today Dr. Botkin examined me carefully. At present I am quite healthy. He says that I perplex him more than any of his patients, except for Mama. He never know how things will be with me. I recovered from my surgery for my hernia last year without any complications when he expected me to bleed to death; yet he'd also seen me at death's doorstep after only a slight fall. Then he'd had to tell my parents that there was no hope I was a total baffling mystery to him.

Perhaps I might be afflicted with the same hysteria which afflicted my mother he wondered?

I told the good doctor about my new plan of building up my body by rowing, swimming and now lifting weights. Immediately he put a damper on my new plan by saying: "Alexei, I advise moderation in all things. You and your mother tend to got to extremes when you take up a cause. Don't over do it and please don't over excite yourself or your Mama

Crowds appeared from throughout Moscow in support of Holy Russia. Two headed eagle flags were waving every where as Russians supported their czar. I have never felt so proud of my people and Papa. Mama had tears in her eyes when Papa stood out on the balcony and addressed his people. If war comes, certainly victory is assured and a swift victory will occur for Holy Russia. In front of me were columns of brave Russian soldiers marching before they headed for battle. How many would die? Mothers and sweethearts blew kisses as they passed by in their new wool uniforms which Papa had approved. A repeating rifle was on every shoulders shoulder. After this tremendous show of force, we Romanovs headed back to St. Petersburg immediately.

7 June 1914, 20 July 1914 - I played with my train for most of the afternoon extending the tracks around Mama's mauve boudoir while Mama wrote letters to Aunt Irene, Uncle Ernie, and Great Aunt Victoria. Reading over her shoulder I gather that she hoped some of them might visit us in August at Livadia despite the startling turn of events; she was certain that the fighting would not last long after a show of force. If not well armed, Russia had almost an endless body of men willing to die for their country. Mama told servants to make sure that food supplies were replenished in the Alexander palace and Livadia. Hurray! We'd be returning to Livadia this year if all went well.

I always liked to hear from Aunt Irene and Aunt Ella, because they knew of my illness. Aunt Irene's oldest son has the same illness that I have and this though tragic was vaguely comforting knowing that I was not the lone sufferer. Aunt Ella, christened Elizabeth, was Mama's older sister who resembled her although I think Mama is more beautiful. Kaiser Wilhelm has always been in love with her, but she wouldn't have the pompous braggart and married Uncle Sergei, Papa's own uncle. It was because of her that Mama had come to Russia in the first place and fallen in love with my Papa. Having converted to Russian orthodoxy from the Episcopalian one, she saw to it that Mama and Papa's romance blossomed having no desire to live alone in this cold far off country, especially without any chance of having children since the marriage would not be consummated.

After Uncle Serge, the Governor of Moscow, was blown up by a bomb, my aunt designed her own uniform and established her own holy order so that she had some sort of life. Only pieces of Serge were found hardly enough to put in a coffin. In some ways she was like another mother to us, because she'd never had any children of her own. Auntie Ella had given up much for her new country according to court gossip which Anastasia whispered to me. I must ask Papa to explain it. I missed Aunt Ella who lived in Moscow and knew that she and Mama were fighting because of my staretz of all people.

One day, Aunt Ella had descended on the palace in her gray uniform with its large red cross and white head cover and began criticizing Father Grigory. Had Grandmama put her up to this?

"Ella, I have enough traitors in my family, I will not put up with my own sister betraying me. You, of all people know why Father Grigory is necessary to Alexei and me:" I haven't seen nor heard from Aunt Ella after that. Apparently neither of the sisters take criticism well and both refuse to acknowledge that either of them may be in the wrong."

9 June 1914, 22 July 1914 - Anastasia and I were bored one day and she helped me draw small people on wooden stands out of heavy art paper for my train depot. She's my most creative, imaginative and lively sister. I'm so glad that she's too old to play with dolls and too young to be always talking about men like Olga, Tatiana, and Marie. She helped me create miniatures of cousin Willy, King George and the Emir in his long black robes. When we play with them, she always has them say the most amusing things, mostly about their families and she loves the miniatures and trains as much as I do, even if she does not admit it. Mama has quite an enchanting collection of miniatures given to her by Papa since she admired Grandmama's collection so much. Our collection is not made by Monsieur Faberge and is only made of paper, but the figures are priceless to Anastasia and me.

Later in the afternoon the two of us played our first piano duet. I can actually sight read the music now, but my fingers are not as nimble as Anastasia's whose fingers simply race up the keys. My youngest sister has an amazing memory and memorizes sheet music after a few practices, but Mama thinks I have a better ear. Anastasia finished the duet before I did and Mama was not pleased so we had to do it once more with the metronome beating.

10 June 1914, 23 July 1914 - We're headed towards the farm (Peterhoff) which is what we always call the smaller palace near the Baltic sea. Papa has come here every year since he was a little boy. Here the sea is too cold for swimming and we never stay at the magnificent palace which is loaded with art treasures which was built to rival Versailles in France. Mama says it is too much like a museum for her tastes. Papa has occasionally used the palace for state functions to impress visiting heads of state. I think it's rather strange that we seldom use the most superb places like the Winter Palace, the blue and white Catherine Palace and the grand palace at Peterhoff, but prefer the cozier, smaller palaces to live in. Mama says that we are all country bumpkins at heart, especially Papa.

12 June 1914, 23 July 1914 - We've arrived at Peterhoff and I'm hiding out in the summer house where Mama and Papa scratched their initials in the glass with a diamond surrounded by a heart, the summer they first met. I trace the outline with my fingers and hide from my older sisters while I look out the window to see if the coast is clear. A silver biplane drones overhead. Aviation is spreading even here in Papa's dominion. How long must I wait here until the older pairs tempers cool? Luckily, I grabbed my diary so that I'm not stuck in here with nothing to do. I'm catching up on my writing.

My curiosity overcame me while my sisters were unpacking their trunks and when they were at their French lessons, I sampled all of their perfumes and unfortunately left some of the lids off of the perfume bottles. Tatiana's garter belt was out on her bed and I just had to find out how those metal contraptions on the end held up her silk stockings. I thought it would make a great parachute if I folded over the top and pinned it. Using one of her embroidered handkerchiefs I made a parachute and attached it to the garters. It worked just as planned when I dropped it out of the window, but the contraption fell in a dirty puddle of water. My older sisters were not amused and confiscated my best model sail boat as damages.

"A pesky little brother must not meddle in their older sisters things even if he is destined to be the next czar. Is nothing private or sacred? Underwear and expensive perfume are off limits." yelled Olga loud enough that Mama heard her. I'm not afraid of Mama because I know that I'm her darling boysy, but Tatiana and Olga together can be a bit intimidating if they choose to gang up on me like they're doing now. What's a boy to do? Mama has always expected Olga to control and discipline me and she does. I stayed here for a few hours until the coast was clear. Anastasia fetched me knowing just where to look and I was not sent to bed without my tea and sandwiches although I have lost the pleasure of performing in one of their next plays and there bedroom is now off limits. Surprisingly Anastasia and Marie intervened on my behalf. Anastasia's own foibles have often gotten her into trouble with the older pair who always stick together.

13 June 1914, 26 July 1914 - Papa and Mama have attended a dinner for the Prime Minister of France. Mama wore her most magnificent gown and most elaborate necklace which really makes her look regal and imperious. I told her that I was praying for her.

"In that case, Alexei, I have nothing to worry about. I'll be a success tonight because the saints listen to the prayers of innocents." Mama always succeeds when she's performing for Russia. She knows how to do her duty even if Grandmama thinks otherwise.

14 June 1914, 27 July 1914, The military review was spectacular, but I have always loved parades. I rode with Mama who was dressed in white and wore a broad hat in an open carriage behind my Papa who was seated on his large white stallion. Papa and I dressed in identical red military jackets and black helmets and my uncles and other military officers on horses escorted our carriage. The crowd cheered as we passed. I have never felt so noble before. I am a Romanov, son of the Czar of all the Russias.

As Papa passed down the middle of the plaza hundreds cheered him and a new sensation flooded my soul. Papa was no longer Papa, he had been transformed into a demigod. He was the soul and embodiment of Holy Russia. The masses of people filled the side of the road and all cheered the czar. The noise was overwhelming. Peasants, noblemen, and soldiers alike, all were applauding my father who is God's representative on earth. I will never feel the same towards my father again. Did Papa sense this feeling when his own Papa he rode in these parades, or was I the first czarovitch to experience this sensation? When I was born, Papa made all of the military men, my godfathers and they swore allegiance to me at my birth. This power, this mystical reverence will pass onto me when I become czar.

As the yellow sun sunk in the west, I was reminded of Apollo driving his chariot behind the sun across the sky. Purple and pink made the twilight air shimmer and magic suffused the air. Hundreds of military men began singing and chanting the Evening Hymn in a low, deep cadence, then the orchestra joined in, then thousands of Russian's voices added to the chanting; only providence and the Holy Spirit could have orchestrated something so magisterial. I will never be the same.

1 July 1914, 14 August 1914 - War has been declared; what Papa dreaded has come to pass. I've never seen my father's face so white as when he received the telegram.

His treacherous cousin Willy had lied to him. Kaiser Wilhelm was a war monger after all. Mama had been right about him all along. Papa looked as if the very life blood had drained from him. All my sisters started crying and so did my Mama when Papa made his speech.

Trouble comes in loads. Just a few days ago we'd received word that Father Grigory had been stabbed and his life was hanging by a thread. The attack on Father Grigory had occurred almost the same time as the attack on the Austrian Archduke. This double shock sent my staid mother and I reeling. Father Grigory must not die.

Mama sent a gold watch to the doctor treating our peasant in hopes that his life would be saved. Mama and my sister prayed for his survival vocally. What would I do without his mysterious touch and his prayers?

Papa and Mama went out on the balcony of the Winter Palace and it was as if we were surrounded by all of Russia. A sea of faces shouted back their support for the czar. Surely the world war would end quickly with a victory for Russia now that we had entered the conflict. Mama was strengthened as she usually was when Papa needed her. All of Russia as well as Papa required her power and energetically she supplied it as if she herself were a sun. The czarina turned the Catherine Palace into a hospital along with other mansions and she began taking courses in nursing with my two eldest sisters, Auntie Annya and Auntie Olga. Anastasia and I were simply dumbfounded; where had our sick mother gone? Who was this strong woman that we scarcely recognized?

21 August 1914, 13 September 1914 -( Alexander Palace) Grandmama Dear wrote a caustic letter to us and it's content was clear she hasn't changed her opinion since she visited us at Peterhoff in June. I have never seen her so angry. My sisters and I cowered in the background and we listened to her condemn Papa for even thinking of taking charge of the military. She screamed at him that his military advisors would assume that Father Grigory had urged him to take charge and was guiding him as if he were a puppet . Papa said little but adamantly refused to back down. I watched him carefully and saw that his left eye was twitching wildly while his Mama vented at him. Would my mother ever act in this startling manner when I became czar?

Nevertheless, despite her strong opinion on the subject, Papa stood up to my Grandmama saying that he intended on taking control of the military. It was his divine right. He no longer trusted Uncle Nickolasha's judgment and thought he could make better decisions.

"But Nicky, you haven't developed any military strategies or gone to military school; when have you served in the military?" Fingering her false bangs which her tirade had loosened from her forehead, she pinned them on tighter with a pearl hatpin so it would not slip further.

"Have the two of you lost your minds or are both of you bewitched?" yelled the small fury giving my poor Mama a withering glance. Grandmama stormed out of the palace leaving us all bobbing about like small boats caught in her wake. Her last words were: "Don't say I didn't warn you, Nicky." Grandmama must have been a formidable force against my tall grandpapa Czar Alexander. She was just like a summer thunderstorm with her eyes flashing like lightening and now I knew where my sisters got their tempers.

6 September 1914, 21 September 1914 - Papa writes us long letters from Mogilev where he leads his military officers. Mama is so proud of him. She's convinced that he will be the next Genghis Khan, but I miss him sorely. My life has changed drastically since war was declared. I feel almost like an orphan who has no parents. Papa is away and Mama spends her days at the Catherine Palace with the older pair supervising the war effort. Dragging herself in every evening, she settles down with her anatomy books so that she can pass her nursing test. We spend little time together as a family. Sixteen year old Marie falls in love with every soldier she looks at and they with her. Thank heavens I still have my annoying Anastasia to tease and my spaniel Joy.

7 September 1914, 21 October 1914 - Hooray! Jumping Jehosophat! I'm so excited; I race about like a runaway train. Papa has sent for me. Joy and I leave on the train tomorrow and my trunk is already packed. Oh happy day! My prayers have been answered. Papa thinks that I will make a good sentinel and aide for him. Imagine, no more of Auntie Annya's close scrutiny of my eating habits and her admonitions to remove my elbows from the table and chew with my mouth closed. Women are not allowed at military headquarters. Anastasia is green with envy.

8 September 1914, 21 October 1914 - At the station, I noticed the number of refugees camped around the drinking water. There are homeless children everywhere I look. I made eye contact with a boy about my age who sat in a corner of the station. His clothes were ragged and then he turned his head away and buried his head on his knees, the image of despair. I must tell Mama to do something about these homeless waifs. I will not complain when Mama tells me to eat the crusts on my bread. Mama warned me that death and loneliness stalk the living outside of our palaces. I'm donating my month's allowance for soup for boys.

The elderly are like swarms of locust searching for a stalk of wheat. This must be Uncle Nickolasha's fault.. I'm glad that Papa has replaced him; soon Papa Czar will fix everything. Mama says that Papa's star is rising in the sky and Father Grigory believes that he cannot fail.

9 September 1914, 22 September 1914 - The train rolls along slowly. This is my first real adventure by myself. Of course, I am accompanied by my attendants Nagorny and Demerov and so I am not really alone, but I pretend that I am. I'm eleven years old and feel like a man. Jewish boys become men when they are twelve years of age at their Bar Mitzvahs.

I can't help but feel proud of myself. I am growing up. Wait until I write my other Romanov cousins. Nikita will simply burst from jealousy. Joy is glad to be traveling again and so am I. A change is as good as a vacation.

10 September 1914, 23 September 1914 - The air is brisk and I wrap myself in one of Mama's handmade afghans that she made to keep me comfortable. The train is slow and towards night Nagorny makes me a comfortable bed. Demedov and he sleep nearby so that they can see to my needs. Fall is in the air. The train stops at every small station and loads and unloads soldiers heading for the front. Many one armed men and one legged men are ending their days as soldiers as I'm beginning mine, how ironical.

I hope I fare better than they do. What type of homecoming will these handicapped men be receiving in their villages I wonder? How will they provide for their families? I shudder and am ashamed that I will never have to worry about that. If one is rich, one is never truly handicapped. Nevertheless, the effects of war make one think. I've already lost to death one of my Romanov cousins, one of Auntie Xenia's boys. Why was he taken and not me I ponder?

11 September,1914, 24 September 1914 - As the train travels through the small train stations, babushkas blow kisses and old men take off their hats in respect to the passing Imperial coach with its double headed eagles. Has word spread down the telegraph wire that the czarovitch is journeying to the front or are my countrymen merely showing respect to their czar? I am vain enough to imagine that the attention is all for me. Does it really matter? Papa and I are the same in purpose. Both of us love Russia and its peasants and feel at one with the land and its people.

13 September, 1914, 25 September 1914 - Papa is so happy to see me that he picks me up and whirls me around in the air as if I were a toddler again. He kisses me three times on each cheek, in the Russian way. It is rather embarrassing, but I love it and kiss him back. Papa has missed me and I feel well loved and am not ashamed to display my feelings and either is my Papa.

Joy jumps up on him joyously even though I've trained her not to jump up on people.

"Nyet!" I command her firmly and she puts her tail between her legs and acts like she's sad before jumping right back up on Papa with her paws on his legs and licking him as if he were a savory treat. My dog will not make a good soldier and I probably should have left her home. Maybe she'll learn to follow commands when she sees Papa's other setter dogs following orders. One can only hope.

14 September, 1914 26 September 1914 - The troops are standing in precision straight lines for Papa's inspection. They look magnificent and I feel the awe and respect that they feel for Papa and his czarovitch. They are overwhelmed at being inspected personally by the Czar and his son.

Papa was right about taking control. Even if he is not a military man, he will learn and no doubt he'll be inspired from on high with all of his soldiers praying for both of us. Mama has sent several icons with me which have been blessed by our rasputin and then there was the cross which appeared in the sky above one of the villages which is still being talked about by the troops and all over Russia. Certainly that is a good omen.

I am given a small white horse to ride, a smaller version of Papa's white stallion. Together we make an impressive team. Our soldiers will long remember the appearance we make. Grandmama was simply wrong.

15 September, 1914, ,27 September1914 - The day was fine though the air was crisp. In the mansion Papa has commandeered to use as command center, Papa had placed a cot next to his and we reveled in our companionship. We both wrote side by side in our diaries and I wrote a letter to Mama and we both signed it. Papa enclosed a leaf tinged with red in the envelope for Mama and then kissed the envelope so that I know it was sealed with a kiss after applying sealing wax. No one would be viewing their correspondence. Papa listened to my prayers and then he turned off the lights. I've never felt so healthy. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit my pillow. Papa sleeps without a pillow as was his custom since childhood, but I was allowed the luxury of one filled with feathers.

A soldier's life appealed to both of us. The food was plain, but there was plenty. I thought of the starving children I'd seen as I ate a second bowl of soup. Tomorrow I would write to Mama that soup kitchens must be set up in some of the villages and that she could have my monthly allowance for soup for the orphans. After all, future soldiers must be fed.

16 September, 1914, 28 September 1914 - For awhile, things had improved when Papa arrived. The front had changed location. The Germans stopped their insane rapid drive northwards. From all indications, the enemy will not be arriving in Petrogad by December. The fall of Warsaw had slowed their pace. However, several of our bravest regiments had been completely wiped out and Papa was obliged to make changes in the military hierarchy. He fired Sukhomlinov after listening to his military advisers and tried to make wise changes. Always asking himself what his Papa would do in the situation, he then tried to determine what the consequences of his orders would be before he acted since lives were at stake. The blood flow and demise of the soldiers must be stopped and for a while it was staunched.

17 September, 1914, 29 September 1914, Telegrams from the front arrive daily. Thank heavens that I don't recognize the names of the wounded. I love our devoted officers I've met on our yaught, The Standardt, and would be devastated if any of their names appeared on the lists of the dead. However, I relish the fact that some of Uncle Willy's six sons have already been captured. Am I more a Russian more than I am beholden to my relatives? Perhaps I'll turn into Ivan the terrible after all. Nonetheless, Papa feels as I do. We confided our honest feelings to each other as we laid on our cots both of us feel little remorse that the German Kaiser's six sons have been imprisoned. After all, Kaiser Wilhelm orchestrated this madness.

Papa says that my Russian blood is stronger than the blood of my German relatives, because I am to be the czar and that this is only right. This helps me realize that I am not a ghoul after all. However, I can't help but realize that Mama is fretting over the capture of my German cousins and has probably notified her neutral cousins to tell Cousin Willy's wife that they will be cared for by the Russians and that they don't need to worry that they will be mutilated.

I visited some German prisoners of war and they all were surprised that their nose and ears hadn't been cut off yet by the savage Russians. I said that Papa and I were gentlemen and didn't kick men who were down on their luck. Could we expect the same treatment from vile Germans? We were soon to find out as Russian regiments were killed cold-bloodedly by heartless German infantrymen rather than taken as prisoners.

20 September, 1914, 3 October 1914 - My sister Olga wrote Papa a letter telling him that she has sold her pearl necklace that she finally completed on her eighteenth birthday and that she gave the money to the relief fund. I remember that she received a pearl every year for her birthday and Christmas so that she would finally have a complete necklace to wear at her coming out ball. It had taken her years to save all of those pearls. Tatiana has one of diamonds. Olga had worn it for the first time with an exquisite pale pink gown at the ball Mama and Papa had given her when she'd turned eighteen and then again at Grandmama's ball this year. Papa had lovingly attached the finished necklace around her neck and both had hugged each other.

"Papa," she had asked, "does this mean that I'm now a woman in your eyes?"

She makes me feel rather ashamed. I felt generous when I donated a month of my allowance to the poor this year. How am I to compete with my noble sister? I'm ashamed to say that I am not able to make such a sacrifice. I could never give up my model trains, my model yaughts, my blinis, my uniforms, my pets, stuffed animals, my art supplies or shamefully even my pillow. Was Olga just trying to please Papa and Mama or does she really love Russia that much?

Olga had to stop her nursing duties because she's lost too much weight and Dr. Botkin insisted as did Grandmama who never approved of her menial activities in the first place. How will her being sick and anemic looking help her get married or benefit Russia? Apparently the same thing has happened to Mama. Papa said their sacrifice is like throwing out the baby with the bathwater and they are not looking at the entire picture. Now Papa is worried about them and this has added to his other worries. He is growing older and is grayer in his beard and hair except for the yellow stain of nicotine.

21 September, 1914, 3 October 1914 - Telegrams came in from Petrograd that there are many strikes because of the high prices of meat and flour. I'm glad that we are far from the city and that we don't have to see the disturbances. Grandmama wrote that she is learning to stretch one chicken into at least four meals. That hardly compares with Olga's sacrifice, but for my extravagant Grandmama, it is nonetheless a sacrifice. First she serves the chicken as a dinner, then makes chicken casserole, then chicken salad and then uses the bones and legs for soup. Of course, her French cook is the one preparing the meals, not Grandmama. Things must be bad if Grandmama is economizing at her palaces and mansions. She isn't one inclined to be frugal. Perhaps that is her sacrifice for mother Russia. I hope that is the worst of it. Grandmama writes that it is also difficult for her to get new gowns. Papa laughs and wonders which of her many couturiers are struggling, are they the ones in Paris, St. Petersburg, Milan, New York, Rome or London?

"Heaven forbid that my persnickety mother would have to wear a gown twice or even more appalling, for two consecutive seasons. Now that would really be a tragedy. I know personally that she has a roomful of gowns so I'm not too concerned that she's lacking." I laughed out loud because I remembered hiding myself in one of those rooms containing her gowns when I visited Grandmama with my sisters when I was younger. It looked like her own private rainbow only made from silks, gauzes, and satins.

I've heard that there is a shortage of soap and have volunteered to stop bathing. Papa said that Mama would not be pleased to hear that and that would be too great a sacrifice for Russia. Laughing heartily, he said: "Alexei, I'm so glad that you're here with me. You're my bright sun in a dark sky."

Still, I can't forget the empty look in that boy's eyes that I saw at the train station. There was actual want in his eyes. His gaunt face haunts me in my dreams. Now because of him, I eat what ever is served me.

Papa and I wrote my Grandmother a letter suggesting that perhaps she should go meatless once a week or switch to goat's meat or become a vegetarian like Mama. I thought this was very funny since I can't even imagine my finicky Grandmama eating goats' meat or vegetables only. Of course Papa drew a smiley face in the margin indicating that we were both kidding.

Papa and I are going to watch movies tonight. Here we are at Mogilev, military headquarters, but ironically the war seems far away.

1 October, 1914, 13 October 1914 - I take pictures with my Kodak camera and so does Papa. He has helped me set up a dark room in one of the closets so that I can develop our pictures. I use my camera as if it was a gun shooting pictures rather than bullets and have taken many photos of wounded officers and German prisoners of war to send home to their loved ones. A top secret dispatch arrived for Papa stating that there is a spy at headquarters. I wonder who it is? I suspect one of the generals with a German sounding name. Some critics think that Mama is a spy giving Uncle Ernie important information about the military situation. Papa and I both laugh about this. If only our Russian people knew how much Mama loved Russia and could witness her dedication to continually combating poverty. She has spent her adult life doing needlework which she sells to benefit the poor of the land when she was not breastfeeding or giving birth to children. Madame Energy, as she is called by one of our wise ministers, is seldom without a needle of some kind in her hand.

2 October 1914, 14 October 1914 - Every afternoon Papa and I either go for a walk or ride our horses. If I'm too tired, Nagorny attaches my white pony to a cart and Papa jogs alongside me. I haven't had a bleeding spell since my last baby tooth came out, but luckily the bleeding was mild and that stage of my life has finally ended. Hurrah!

In the past, because of my bleeding disease, every loose tooth caused me fear. Papa says that he'll give me the order of St. Michael for bravery like he gave Mama when I reach the age of seventeen. But what will strangers think learning that I've been given the honor for braving the extraction of my milk teeth and bearing up because of a hernia operation? Will they wonder if he's not a bit touched in the head? Both of us laugh about this, but few people understand how grave my situation really is. At least my extended family now knows about my bleeding disease. It is no longer the great secret it once was.

As Father Grigory predicts, if I live to be seventeen, I'll be healed; I pray that my luck continues to hold and I trust in providence that it will for my sake as well as Mama's and for Russia. I love being here alone with Papa and I do want to be czar when the time comes. I am looking forward to when I am seventeen which is in less than five years.

15 October 1914, 28 October 1914 - A military aide and I took Papa's pistol and went out into one of the orchards and practiced shooting the withered apples which still remained on the tops of the branches. I am becoming a talented marksman. My blue eyes are sharp and I rarely miss my target. I shot a large black crow and brought it back to show my father. He told me about his days of hunting with his Papa and his brothers Michael and Georgy. How his gruff big bear like father loved hunting, but he always insisted on giving the excess meat to the poor. Nothing was wasted.

"Should I send my dead crow to grandmother to put in her soup pot?" I asked him. Papa laughed heartily at this suggestion of mine.

17 October 1914, 29 October 1914 - Papa and I had a shooting contest. On old newspaper, we drew the form of a man and in red pencil I made a large heart. Papa let me shoot first with his pistol. I hit his heart several times with bullets. Then so did Papa. Counting to three, we blew off his head. Papa was pleased with my ability with his handgun and his rifle. My shoulder hurt because of the kick from the rifle and my ears rang from the loud sound of the reports from the firearms. "Alexei, I hope this war will be over before you really have to shoot at the enemy. I have the war dead from two wars on my conscience now and I hope that your reign will be a season of peace. This ruthless slaughter of Russians must be stopped. Life is precious."

Anastasia will be so envious when I tell her about it.

20 October 1914, 30 October 1914 - Today I received a brightly decorated envelope containing some funny photographs from my sister Anastasia. Quickly I gazed at them like a thirsty man arriving at an oasis finding water. Finally my stubborn sister Anastasia had decided to write me. Enclosed in the dispatch from Alexander's Palace was a picture of her with a large goose egg on her nose. Had she actually blown it out the way we do our Easter eggs so that she could wear it? I've heard of having a large beak for a nose, but never a goose egg for one. How absurd she looked. I shall definitely save this to use as blackmail in the future. I have actually missed her and her antics. I am a little homesick for all of my sisters and Mama which is something I thought would never happen, neither would I admit it to anyone but I have recorded it here in my diary. It's true: absence does make the heart grow fonder just like Mama always said.

There was a picture of my previously plump Bow Wow, alongside several wounded soldiers. Sixteen year old Marie was wearing her heart clearly on her sleeve, but I could tell she was in seventh heaven being surrounded by handsome men since she had the loveliest smile on her face. It is obvious that her volunteerism and the privations of war have slimmed down her figure. Were all the men in love with her? She is quite the beauty; I will never call her Bow Wow again. Papa whistled when he saw the picture. Perhaps she really will have fifteen children like she wrote in her diary since she acts like a love magnet drawing men to her.

"Marie is going to be married before Olga at this rate. Olga may actually be a spinster if she continues to insist on remaining in Russia, Alexei. What do you think?" he asked. I merely shrugged my shoulders but wonder if Papa is a prophet like my staretz?

"May you only sire sons, Boysy, and not temperamental daughters. Yet, how I miss them all, especially hot headed Olga." Was Papa as homesick as I was?"

31 October 1914, 13 October 1914 - (All Saints Day or the Day of the Dead in Mexico.) I carved a huge pumpkin wearing a ghoulish grin and horrific eyes with my pocketknife. Using wadded up newspaper, I stuffed a German officers uniform. I topped the monster with a German soldier's military cap for a finishing touch. After christening the pumpkin head Kaiser Wilhelm, several soldiers and officers made wages to see which one of us would cause the most damage to our bizarre fiend? Then Papa aimed his pistol and shot the head into smithereens and I made a shot into the center of the heart which was pinned on the chest of the dummy. Bull's eye. Papa toasted me with shots of vodka, but still refused to let me have a sip saying: "Your Mama would never forgive me."

"But Papa, Mama is far away." I begged.

"Xandro lets Nickolai have sips," I beseeched.

"But Xandro is not married to your Mama." I stopped arguing knowing exactly what he meant. Then we feasted on hot soup with meat balls and dumplings.

The fighting has ceased because of the snow except for a few determined regiments. The Snow Queen is now fighting Russia's battle for us with her minions of snowflakes and blizzards.

We received word from the palace that we must return immediately. Mama's dear friend, Sonia Oberliani, is dying and she wants us to come back to attend her funeral. The woman has been dying for years, but apparently now she really is about to give up the ghost.

Papa and I will return immediately. We just needed a good excuse to go home and this provides Papa and I with an excellent one. How good it will be to see our loved ones again, even our fat cow, Auntie Annya. Papa says that he has even missed her and her love sick cow eye eyes that she makes at him. I asked him if her ministrations and toadying irritated him as much as they did me.

"Alexei, we are the only men in Auntie Annya's life and we are better gentlemen for her efforts. Such commitment to such an unworthy cause should be valued, not mocked. There will be more women in heaven than men and we'll all be trailing behind Auntie Annya in her glory. The Virgin Mary loves virgins and those who do the mothering. Who knows, because of her love for us, we degenerates may actually be allowed in?

Perhaps Papa is right; now I look at Auntie in a new light. I must stop slurping my soup and eating with only my knife before we enter her presence again. Some of the soldiers use their sleeves to wipe their noses as well as their mouths instead of handkerchiefs. Papa told me that's why metal buttons were added to the uniforms in order to curb their slovenly habits. These additions serves a purpose and was not purely decorative. Auntie Annya and my Grandmama would certainly be disgusted, but I have enjoyed the respite. Is a pickle fork really necessary in the overall scheme of life?

1 November 1914 - 14 October 1914 - My nose is bleeding. It began with a sneezing fit from a dusty unused room I entered in the mansion which had been covered in dust covers. Joy ran in helter skelter thinking I was chasing her before hiding under a small covered pianoforte and I climbed under to pull her out. Blood began to flow from my nostrils. I ran to Nagorny who packed it with rolled cloths and made me lie flat on the floor. Would I die from a simple nosebleed?

That afternoon we boarded the train. Still the blood flowed. Later Papa knelt by my bed on the train and prayed and pleaded to God on my behalf. The military doctor cauterized my nose in a painful procedure, but still the bleeding would not stop. The train rolls on towards Tsar Koe Selo, but will I bleed to death before I arrive home? Papa is fasting on my behalf and never leaves my side.

2 November 1914, 15 November 1914 - I am still bleeding and getting weaker. I can no longer lift my head and must lay back against the propped up pillows. I can hardly speak but I do not cry out in pain because now I am a man. I have been in military service. With a touch of satire, poor Papa does the crying for me. Tears fill his eyes as he pleads for my recovery on his knees as a parent. In the past, Mama has waited by my side as my constant nursemaid until she's so tired that she drops or Auntie Annya insists that she go to bed and relieves her. This is the first time that I've had one of my bad spells without her near. I need my Mama and my healer. Nagorny and Demerov take turns spelling off Papa. Papa was so mad at Rasputin's interference in the war, but now humble Papa would do anything to bring the muzhik here to me. I long for his healing presence. Papa telegraphed Mama and hopefully, she has notified the staretz. Perhaps he already senses that I need him. I touch his small picture which is hanging around my neck and try to visualize him near me, hoping that the blood flow will stop on its own.

2 November 1914, 15 November 1914 – I am still bleeding and getting weaker. I can no longer lift my head and must lay back against the propped up pillows. I can hardly speak, but I do not cry out in pain, because now I'm a man. Papa does the crying for me. In the past, Mama has waited by my side as my constant nursemaid until she's so tired that she drops. This is the first time that I've had one of my bad spells without her. I need my Mama and my healer. Nagorny and Demerov take turns spelling off Papa.

Papa was so mad at Rasputin's interference in the war, but now my Papa has been brought low; he would give a king's ransom to have the muzhik here at my side with his bizarre gazes which are so hypnotic. The salty taste of blood I swallowed sickens me, and I vomit up more blood. My doctors whisper together suggesting new remedies.

3 November 1914, 16 November 1914 – An herb concoction has been given me to drink. It tastes of pine needles, but that is a pleasant relief from the taste of blood. I feel like a vampire from one of the legends of Transylvania which Mama forbids me to read, but Anastasia and I read during a picnic at our island one pleasant summer day. Papa and Demerov hold my hands and wipe my brow. The army surgeon tried cauterizing my nose again. Will the soreness and bleeding never stop? I long to die to ease my suffering; why must I endure this agony? I lay one of Mama's icons in front of me and pray continuously to the Lord Jesus and the holy virgin and now pray that I will become unconscious so that the pain will end. Nothing is working.

Towards evening I awaken and my nursemaid Nagorny feeds me chicken broth and ice water so that I don't become dehydrated. My head spins because I'm so dizzy from loss of blood and Nagorny makes me use a chamber pot and lay still instead of using Papa's toilet. Papa has gone to his room to get some sleep. Soon we'll be at the Alexander palace, if I live.

4 November 1914, 17 November 1914 – I lay on the backseat of Papa's Rolls Royce and we speed to the palace. Mama rushes out to greet me and my large, black sentinel, Jim who guards the doors, carries me into the palace. My concerned sisters hover over me crying, even Anastasia who considers tears shameful is crying. Anna Vyrubov took one look at my ghostly pale face and burst into tears. I wouldn't be attending Sonia's funeral. I just hope that I won't be attending my own.

Mama immediately sent one of Papa's Rolls Royces for Father Grigory when she saw my pitifully weakened condition. I tried counting slowly in French as I counted down the minutes until he came praying that I'd soon lose consciousness, but then dear Marie took pity on me and read me a detective story by a former British nobleman who'd been a practicing doctor, but preferred being a writer in order to take my mind off of my misery. The detective Sherlock Holmes could discern between ash from various cigarette brands as well as cigar brands. The cunning detective can tell much about a person's handedness, bad habits, class, etc., just from looking at you. Mama loves Sir Conan Doyle's Books and has read all of them. Brilliant Mama would have made a good detective had she not been required to be the Czarina. More than a few times she has known exactly which of her five children has "borrowed" her jewelry, lace gloves, or imported chocolates. I've often wondered if she had eyes in the back of her head after I'd helped myself to her sweet box.

The staretz entered the room and I smelt him before I saw him. His greasy hair hadn't been washed since I last saw him, but I didn't care. He was wearing Mama's gold cross and embroidered shirt and looked down into my chalk white face and made the sign of the cross above my head before touching my face. Almost immediately I felt better and was able to relax.

"Don't be alarmed. Nothing will happen." he whispered to my Mama and then he left. The bandages remained white. My nosebleeds have stopped. Even Papa who had been skeptical before about my muzik's powers was no longer doubtful. Cynical Doctor Botkin and Dr. Derevenko even acknowledged his amazing powers. There was no accounting for it other than a miracle had occurred. When the doctors said that it might have been due to the potion of pine needles and the oranges that I'd been given on the train, not one soul believed them. Gratefully, I slept through the night at peace once more and so did my Papa. I really doubt that he will ever disparage Father Grigory or his powers again. Auntie Annya made certain that her social club in Russia heard about what Rasputin had done. Papa Czar told everyone to be silent about what had happened, but to no avail. After all women loved to gossip, with the exception of Mama, and would continue to tittle-tattle until someone threatened to cut out their tongues.

6 November 1914, 19 November 1914 – Papa returned to Mogilev without me after seeing Sonia's remains locked in her family vault. An emergency situation had occurred requiring his presence. Was it an attempted coup from the old guard? Uncle Nickolasha didn't like being put out to pasture even though he had been replaced by the Czar of all the Russias. Grandmama and my tall uncle have no faith in his military abilities. But isn't God directing Papa?

Anastasia actually asked Mama if she might not cut her hair and pretend to be a boy to replace me. Mama and auntie laughed and hoped that she wasn't serious, but knowing Anastasia, she wasn't kidding in the slightest. How on earth did she, a lowly female, and a short one with an obnoxious personality, think that she would be able to replace me in Papa's eyes? Needless to say, Papa enjoyed a good laugh and so will I eventually when my sense of humor returns.

It is good to be home and heavenly to soak in Papa's silver tub. Mama filled it with her scented perfume and bath salts and I relaxed and scrubbed off a layer of filth. I soaped and lathered my hair and the water was positively black when I left the tub. My sisters gave Joy a long overdue bath in the kitchen trimming her fur of all its tangles and cockleburs. I'm sure that she didn't relish it as much as I did.

My sisters refused to bathe after me and Papa until the tub had been scrubbed and sterilized with boiling water. Were they afraid that they might catch something vile? I'd left all of the bed bugs at camp so that Papa might have something to remember me by. I know that he's lonely without me. How I loathe this illness which prevents me from living to my full capacity as a czarovitch.

7 November 1914 – 20 November 1914 – Now that I'm made to stay in bed, I begin knitting once more. I am knitting a long striped scarf for a soldier on the front. Think how surprised he'll be to have a personal present from the czarovitch. Auntie Annya says that she'll embroider my initials on it and perhaps auction it off for more money at her religious group at their next meeting since it was hand knit by the czarovitch. That's an excellent idea. I had no idea that Annya was so mercenary, but Mama's ways have rubbed off on her. My auntie has her wealthy connections since she's become a special friend with my staretz who often comes to her meetings. Women can't escape his spell and apparently he's become the talk of all Russia, especially among the nobility. Grandmama is incensed so she's left to visit her sister in England.

Olga requested that Grandmama see if she could purloin a needlepoint pillow made by David as a souvenir. She longs to see if his stitches are as fine as Mama's or is there an ulterior motive? Just think what that cushion could be auctioned off for amongst the nobility? That must be it.

Mama sits at the top of her flowered chaise longue where I lay covered in afghans and pats my head and kisses me stitching away and Auntie Annya lets me eat her most select chocolates. I have missed this cosseting and won't tire of it for at least a week. I can even stomach Auntie Annya these days because I actually missed her while I was away and now appreciate her. It is a positive thing to see the good in people rather than their flaws. Papa is right, the world becomes a better place immediately.

On Thursdays, the gypsies come into the palace and serenade us with their violins and I love to hear their heart rending music and watch Anastasia dance melodramatically through the palace with Tatiana's lap dog in her arms. I've missed her hilarious tangos and now that my nose has stopped bleeding, I dare laugh again. It was a very close call. If I was not actually dying, I was at death's doorstep knocking. My sisters are so happy that I've recovered again. I can see it in their countenances. I know that they really do love me. My trip to Mogilev was invaluable in many ways.

8 November 1914 – 21 November 1914 – Mama has aged considerably; is it the opium she takes in the Veronal to ease her stomach pains which is changing her so much or is it the stress of knowing that I have a fatal illness? I know that she blames herself for giving me the dreaded disease. Her hair has streaks of gray in it, but I still think she is the most beautiful Mama in the world. She and Papa both are using opium to ease their pains and help them sleep. Dr. Botkin has mentioned to me that I must not rely on either one of the drugs so I do not. All I need to sleep is Joy's soft comforting body laying by my side and her wet dog kisses on my face in order to sleep.

9 November 1914 – 22 November 1914- Mama writes to Papa and encloses a pink rosebud in her envelope and hopes that he is not too lonely, but under the circumstances he knows that I won't be seeing him for a long time. Why did I have to botch things up? At least Mama, Auntie, and Olga have the time to spend with me now that they are no longer going to the Catherine Palace to nurse wounded soldiers. I went to the cemetery with Mama to place some flowers on Sonia's vault. I was most relieved that I am still among the living. Did I write down that I no longer am afraid to die since my last bleeding episode? When I fainted, I had a glimpse of a field of flowers of every variety and color which we do not have here. The air was humming and everything was so peaceful. I felt absolutely no pain or fear. A boy who looked as if he might be related to me was coming to greet me, but then I came to again and was Mama was slapping my cheeks. I have told no one of my dream or was it an out of body experience?

10 November 1914 – 23 November 1914 – My knitting is much improved. I rarely drop stitches any more and I decide to make a scarf for Rasputin. It is of black yarn which will not show the dirt. At the very least he can make use of it to brag about his close connections to the czar's family. That is at least honest notoriety. Other than the rumors Anastasia hears when she visits Auntie Annya's cottage with Mama pretending to learn how to crochet lace motifs for a pair of gloves for Grandmama which will never be finished. I will be able to give him something back for the energy that my illness drains from him. Besides doing something good for others helps me feel good.
Mama and my sisters are beginning to wrap and collect presents for the Christmas season to send to our far flung distant relations. Petrograd is much subdued because of the war and everyone is sad because of the deaths in their families. Black wreaths adorn the doors of many a mansion. Many of my boy cousins have been drafted and Papa and Mama worry that they'll be killed, but not nearly as much as Grandmama. She's positively a nervous wreck concerning their military duty and has nightmares about their deaths. Does this mean she loves all of her grandchildren? She is not demonstrative so how are we to know?

Once when I was eavesdropping on one of my mother's telephone conversations, I heard her say that Grandmama was trying to usurp my Papa's authority. Does this make my grandmother a traitor to Russia, or just to my Papa? Papa and Imperial Russia are one and the same. What are Papa and Mama to do? Can one lock up one's Mama? Would Papa dare?

11 November 1914 – 24 November 1914 – I start my schooling again. I can't say that I've missed the school room, but I have missed M. Gilliard and M. Petrov as well as their wit and supposed wisdom. I wrote a three page essay on what it was like being a sentinel for Papa and how I discovered a spy when I was at the front since I speak and understand so many languages. For M. Petrov, I wrote an essay on modern day weapons in comparison to those used by Peter the Great. My instructors say that now my essays were interesting and were relieved that I had new material to write about other than my sisters and our pets. I even read the essays in Russian to Anastasia and she was enthralled at my adventures and was absolutely green with envy. She admitted that she missed me although it was hard for her to admit any weakness. Often she'd thought about the hole I left in her life while I was gone. What if I were dead? No one, but her little brother appreciated her quirky jokes. No one but me would get in trouble with her. Our other sisters are far too altruistic and conscience stricken.

She'd actually braided me a watch fob of her hair which I am always to carry on my person. She's now saving up her allowance to buy a small pocket watch which she'll present to me in the future. I don't know whether to be charmed or alarmed?

12 November 1914 – 25 November 1914 – Anastasia and I pulled peppermint salt water taffy while Olga and Tatiana read us a book about the American south and its slaves which Jim had recommended called: "Uncle Tom's Cabin" by Harriet Beecher Stowe. According to Abraham Lincoln, it was this book that started the civil altercation. The sixteenth president refused to call it a war even though it was one of the bloodiest wars in history. Its author says that it was dictated to her by God. My sisters cried throughout the book and so did Auntie Annya. My eyes only began watering when little Eva died because she was so much like my three oldest sisters. We all cheered when Eliza was escaping across the river and fervently hoped she'd succeed to freedom. Slavery must have been horrible, but Russia is not immune from the disorder. Great Grandpapa was right to give the serfs their freedom and a small plot of land. Mama says that was the real beginning of Romanov troubles. Give an inch and they demand more and more. The book by a woman gave us wealthy Romanovs much to think about and we were sorry that Papa was not here to listen to the story with us. His input would have been interesting since now he was trying to take back some of his power that he'd relinquished to the duma.

13 November 1914 – 26 November 1914 – Uncle Ernie is still alive and we receive his letters from our neutral relatives throughout the world which they forward to Mama. It's amazing what people are saying. Many Russians believe that my Aunt Ella is hiding Uncle Ernie in one of the Russian mansions. Mama laughed until she cried at this news because her emotions are always near the surface now that her loved ones lives are at risk. People can be so cruel calling my Mama, The Czarina of all the Russias, the German Bitch. If Ernest came here, would she help him? Wouldn't it be natural to do so? Abraham Lincoln let one of his sister-in-laws who lived in one of the recalcitrant states live with them for a short time in the White House to tend to his wife who was moody one moment and higher than a kite the next one often being accused of being a spy. Her Southern husband was killed in battle fighting against the Union forces and his wife Mary's half brothers and brother-in-laws fought for the South. Yet Lincoln wasn't lynched for harboring the enemy. Although until his martyrdom, his enemies said plenty of wicked things against him according to my tutors just like treasonous words are being spread home and abroad about my beloved Papa. Being a president or a sovereign is a lonely occupation rife with responsibility.

Perhaps Uncle Ernie's wearing a nun's disguise at one of Aunt Ella's religious orders. Wouldn't Uncle Ernie make a handsome nun with his large moustache? No doubt he'd have to shave several times a day so as not to form a five o'clock shadow which would give him away. What has become of his pitiable daughter whom I would like to meet when this gory war is over? Ella has always been intimidating and able to accomplish whatever she sets her mind to finish, but she's as loyal to Russia now as I am. Those who suspect otherwise are simply barking up the wrong tree. Nonetheless it is quite a situation when one's loyalties to family and country are caught in the middle.

20 November 1914 – 3 December 1914 – The girls have built a large icy hill of snow and Mama has allowed me to ride down behind Olga on the toboggan if I promise to hold on tight and not to fall off. The dangerous part is climbing back up to the top, but I have on quilted pants and am padded in multiple layers of clothing. It's unlikely that I'll bruise myself, unless I do it on purpose as Dr. Botkin sometimes infers that I do. I think he's becoming senile in his old age since surely by now he knows that I fear the bleeding times as much as he does. I'm the one who has to endure the pain and agony while laying inert in my bed.

23 November 1914 – 6 December 1914 – Grandmama dear has sent our Aunt Olga over

bearing gifts. She's had some of her jewels reset in the latest fashion for her use and has given Olga and Tatiana some out of style jewelry to compensate for the necklaces they gave away to help our wounded Russian soldiers. How can jewelry designs go out of style? Olga says that she prefers the baroque jewelry to the new art nouveau designs anyway because, but Grandmama doesn't. Sometimes I think that my oldest sister Olga acts older than Grandmama dear. Olga is a traditionalist and deplores change unlike Grandmama who is the first one to accept new fads and fashions if she doesn't create them first being quite the trendsetter. Grandmama loves the new floral designs and the styles of maidens in art along with their lithe young bodies which is sweeping the art world; she especially adores the new furniture with its delicate curves and is planning on furnishing one of her rooms at Annitchkov Palace with it and will give away some of her heavy dark furniture to a religious order where she says it now belongs. Perhaps Auntie Ella will be a recipient of our ancestor's furniture. Why not keep it all in the family Mama, on the other hand, isn't nearly that fussy and spends less on her clothing and jewels than my Grandmama. She proved it once; to Grandmama's consternation. Grandmama was not pleased when her bills for furs and gowns from Paris made the rounds amidst the other gossip of her court. Was Mama responsible or was it one of the Olga's who had gathered the explosive information? Somewhere a leak occurred and the startling information was leaked to the newspapers. Mama was happier than I'd ever seen her for years that season while it was Grandmama's turn to glower.

24 November 1914 – 27 November 1914 – Mama loves making the decisions when Papa is away. Some of the ministers are terrified of her. She says that one smells of Veronal which he must take in order to calm his nerves before he meets with her. It's surprising to me that my gentle mother can intimidate anyone, but again, they don't know her the way that I do. They weren't nursed as tenderly as I was by her since birth. They haven't seen her waiting patiently for hours at my bedside while I finished my beef bouillon and toast being coaxed by her.

25 November 1914 – 26 November 1914 – Rumors are surfacing that Papa Grigory has lost his mystical powers. His drinking has increased as a result and he now spends his time amusing himself at clubs. I hope this is merely a wild tale. I read a letter from my staretz telling Mama that no Romanoff must injure or kill him. If he dies at the hand of one of my relatives, there will be no peace in Russia for a generation and that brothers and cousins will kill each other. Mama believes our Rasputin is a prophet and is trying to warn her relatives against harming him.

Beautiful Cousin Irina has married Felix Yousopouv who is the richest man in Russia, however, I don't think that this summation counts Papa. Papa gave her a bag of diamonds for a wedding present. Will she use them to make a necklace or another tiara in Belle Epoque style? Grandmama says that she already has plenty of them which she inherited. Why did they need another wedding present anyway when they already have palaces and jewels and one of the greatest art collections in Russia? Perhaps they should have made a donation to the poor orphans of Russia in their behalf. But when I commented on this to Anastasia she asked me: "How many diamond cufflinks, watches and gold badges have you donated to the poor recently Alexei?

Olga and Tatiana said that Irina looked just like a fairy princess at her wedding. Some

say that Felix did also. I wondered what that meant so I asked Papa. Papa says that Felix likes to dress up in women's clothing and has since he's been a toddler. Mama says that she never would have let one of her daughters marry the dissolute adventurer. Anastasia heard rumors that Uncle Ernie and two of our Great Uncles have unusual tastes as well. Is this why Aunt Ella never had any children? Mama won't answer any more questions about it and always changes the subject. Papa will tell me more when I am older he's promised. By that time, my sister Anastasia will have discovered everyone's secrets.

1 December 1914 – 14 December 1914 – Christmas is almost here. Cook is preparing steamed English puddings and fruitcakes like they have in England which must age for a week or two in the cellar wrapped in brandy and cheese cloth. Served with lemon sauce or brandy sauce, they are simply scrumptious. I got to lick the bowls with Anastasia and I can hardly wait. The entire first floor of the palace smells delicious.

Anastasia and I have made handmade Christmas cards with lots of angels with glitter on on them and paper cutouts to attach to our gifts. I am getting excited for Christmas. Mama has hidden presents in the outbuildings and in the attics of the palace. Will I get my heart's desire this year? Mama made me write her a list of the things that I would like to see under our Christmas tree so that I will not be disappointed on Christmas day. I have never been disappointed. I am rather spoiled according to Anastasia and she's right. However since Germany is at war perhaps the lavish toy and doll market have dried up. Will science kits from England be as complete as those created in Germany? I definitely want a science laboratory so that I can do experiments with it like Sherlock Holmes. I have already begun my cigarette and cigar ash collection as well as one containing perfume samples.

My professors have helped me compose poems for Mama and Papa, but Anastasia's funny limericks are best. I worry about the soldiers in the trenches. Will the fighting cease on Christmas Eve as well as on Christmas Day? I hope so. Let there be peace on earth, good will towards men. At least for a few days stop the killing and blood letting. My sisters and I listen to Christmas music on Mama's phonograph and we even hum the beautiful German's song of Silent Night. Mama is praying for Ernie's safety and she has tried to make peace with Aunt Ella and others in the family including Grandmama. Mama's stubborn, but she knows what is right and honestly tries to always do the right thing. She plans on having a Christmas tree in our family quarters because we've always had one, even if it is a German custom and we're likely to be criticized for it. She says that her gangun always had one and we will pretend that it is an American as well as an English custom.

Strands of electric lights with tiny bubbles boil when they're plugged into an electric wall socket have been given to us from some merchants. They're truly amazing as is electric circuitry. The palaces we most often live in have now been wired for electricity and have generators installed in the cellars. Mama has pulled out boxes of heirloom glass ornaments from her home in Hesse-Darmstadt. They're very fragile and have been passed down throughout her family for ages. Some are handblown glass which is very fragile so they're always wrapped in tissue paper. Mama always gets nostalgic and hangs our baby booties which we wore on the Christmas tree branches along with striped candy canes. Which are supposed to represent a shepherd's crook tenderly used to guide the lambs. Others say the candy canes represent blood flowing down the arms of patients. Which story do you think I prefer? Those who read my diary may guess my answer because by now, you'll know that I'm against blood shed and bloodletting.

Mama was so pleased with the electrical wiring because now she won't have to worry about setting the palace on fire with lit candles which are such a fire hazard, but Olga and Papa prefer the old ways with a bucket of water nearby.

I've been trying to figure out what Anastasia's up to, but she refuses to tell me anything. She has the strangest, slyest smile on her face, but says that I must wait until Christmas day when all will be revealed.

24 December 1914 - It's Christmas Eve and we sip wassail, egg nog, and Papa drinks old Cognac and brandy. Mama's delicious German Pferrnesse pepper cookies appear and so do Auntie Annya's stuffed raisin cookies. I love everything and want Christmas to last forever. Mama winds up the phonograph and we sing while we decorate the Christmas tree and carefully put on silver tinsel strand by strand. We all rave that it is the most beautiful tree that we have ever had. The bubble lights look wonderful boiling away the darkness. Joy sniffs and romps around the tree joyfully wondering what is going on. I've given her a large soup bone and she's perfectly content to chew it in her corner with Tatiana's little lap dog.

Papa and Mama will exchange their gifts and open them while drinking champagne after we children have gone to bed. They have been married now for almost two and a half decades, but they're still madly in love with each other.

25 December 1914, 6 January 1914 – This year I have learned to appreciate my family and privileged life more than ever. Since I have been away from my sisters and mother they are dearer to me. I no longer take them or life for granted and I suppose I am becoming a fatalist like Mama and Papa. I will continue to live for as long a time as God allows me to do so.

When my time is up, I will die.

Father Grigory has survived many attempts on his life, when he should have died but none proved fatal, just like me. He told me about how he and his brother Dmitry had nearly drowned in a river near their village in Pokrovskoye in Siberia. He'd realized that his brother was in trouble and would drowned and he'd tried to keep his head above the water, but his brother had pulled him under the water in a death clasp and he had been terrified as he choked on the water. His life had passed before him. They continued to drift down the river until a farmer rescued both of them with a long pole. He had been fearful of water ever since and he's afraid that is what will take him in the end, because he escaped death by drowning once before. His best friend, his brother, had died from exposure to the cold water and developed pneumonia afterwards. When Dmitry was ten, just my age, he'd died anyway, and my staretz still missed him dreadfully. His brother's time was clearly up.

Perhaps that's why he doesn't like to bathe because he's afraid of the power of water or the power in the water. Doesn't Satan have dominion over the waters? However my staretz truly believes that nothing can hurt him until God allows it. Some say that he is protected by the forces of evil, but he believes his healing power comes from God and so does Mama.

As usual, I received many incredible presents, new games, paddle balls, puzzles, and beautifully illustrated books. I loved the fantastic wind up model car given to me by the Rolls Royce factory, but my most special gifts were given to me by my family members. Like Mama says: the ones that come from the heart which are made lovingly by the persons I love are the most special. Grandmama disagrees. She likes expensive gifts and always has. Her collection of Faberge's miniature jeweled animals is superb, but she seldom lets me see it, let alone play with it. Papa says if I wait long enough, it will be mine eventually so I must be patient. Mama says that patience is a virtue.

Grandmama hates Father Grigory; although she has never even met him. She would not like him even if she met him. His peasant manners and coarseness would not endear him to

my cultured, refined persnickety grandmother. Perhaps this is why my muzhik Rasputin is afraid of her powers. He thinks she will influence my rash young cousins and other aristocrats against him.

Papa and my sisters went to give her our presents at the Annitchkov palace, Mama did not come with us. Grandmama liked Papa's expensive bracelet from Faberge, but rather disregarded our homemade gifts and Christmas cards, but Auntie Olga loved our pop up cards and our poetry, perhaps that's why she continues to be our best loved aunt. She's such a positive, loving force in our lives. How we adore her and her talents which she always shares with us.

Papa loved the navy scarf I knitted for him and embroidered in gold thread his initials NR as well as the hand knit argyle socks with his initials made by my sister Olga. He wears them often under his leather boots. I believe that Olga is his favorite daughter, but Papa says he doesn't play favorites except where I'm concerned. Mama seems to favor Tatiana of all her daughters. Olga is headstrong and often clashes with Mama.

Anastasia had framed amusing pictures of each of us. She snapped me asleep with my mouth wide open; Olga was photographed looking sternly at Mama with a wooden spoon in her hand as if she wanted to beat her; Marie was caught with the silliest smile gazing longingly at a young officer during one of the dances she accompanied Auntie Olga to at a palace in Moscow.. Tatiana, elegant Tatiana, was caught with her cheeks loaded with a bliny looking like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter; Mama looked like a fishwife at market as she yelled at something Shura had done. This photo helped Mama reflect that perhaps she over reacts. We laughed heartily at these pictures until our sides ached. That's what life is about: being surrounded by and enjoying those we love.

We attended church and kneeled together and felt Christ's pure love as the Holy Spirit descended on us in our ornate Russian Orthodox Church. Mama simply glowed with love and a light from within. I heard her thanking God for my recovery and for her many blessings that she'd received, especially the continued love of her husband and family. Truly I am blessed.

1 January 1915, 14 January 1915 –I start another year; I'm almost twelve and am quite good looking although I wish I had a little more flesh on my bones. Tatiana and I can eat whatever we want with little consequence and are the tall lean ones in our family. Mama says that I must have a hollow leg and sees that I finish my meals and doesn't mind if I snack in between meals. She needn't worry, because I'm always hungry now that I'm growing so fast. Soon I will be taller than Papa and Mama. Perhaps I'll be as tall as my paternal grandpapa Alexander. I hope so.

3 January 1915, 21 January 1915 - Mama and I visited Annya in her little house and found that she was freezing. We had to sit with our feet off of the floor propped on small overstuffed stools because the floor was frozen in order to avoid chill blains. Clearly her charming cottage was meant to be a summer home only, but she's often at the palace anyway and usually travels with us whenever we travel. She gave us word about Rasputin and he's in trouble again. Is he ever not in a dilemma? Now he's meddling in army contracts and has disclosed secret military information to outsiders. Papa will not be pleased and either will Father Shavelsky, our archpriest, who tells my Papa about everything corrupt and incorrect that he does. Why does my muzhik continue to meddle? He's been given ample allowance, enough to enroll his daughter in a private school. Papa's patience is wearing thin; He may even banish him from Petrograd. What will I do then?

4 January 1915, 17 January 1916 - We-re quite snowed in and the frost is painting beautiful pictures on the glass panes of the palace windows. I'm entranced with them and wonder if the frozen artwork will photograph? I've tried taking pictures of snowflakes and have discovered that there really are no two that are alike. How could this be possible? But there are no two people that are identical either-not even identical twins. There is always a difference between them. Imagine the billions and billions of snowflakes that fall from the sky and yet I have never found two identical ones. God is great.

When Mama lets me, I join my sisters on the ice hill on the toboggan and zip down the icy trail. Olga and Tatiana are covered in white fur coats and hats and look like beautiful versions of the snow queen themselves. I look like a Cossack in my long coat and hat, but I enjoy my Persian lamb hat and keep it pulled over my ears. The air is so cold that my tongue freezes when I leave it out for a moment and my spittle crackles in the air when I spit. Anastasia dared me to stick a metal spoon on my tongue. I didn't accept that dare. How dumb does she think I am?

I read in the newspapers that a boy stuck his tongue to the village flag pole and was held fast until a smart old babushka freed him with hot, melted butter. I would have simply cut if off to free him thinking that he deserved his just desserts for doing something so dumb. Am I like Ivan the terrible? Mama once called me L'infant terrible.

Villagers have frozen when they've gone out to milk their cows and must use ropes leading to the barns or become lost in high snow drifts. Father Grigory said that he often slept with the cows and horses as a youth, but he preferred sleeping on top of a warm metal stove next to his Papa Efim and his Mama under quilts stuffed with straw.

5 January 1915, 17 January 1915 - Papa's closest friend, his cousin Xandro, says that Papa is wearing Mama's picture around his neck the same way that I wear Father Grigory's and that he trusts no one, but her. Mama was pleased to hear this from his wife Xenia, but knows that she's no saint and doesn't pretend to be one; Mama says that she's a deeply flawed individual, but knowing this makes her strive to be more patient and kind. Perhaps Mama will be a saint some day and people will pray to her since in many ways my Mama qualifies.

Perhaps Papa will be since he says that he's willing to sacrifice himself for Russia. I hope that day is long in coming. I worry that he's a little too eager and sometimes he feels that Russia is domed. The war is still raging and food becomes scarcer. Mama and I long to go to the Crimea and so do my sisters, but realize that is but a pipe dream because of the war, but Grandmama intends on going. It has been almost two years since we were there at our beautiful palace.

6 January 1915, 17 January 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 encounter it. Not even the Yousoppovs have given a ball this winter. She's disappointed in her granddaughter Irina and thought that she would become a social butterfly and hostess, but she's become as dull a homebody as Mama. What is this generation coming to? Won't this war ever end?

In a letter to Anastasia, she hinted that she might take her abroad, but she doesn't want to leave the country as long as Mama and Rasputin are making awful decisions. Something must be done and soon.

7 January 1915, 18 January 1915 - Soldiers are beginning to desert the army and pour into Petrograd and Moscow. Papa has had workers from China and Persia come in and run the locomotives, but still there is a shortage of hired workers.

Rationing has started and Mama insists on rationing at the palace. Perhaps I could go live with Grandmama. Maybe I'll go along with her idea of a regency replacing Papa until I'm of age so that I can continue to have my blinis. Of course I am not serious, but from experience, I know that Grandmama keeps a good table and our food is becoming plainer by the day. By tea time I'm so hungry, I could lick the silver salt shakers. After all, I'm a growing boy and need double rations because I'm growing so fast. Mama finds it difficult keeping me in long enough pants. Could these rumors about Grandmama taking over possibly be true? Would she really remove my Papa, the Czar from the throne? Had she that much power and influence? Was tall Uncle Nicholaivich really planning on regaining control of the military again and forming a military coup? No wonder Papa only trusts Mama. I must stop listening to Mama's telephone conversations and stop reading the newspapers. Anastasia is like having an informer in our palace. My stomach aches continually and I worry constantly about what is going to happen. I shudder to think that my own family of Romanovs are Papa and Mama's worst enemies. Papa has allowed a duma and has changed several ministers, but it's hard to please everyone.

13 January 1915, 28 January 1915 - Grandmama sent me a sweater for Joy which she purchased on her travels. Joy looks darling wearing it as she romps through the palace. Grandmama has had to cut back on movies at her palace as well as her entertaining. Her friends in Europe wonder wear this war is headed? It is lasting much longer than anyone ever thought it would.

I am now taking piano lessons just like my sisters along with learning the Balalaika. I am learning it the numerical way, just like Mama Learned in Germany and England. The counting is very, very boring, but a metronome helps. I like playing the chords and have learned many of them and variations of their root positions. If I play the songs perfectly, Mama bribes me with a candy stick or a small toy from her treasure box. She doesn't need to do this, but she likes to make me happy.

Her boysy loves the challenge and the competition of outplaying my sisters. I wanted to learn so that I can play better than Anastasia who is continually showing off in front of me. I will catch up with her ability soon because I have a musical ear and she does not. Mama thinks piano will help me develop discipline as well as a keen memory. I've learned how to perform arpeggios and a few Russian military marches, and I enjoy composing my own songs just like Mozart and King Louis, but I have my own style. I dislike Beethoven, because he was German and I don't like Brahms for the same reason nor nursery tunes or romantic ballads. My sisters love ballads, but I refuse to play them. I do not want to be considered a sissy.

Baroness Buxhoeveden says that she will try to find some new sheet music from recent Russian composers. The wild child, our impish Anastasia likes gypsy music even though this appalls Mama who find the sound less than dignified and tells Anastasia that she must not traipse around the palace with her blouses bare over her shoulders like a hoyden. I love her energy and wish I could dance around the palace with her like a hooligan.

20 January 1915, 2 February 1915 - Now Mama is complaining that she's lost power and that no one is listening to her, not even Papa. Will all of this contention never end? I must learn to be more resilient like Anastasia. Nothing ever bothers her. Problems to her are like water off a duck's back. They simply roll from her. She skates around the palace and practices her piano as if nothing was wrong. Unlike Olga, who continues to pound out her piano pieces. Why must she be so dramatic?

1 February 1915, 14 February 1915 Aunt Olga, Papa's youngest sister came from her town home in Moscow. She's an expert at watercolors and taught my sisters and I a few new techniques such as how to make a circle with a pin and a string and how to letter. Mama let us have scraps of lace from the old lace that she catalogued and pieces of paper and ribbon from her scrap bags that she saved and we all made Valentines. I made a beautiful one for Mama and a funny one for Papa about a Papa dog and a pup. Anastasia signed it for me and wrote: "Baby." That made me mad. Shouting, "I'm not a baby!"

"Alexei, she said loudly, "you're the youngest, and you'll always be their baby." I stomped out of the room and went and played with my toy gun. I hope Anastasia grows a wart on her nose.

Tomorrow Aunt Olga is taking my four sisters to St. Petersburg. Good riddance! Perhaps papa will take me and Mama for a ride in the car. That is, if he can stop working long enough to relax. He works too hard and looks tired and haggard. Something is bothering him besides his concern for me. Olga is supposedly going to be betrothed to another prince, but is not happy about the fact because he is a very minor one.

10 February 1915, 23 February 1915 - I haven't written for a while, because Anastasia hid my diary. She took it to read and didn't put it back under my pillow. I found hers and drew a picture of her sticking out her tongue. That should get even with her. Papa and I ate lunch together with Mama and we had blinis with lots of butter. I ate as many as I could and then Papa and I went to our zoo to see my pet elephant that was sent to me from the King of Siam when I was born. I watched him eat a bale of hay and he took an apple from my hand. Then Papa went back to his library and I went and played the piano with Mama. I have learned most of the major and minor chords on the piano and can sight read some songs composed by Mozart. Mama and Annya are pleased with my progress. Later, I listened to them play duets while I reclined on mama's mauve chaise longue. Papa and Mama are sometimes irritated at Annya because she's always underfoot, but Mama says that she couldn't do without her and Papa loves her too, but hopes that she soon tires of making large cow eyes at him. She's simply their best friend, but I think she's bossy and so is Dr. Botkin who insists that I rest every afternoon. However, I wish that I had a loyal friend like Annya to play with; sometimes a dog just isn't enough, even though I love my spaniel Joy and have taught her some tricks with sticks. Mama and Papa try to keep me busy with new toys. My new train is a running replica of our two royal trains. I have spent hours laying new tracks for it. It even has small tablets that can be placed in its smoke stack that lets out real smoke which Mama said stunk up the palace.

12 February 1915, 25 February 1915 - Father Grigory came to visit me a few weeks ago and upset everybody, but Mama. Mama gave him two new shirts that she'd embroidered for him and Annya presented him with new black velvet pants that she'd made for him. Annya thinks that he is a staretz and so do I. He always makes me feel better and all he has to do is stare into my eyes and pray for me. Our servant Shura thinks that he is too familiar with my sisters and mother and shouldn't be allowed to enter their bed rooms unchaperoned. She's the one causing gossip. All I know is that his huge hands heal me and his startling gaze makes my blood slow. I like his stories about his village life; he makes me smile. He's called Rasputin which means rascal and perhaps he is, but he's helps me more than Dr. Botkin and Dr. Derevenko so I like him, even if he smells bad. I need him and so does Mama.

In his new clothes, he's not nearly as frightening as he 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 named many new ministers in search of effective ones. Mama is upset that he's ignoring her advice and therefore Rasputin's.Mama and I laughed at a caricature of her and Papa printed in one of the newspapers showing her and Papa Czar as puppets. The likeness of her emphasizing her with a long nose was demeaning, but funny. She herself liked to draw caricatures of people as I do, but she told me that had backfired on her early in her marriage. She'd drawn Papa sitting in a baby high chair as a baby and Grandmama hadn't been too pleased and neither had the Russian nobles who'd been shown the drawings. That innocent amusing artwork had gotten her into some hot water. After that she confined her drawing skills to designing her ball gowns and dress designs for her daughters and herself. My sisters and I have been wearing Mama's designs since we were babies. My sisters beautiful identical clothing often garners compliments from the Russian nobility. Do they realize that Mama is our couturier if not the seamstress?

"Alexei, is my nose really that long?" Women are so sensitive about their appearance.

"Mama," I replied, M. Gilliard says that our noses never stop growing even in the grave, but you have a very beautiful nose, not one like Rasputin's and Father Illiodor's noses which are almost as big as ducks beaks and which they might one day trip over." She laughed at my comment and bent down and kissed me.

"Thank you, sunbeam, you really are the light in my life and I cherish you."

30 February 1915, 16 March 1915 – I long to go to Livadia. The ball that my sister Tatiana was promised never materialized because of the war and we haven't been back since. Will I ever see our beautiful palace again? Mama says that we cannot go there and enjoy ourselves when there is death and dying because of the war."

"Why not? Grandmama, Aunt Olga and our other cousins have gone to their palaces in the Crimea."

"Alexei, Papa and I learned tragically early in our marriage that one does not dance when Russians are dying. That also applies to summering at our lavish palace when soldiers are dying in trenches. Alexei, darling, you've seen and read some of the hate mail that I've been getting. I'm not very popular at the moment," she said. Besides, it was a subject which she didn't want to discuss. Instead she scheduled a train ride for my sisters and I to visit several hospitals with her. It wasn't quite the vacation that I was expecting, but more of one than Papa Czar was having at military headquarters planning battle strategies. I was relieved that we went to Peterhoff and I sailed my sail boats in the cold waters of the Baltic and then flew my kites high above the palace with Anastasia. My box kite performed best and I won the wager.

I was tiring of eating so much porridge and our one meatless day of the week was downright depressing. Soon I would be as depressed as Mama and Auntie Annya if this continues. Wasn't Mama carrying rationing a little too far? I wasn't used to eating much black bread, beans, and fish, but no sooner had I thought this than I was reminded of the boy in the train station whose eyes still haunted me who didn't even have this peasant fare. Wasn't I an ungrateful wretch!

1 March 1915, 14 March 1915 – My uncle Paul has returned from his exile abroad with his new wife. Cousin Kyrrill has married my Aunt Ducky who used to be married to my Uncle Ernie. Mama is disgusted at the family treachery and is exasperated that Papa is letting these traitors back into the fold let alone back into Russia. Papa says that he needs his loved ones around him and that Jesus forgave those around him who had sinned. But can they be trusted? I won't be so kind when I'm the eighteenth Romanov czar, but then after all I am a holy terror and take after the stronger members of my illustrious ancestors, like Peter the Great and Vlad the impaler. Holy schmoly!

Papa has even let my Uncle Paul build a new mansion near our Alexander palace. My

cousins Dmitry and Marie are delighted to have their Papa back and plan on living with him at his new palace. Papa is too gentle and kindhearted as far as his relatives go. I wonder if Marie will still be tending wounded soldiers now that my uncle is back? Grandmama has been mortified that Marie has actually washed men's private parts and assisted in operations when gangrenous legs are amputated. No grand Lady should be doing this in her opinion let alone one of her granddaughters. Will Paul agree with her? Won't that be taking sides in our own family war? Doesn't he owe his allegiance to Mama and Papa rather than Grandmama?

Grandmama and Grand Duke Nickolai are still rumored to be plotting against Papa Czar. Even his brother, Michael, married against his wishes. Mama says those things and the malicious gossip about her and Rasputin will bring down the dynasty, not her simple ministrations. Only a few of my relatives can be trusted in my opinion: The ones who are truly sacrificing for Holy Russia like Auntie Ella and my valiant sister Olga. The rest are wolves in sheep's clothing.

Auntie Xenaida still writes friendly letters to Mama and I write to my cousins and I still send an occasional letter to my German enemy, Uncle Ernie and his daughter, who hasn't had to go to the front much to Mama's relief. Sometimes M.Gilliard allows me to count these letters as writing assignments. M. Petrov read to me in Russian about a wolf in sheep's clothing. I wrote an essay on several people around me who I thought were dressed in sheep's clothing and read it to Mama who made no comment other than saying: "My little czarovitch has big ears and asked me if was spying on her? What did she mean by that? Doesn't she know that I am hopelessly devoted to her? Who else but Olga, Auntie Annya and I continue to knit scarves and gloves for the poor?

Papa banned Father Iliodor and Father Hermogen from Petrograd. Rumor has it that Father Hermogen hit my muzhik with a large cross because he had lied to the czar and czarina of Russia. Rasputin claims that they tried to kill him. Who will be next? Who is Papa to trust? Who is my muzhik to trust? Grandduke Nikolai and he used to be the greatest of friends and now he told Father Grigory that he would hang him if he came to visit him at military headquarters. Even in Siberia, my staretz is not safe. Father Iliodor had my muzhik stabbed by a woman with a long knife before he fled to Finland. Father Grigory survived, but only because my sisters and I prayed for him. It seems that his time to dies was not yet, but he must be careful, because I need him. How many lives does he have? He's rather like one of my pet kittens rumored to have nine lives who always lands on his feet when it falls but for how long? And from how far?

13 March 1915, 24 March 1915 – Monsieur Faberge's Eggs have arrived and are beautifully wrapped in shiny white paper with red ribbons and Romanov two headed eagle medallions. The wrapping reminds me of the red crosses that Mama, my sisters, and my cousin Marie wears on their nursing uniforms. Is this what M. Faberge had in mind? I hope that his eggs are as beautiful as in the past. I would not want my Mama and Grandmama to be disappointed.

This year I long for my Easter basket to be filled with large chocolate Easter eggs filled

with cherry and mint fondant and candy coated almonds. I long for chewy jellies and jelly beans even though M. Gilliard said they are made from boiled bones as are the new desserts that are appearing on Grandmamas table from a substance known as gelatin. Will I be disappointed? I'll

just die if my basket is empty or only filled with hot cross buns. It seems to me that Lent has lasted for most of the year.

I received a new suit of clothing, a naval outfit and matching cap with Russian words, because I had out grown all of my pants and my shirt sleeves were at least six inches above my wrists. Hurrah! I am now wearing long pants. I've had quite a growth spurt. I look handsome in navy and red white and blue. I see pictures of Papa and his brothers dressed in similar outfits in the past.

Mama, had new white gowns made for Olga and Tatiana, but the younger pair had to make do with the older pair's hand me down gowns with new satin sashes. This is a first for them. When Grandmama heard of this cost cutting measure, she scoffed: "That's certainly going to frighten off suitors. Have the wealthy Romanoffs come to this? Will the Grand Duchesses be manning soup kitchens next after they finish rolling bandages? Had she heard about my request for soup to be given to poor boys?

I received Anastasia's old night gowns with the lace removed and inventoried in Mama's lace collection. I didn't mind. When I wore them, it felt and smelled as if my sister's loving arms were wrapped around me.

Papa arrived home the night before Easter and gave Mama her present. She opened it and inside was a white enameled egg with red enameled crosses on its sides. It was starkly plain in comparison to Mama's other past Easter eggs. When she pressed the spring inside the egg, out popped pictures of her, my sister Olga, Tatiana and cousin Marie in their nurses uniforms with the red crosses on their gowns and Papa and I in our military uniforms. Mama said with tears in her eyes, that it was probably the most special egg that she had ever received and was proof that she and her daughters were loyal and served Russia and that she really was the mamushka of the country. No other czarina in history had given their time and talents to minister to Russia's war wounded. Papa said that she was unique and I agree then he tenderly kissed her. There will only ever be one beloved Mama for me. Monsieur Faberge had done it again. Mama allowed us to select our favorite Faberge eggs from her china cabinet and peruse its contents as was our custom. My favorite egg continues to be the one with the tiny wind up train, but Olga prefers the lily of the Valley egg. Mama put a small bottle of scened lily of the valley perfume within its confines. Soon the mauve boudoir smelled fragrant. Anastasia liked the one that shows her as a baby sitting on Mama's lap surrounded by her sisters and Papa. Papa is smiling broadly even though Anastasia had been his fourth daughter. Obviously, he'd gotten over the disappointment of her birth. That smile must have comforted our Imp..

Much to my relief, my basket was loaded with chocolate eggs and caramels and good

things to eat and so was my sisters. I stuffed my mouth with these confections and ate like a pig until I was sick to my stomach; I will always remember how I felt when I saw the goodies in my basket. It's true about opposites. Going without has made me appreciate my basket and the goodies within all the more. The chocolate had never tasted so rich, the caramels melted on my tongue, and the sweetness of the sugared almonds never tasted sweeter. My taste buds were reveling in delight.

Grandmama was not disappointed in her elaborate jewel encrusted egg either. Papa, the girls and I, visited her at the Annitchkov Palace in order to deliver the egg. She was wearing her new Easter gown of pale blue watered silk and she had large diamond earbobs in her ears. She showed us her matching bonnet of ice blue velvet with the most charming veil. Her skirt had a side pleat to accommodate walking which was a new feature Grandmama had insisted upon in the slim style hobble skirts of the era. Showing off her new sharkskin bag she'd purchased from a fellow countryman in England, we all had to touch its sandpaper like skin. Imagine making leather from a shark's skin! Olga and Tatiana drooled over her pale blue button fastened spool heeled shoes. From her new finery, one would never have known that Russia was at wore.

"In England skirts are being worn shorter due to the lack of fabric because of the war. One can actually see a woman's ankles." Papa said: "I'll have to see if I can't get an invitation now that there's a reason to visit England and Georgy." Grandmama actually laughed and it was like old times again without the strain showing in their relationship since the war began. Was it because Papa had let Paul back into the country from his banishment?

A new dish was being served at Grandmama's table: Cream puffs filled with creamed chicken with tender early peas and baby potatoes. Grandmama called it "Chicken ala King." I ate all I could stuff into my mouth along with soup and garden salad with more peas and thousand island dressing. There would be no additional dinner made from this chicken since I was ravenous. My Grandmother was not one to stint and sacrifice, if she could help it. Finally my hollow leg would be filled with delicious food, pastries, and soft white rolls with fresh butter and raspberry jam. It was just like old times. Look what Mama was missing.

I remembered my manners and made both Olga's proud of my efforts. I did not even belch after dinner. Papa enjoyed the repast as much as I did and had third helpings enjoying the rich food after the plain food he'd eaten at military headquarters.

Grandmama had golden lockets with double headed eagles made for my sisters with her picture in them wearing her new finery as special keepsakes. Grandmama looked beautiful in the small portraits. Papa and my jewelry were designed like military medals and had the year 1915 engraved on them with the name Romanov on the bottom. We were all enthralled at the gifts which had been designed by Faberge, jeweler to the Czars. Perhaps the malicious rumors about Grandmama and her deceit were untrue after all. Papa and we children lined up and hugged and kissed her in the Russian manner before we left for the return trip to Tsar Koe Selo and Papa headed back to Stavka.

10 March 1915, 23 March 1915 - Anastasia has discovered that even Papa's brother Michael who is the heir apparent should I not live and Papa not survive, married against Papa's wishes to a woman who was not of our class. Another cousin married Papa's former mistress who was a ballerina and now has a child by her. How can that be? Who in the Romanov family can Papa trust? Perhaps I am relieved that I do not have brothers eager to betray me and take control of what is my legacy by divine right.

Dmitry is like a big brother to me in some ways because Papa took him into our family while my Uncle Paul was away. His sister Marie is like another sister to me. Perhaps that's why Mama is so dead set against Olga and Dmitry marrying or is it because Dmitry wastes his time pandering to Felix Yousopouv and other wealthy but outlandish Russian nobles at his mansion in Petrograd? Is Mama afraid that Dmitry is tainted by association with the brash Felix?

3 April 1915 - 16 April 1915 – Letters and hate telegrams continued to pour into the palace regarding my staretz who is still revered by me as well as my Mama. Even Grand Duke Nikolai tried to convince Papa to jail the muzhik, but Papa to my amazement merely told him to mind his own business. "Rasputin's association with Alexandra and Alexei are family affairs and are not fit for trial. Watch your tongue, Uncle and see to your own back." My tall, uncle turned in a huff and focused his attentions on the war instead of politics. At that time, no one appeared taller than my Papa in my eyes; he had stood up to his six foot five inch cousin. I will never forget it and will bury Papa in a long coffin when he dies so that he can really stretch out in it. Obviously, the mortal frame his spirit is trapped in currently is not long enough for his great Russian spirit. Mama was elated at the news.

Rasputin was back in town and getting rich off of his deal making, much to Papa's dismay. He was already being paid money by the government, but I knew from my Auntie Annya that he gave most of this money away to the poor; however now he was heavily drinking. Once the monk had told me that he'd given up drinking, but now he'd returned to it like a dog to his vomit, nevertheless even my spaniel Joy knew her limits but Rasputin didn't. Papa was disgusted with him and so am I. I believe his judgment is impaired because of his drinking. I've never seen him behaving like this or acting so debauched.

How do Dmitry and Marie like their new Mama? I would not like it if Mama died and Papa remarried. The new mansion is taking shape and is built of the best materials in Russia. Grandmama has requested that it be decorated in the new Art Nouveau style. My sisters and I can hardly wait to see it finished. Uncle Paul and his wife will be some of our closest neighbors and we will no doubt be seeing them frequently.

4 April 1915, 17 April 1915 - Every month sixty thousand soldiers die in battle. The hospitals. The hospital and palaces were filled with dea and wounded. Undertakers can not supply the coffins and many dead were buried in mass graves. Grand Duke Nikolai has stepped down at Papa's request and Papa for better or worse is now making decisive decisions regarding the movement of the army, but this is not a game of chess. Mama and we children stayed at the Alexaner palace. Mama met with ministers and wrote long letters to Papa advising him about what to do and he made many changes, so many that his head began to whirl. Mama continued to take her veronal so that she could sleep and the ministers took their so that they could meet with daunting Mama. Papa does take Mama's advice from Rasputin if it is something his own father would have done in his place.

Simanovich, leader of the secret police, who knew all about my Rasputin's misdeeds and drinking was replaced along with others that my staretz wanted removed. It seemed to me that Papa was grasping at straws in order to make decision and that he was often left with the shortest straw. In one year, he'd replaced twelve ministers. Were the blind leading the blind? Grandmama now criticizes everything Papa does making things worse. Mama was certain that Rasputin was a prophet and would guide them to victory. In my opinion, Rasputin never will be Peter the Great nor should he be. He's much too lowly.

1 July 1915 – 27 July 1915 – When will Warsaw fall? How long can the siege continue? How long can Papa act rather than react? I have set up thousands toy soldiers in different colors representing different countries and try to see what I would do if I were leading Papa's armies? Papa's conscience is sorely tried by the needless slaughter and suffering. Soldiers are beginning to abandon their regiments. The war continues to drag on.

1 August 1915 – 14 August 1915 – Mama and I continued to read the newspapers. Riots were breaking out everywhere and workers were demanding bread. Headlines blared that Papa Czar was using the Germans to kill all of the peasants. More continued to fill up the rank and file of the regiments, but many soldiers were deserting and returning to Moscow and Petrograd.

Mama and I laughed when it was rumored that Father Grigory's underwear was flying over the palace instead of the Russian flag, the double headed eagle. As Auntie Annya knew having done some of his wash, that would have been quite a spectacle.

I asked Mama if I should fly a pair of my underwear up there with a large R on the bum along with some of Papa's to remind Russians who was czar and that Romanovs had ruled for centuries. Should my father's Bloody Nicholas's be dyed red? Mama laughed at the mental picture this conjured for her and Auntie Annya. What would Catherine the Great have flown she wondered? In those days 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 some of the dignitaries were a little abrupt and condescending to Mama, but Mama only sees what she wants to see. She loves them and expects everyone to love her, if only that were the case.

We visited an old woman who was one hundred and seven years old who blessed Mama. I was upset when she cried out: "Be joyous uncrowned bride." "Here is the martyr Empress Alexandra." Whatever did she mean by that? Chills ran down my spine and I took my sister Olga's hand. Was the old toothless crone a bit touched in the mind? The color in Baroness Buxhoevedon's face rose, but no one said a word about what had transpired, however those words have locked themselves in my mind.

18 December 1915, 23 December 1915 - All the bells are on the trika and we' put silver ones on our team of horses and Mama, Auntie Annya and I went on a lovely sleigh ride around the czar's village with Lili Dehn. We stopped and visited Uncle Paul and his wife and my cousins Dmitry and Marie and brought them small gifts of nuts, pepper cookies and our homemade ones which my sisters and I made along with some of Papa's best wine from the cellar.

Their new mansion is beautiful and Uncle Paul is so happy to be back where he belongs in Russia surrounded by his treasures and fine furniture that he'd collected while he was in Europe. His time away has mellowed him and softened his edges perhaps Papa should banish all of my contrary Romanov relatives for awhile. Some obviously like to learn lessons the hard way.

Uncle Paul is a changed man. Many relatives still openly criticize Papa; some relatives have started a new rumor about my Papa- that he has the evil eye; don't they know that he's trying to preserve the dynasty for me and my posterity? That comment is just ludicrous. Papa has the most gentle eyes; one need only ook in them to realize that. What is all of this insanity heading? Doesn't the devil ever sleep?

20 December 1915, 4 December 1915 - My sisters and I have cut out paper snowflakes and put them on the windows of our palace and have hung them from the ceilings on fishing line as if they were diamonds on a necklace. Whenever one walks by, the delicate creations sway and dance as if they're fluttering down from the sky in the family quarters. It appears to be snowing inside our Alexander palace. It looks like a winter wonderland in our domain, but Mama thinks they are beautiful and is pleased. With a touch of irony, we're snug as bugs in our palace while the garbage is piling up in the streets of Petrograd as is the snow because of the workers strikes. Will this woe never end?

My sisters, aunts and I went to the ballet where they saw "The Nutcracker Performed." One of my uncles is married to the Prima ballerina and they have a son. Anastasia says that Papa was once in love with her, before he married my beautiful Mama. Can a man love two women at the same time? Papa told me he'd loved Mama since he was sixteen. I must ask my father about this.

My favorite part was the battle between the mice and when the Christmas tree began to grow. Our tree this year is the largest one we've ever had. I was the one who found the perfect forest king.

We are all enjoying many new Christmas record on Mama's phonograph. I only wish that I could dance around merrily through the palace with my sisters. Papa will soon be home. Seeing him again should warm up Mama's enlarged heart. She has missed him more than I have and I've missed him every waking moment.

24 December 1915 - 7 January 1916 - Mama sat on Papa's lap just like in the old days and Mama let each of us open one small gift from her on Christmas Eve. My present was a minature jointed teddy bear wearing a hand knit striped red and white sweater. Mama knows that I still love stuffed animals and always will. I'll keep this one near me always since it just fits in the pocket of my peasant shirt. My sisters opened small packages containing perfume from Paris which they loved along with small teddy bears dressed in aprons. The older pair received two elegan jeweled clips from Papa which they could wear on the ball gowns or in their hair. Soon our living quarters smelled like a garden.

Mama was wearing her blue sapphire cross and her large pearl ring. Papa had her open his gift to her in front of all of us rather than wait until we were in bed as was their custom. Inside the small box were a set of large pearl earring to go with her blue sapphire cross. Her eyes sparkled like the gems when she opened the gift. Mama looked like a young bride again as she fastened them in her ears. Papa whistled and kissed her on the lips. Nicholas and Alexandra kissed her for such a long time even Auntie Annya and Countess Buxhoeveden were blushing by the time they finished. My sisters cheeks were all rosy, but it is wonderful to have parents who still love each other. All my sisters want what my Mama and Papa have. One of my tutors has not kissed his wife in years and one of my great Uncles never kisses his wife or holds her hand according to Anastasia and they sleep in separate rooms of the palace. I asked her if it was Grand Duke Nickolai. She said for half of the candy in my Christmas stocking, she'd tell me. What a minx she is.

We decorated the Christmas tree and oohed and awed when we turned on the bubble lights.

This year we put strands of gold icicles on our Christmas tree and the tree was more beautiful than I ever remember. As I hung my small baby booties on one of its branches, I marveled that my feet were ever this tiny since my feet are now size twelve. I am now taller than Papa since my recent growth spurt.

Mama said: "You're going to take after me and your Grandpapa Alexander. We're both the tallest ones in the family."

"You certainly don't take after me." said my Papa. "My father always said I was the runt of his litter and wondered how I'd ever make it as a czar. When I was born he said: Is that all there is to him? He was decidedly not impressed at my puniness." Mama piped in: "You're doing a fine job Nicky! If you'll only lead out a little more ferociously and follow my advice." Papa howled like a wolf and bared his teeth; we all laughed.

I love all the heirloom ornaments but this year my sisters and I made gingerbread men and women cookies with cookie cutters which we decorated with frosting and gave to our relatives representing Russians along with boxes of chocolates and nuts. We added dozens of these handmade ornaments to our large fir tree we found in the forest and cut down on our traditional tree hunting expedition. The spicy smell mixed with the scent of pine made the family room smell delicious. We had such fun making the exquisite cookies and perhaps this cookie making venture will become a family tradition even though they were a lot of work. The molasses flavored confections turned out beautifully. Auntie Olga showed us how to cut hearts in them. Then we put crushed red cinnamon and cherry flavored hard candies in the centers. When they baked, the candy melted and looked like red stained glass. When they cooled, we piped fancy swirls and dots around them in white frosting using special tips and bags of icing and then added tiny silver candy balls and red candies.

Afterwards we threaded red ribbon through them before we hung them on the tree. Not only does our Christmas tree look like a work of art laden with all kinds of priceless ornaments, it smells scrumptious, too. On top of it all stands an angel with widespread wings protecting this lavish creation and I like to think our family as well from the heart ache and stings of the outside.

I think Monsieur Faberge would be pleased with our artistic efforts. I will always remember this Christmas season and the atmosphere of love in our hearts. The cookies made such a hit with our friends and relatives. The war seems far away for a few weeks at least as we sang Christmas carols as Mama played the piano with us gathered around her. We delighted in each others company.

25 December 1915, 6 January 1916-Opening my presents on Christmas morning, I discovered that my talented sisters and wonderful Mama each made my large Steiff bear an outfit. When and how had they done this? When I was sleeping or away at Stavka? What a marvelous surprise! My bear, General Grumpkins, looked fabulous in a Tyrolean felt jacket of red and green with black pants, a knitted white fisherman's sweater with patched pants complete with rubber waders, an embroidered midnight blue peasant shirt like Rasputin wears with black velvet pants, a velvet opera jacket, felt top hat, with theater binoculars, a red wool military jacket like Papa and I wore to review the troops, and a night shirt. I can't decide which outfit is my favorite.

I also received a table sized carousel with small painted horses, animals, sea serpents and dragons. Whirling around when I wind it with a golden key, it also plays different tunes when small gold metal circles are inserted. Small porcelain dolls can ride the carousel. I will never tire of playing with this amazing toy. We all love it. I will play with it carefully so that my own czarovitch can play with the marvelous toy in a decade after I become czar.

Anastasia surpassed herself. Our imp enlarged photos of our faces and put them on a round dowel so that we can use them as masks. She gave each of us a complete set of our family members to use as hand held puppets. We spent an hour mimicking each other opening our gifts.

Anastasia as usual had us all guffawing as she held up my picture in front of her face saying: "You mean this is all I get? Isn't there anything else? Where is my chemistry set? Don't tell me you thought I'd blow up the palace so you substituted something else? Didn't I write a letter to Saint Nicholas asking for a miniature replica of Buckingham Palace, one of Windsor, Balmoral, St. James and the castle on the isle of White as well as the one in Edinburgh?"

It was hilarious. I know that I'm spoiled, but I can laugh at myself too. This is our best Christmas ever in my opinion despite or in spite of the war.

Marie made boxes of lollipops in various flavors for each of us. Olga made red vests of wool piped in black to keep us warm throughout the rest of winter.

Tatiana made crocheted purses for my sisters and mother and crocheted ear muffs for Papa and me which fit us perfectly.

Mama gave us each another religious Icon to hang in our rooms to protect us throughout our lives along with new toothbrushes and underwear. She's always so practical in her giving it makes Olga laugh and vexes my extravagant Grandmama.

Papa gave us each a silver nutcracker and a bag of nuts which we can enjoy while watching movies and newsreels from America and hand held miniature theaters which we hold in our hands. When tiny strips of film are threaded through the top and the toy is held up to a light source, it is like viewing a miniature movie. This fantastic toy from America has only recently been invented.

Mama exclaimed joyously over our angel cards and homemade gifts. I'd bought small figures of baby Jesus and made small wooden crèches for all of my sisters. They loved them. Olga had crocheted Mama and my sisters lovely lacy beautiful gloves of Irish crochet. Tatiana had made braided chains for us from her long hair to use as watch fobs and Papa attached his gold pocket watch to it immediately. I opened a small pocket watch from Anastasia who had already given me a hair chain. I actually admire her handiwork knowing that it required incredible patience to produce.

Marie had painted small porcelain doll figurines representing each of us to use in the hat box boudoir I'd made for Mama and which can ride on my fantastic carousel. Marie's dolls were exactly like us down to the dimples in our chins and the real hair on our heads. However, she had considerately left off the bent knee of the doll representing me for which I loved her all the more. She truly is angelic in her thoughts.

Anastasia had been given a large four story doll house which I could tell she hated but said graciously: "Mama, I'm much too old too play with dolls and a doll house, but I will save it for my own children. Thank you."

My sisters were as creative as my mother. My mother liked to give us perfumed soap which is something her gangun always had given to her brother and sisters, a practical and economical gift which they could use throughout the year.

After Christmas dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding like Mama always ate with Queen Victoria at her palaces, we opened crackers filled with small surprises before looking in our Christmas stockings.

Then Papa took my sisters and I to Grandmama's Annitchkov palace. Mama as usual stayed home with Auntie Annya listening to Christmas carols on her phonograph. They both were anxious to read to each other their new books as they started new needlework projects.

Grandmama loved the brooch I gave her which I knew she would since it was one of Faberge's creations. Papa's silver filigree and emerald ring looked marvelous on her well manicured finger as she exclaimed: "Queen Mary's eyes are going to pop out of her head when she sees the size of this stone. It's as large as my knuckle. But it is only one of my emerald baubles in my vast collection." said Grandmama positively purring with pleasure.

Her other sons, Paul, Michael, and Georgy gave her emerald brooches which could be attached to her chains and pearl necklaces or worn in her hair. My sisters tried to show their excitement too, but Olga and Tatiana could not garner much excitement after serving in the hospitals. Material treasures mattered little to them in comparison to human feelings which were of lasting value.

My sisters gave her a charm bracelet with a silver charm of each of their silhouettes engraved with their names and birthdates which she positively adored from Faberge's shop.

"I'll have charms made representing all of my grandchildren along with their birthdates. It's just what a doting grandmother needs so that I never forget your birthdays." Grandmama never tired of receiving or giving jewelry. This Christmas she gave us all small R pins outlined in rubies for us to wear as keepsakes.

"These pins are to help you all remember that you're Romanovs and that you must act like one. Wear them in good health my darlings and never forget your Grandmama who bore your fathers and mothers, Grandchildren doing her duty for Russia." said Grandmama with a touch of nostalgia.

"For awhile I wondered if I'd ever see Paul again. It does a mother's heart good to be surrounded by her sons, daughters and grandchildren. Family meant everything to your Papa. How I miss him. He died much too soon." said Grandmama wistfully. "But tonight because of the return of loved ones from a far, we should celebrate. Grandmama toasted Paul with expensive champagne from her cellar saying: "To the Romanovs; long may they rule." Papa let Anastasia and I have a small sip. Grandmama and Papa downed the bubbly brew quickly. The older pair and Marie sipped their drinks since they were seldom allowed anything with alcohol, especially if Mama were near.

Stuffing ourselves on salmon, baked potatoes and sour cream, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, white rolls, two courses of soup (one hot and one cold), pickles, and salads with three kinds of dressing, we ate until we almost exploded. Grandmama enjoyed her caviar, but Papa despises the black fish eggs. I tried a spoonful on a cracker, but almost gagged not liking the salty taste. Grandmama said sarcastically: "You don't know what's good for you, Alexei. That just leaves more for me."

Red hot house flowers set in wicker sleighs adorned the center Grandmama's large dining room table which sat seventy five of us. Candles made from honeycombs scented the air adding to the pleasant atmosphere.

A marvelous dessert of cream puffs shaped like a Christmas tree stuck together with caramel was served along with ice cream and various flavored ices. As I ate my third cream puff, the image of the starving boy I'd seen at the train station entered my mind's eye. This was my second gargantuan meal of the day.

Conversation was scintillating mentioning favorite past Christmases, but perhaps more importantly, I remember what was not mentioned: Rasputin, the war, my Mama, and Olga's betrothals were taboo subjects. However, Grandmama said she enjoyed the angel cards Anastasia made although she scarcely glanced at it. Auntie Olga thought her care was exquisite and said: "Alexei and Anastasia, I'll cherish them always." She appreciated the mechanical pencils and the lead that we had given her.

I performed a command performance at Papa's request playing the song I wrote for his birthday on my Balaiika which my grandmother had not heard and either had Uncle Paul and his brothers. I do believe that Grandmama was moved by my playing.

Later, Auntie Olga, came back with us to attend our Russian Orthodox service at midnight. Truly, Christ is the light of the world. The candlelight ceremony touched me as never before. I must be growing up since I'm becoming sentimental.

7 January 1916, 18 January 1916- Deserting soldiers continue to pour into Moscow and Petrograd clad in ill fitting uniforms. As I reread my diary last year, it hardly seems possible that my sisters were concerned about such a thing as a ball. So much has happened since then. So many soldiers have died. Papa has returned to Stavka. Kaiser Wilhelm and his armies have caused such death and destruction throughout the world. It is hard to imagine three cousins more different in temperament and demeanor: My gentle Papa, fierce Willy- intent on ruling the world, and conservative George. King George sent me a thank you note for my angel Christmas card. He too prays for peace on earth.

11 January 1916 - 24 January 1916 - My lessons with my tutors have begun again. I am now reading Voltaire which I do not like. I prefer American heroes like Paul Revere who rode through town on a horse warning his people that the British were coming if I have to read history. Anastasia is in a tizzy because Grandmama did not take her with her on her travels.

13 January 1916 - 24 January 1916 - I am having a bad spell since I tumbled down a staircase when our electricity went out and our elevator would not work. Mama is most concerned. My lessons have been cancelled but she lets me read. I am reading more detective stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. My ash collection is quite large now. If only I could become a detective solving murder cases rather than the Czar of all the Russias. But Papa always wanted to be a gentleman farmer. As Countess Buxhoeveden says: "If wishes were fishes; we'd all have our fry." I would prefer to have a western barbecue. I read the diary of the Duke who visited the American West. I would like to roast a bison lathered in barbecue sauce. How would it taste? Instead Anastasia tells me that as the future czar, I should be eating yak.

Uncle Ernie is still alive, but he fears that Hesse-Darmstadt will be absorbed into a larger province or disappear if Kaiser Wilhelm has his way or if the war is lost. Mama longs to see her relatives. Aunt Ella no longer visits and is so devout and longsuffering in her cloistered life, she makes us all feel like selfish heathens.

17 February 1916, - 20 March 1916 - Aunt Ducky and Papa's Cousin Kyrill are causing headlines. Aunt Ducky is lavishly spending money on a new wardrobe. Mama is upset at the behavior of her brother's former wife. She feels that she and Kyrrill and their outrageous behavior are an embarrassment to the family and undermining all that Papa is trying to accomplish. My tutors have had me read some of the speeches of Abraham Lincoln. One was about a house divided not being able to stand. How does this pertain to the divided House of Romanovs. Few of my relatives agree on anything any more.

It's will soon be Butter week. Mama is still sticking to her rationing. I long for rich pastries and omelettes filled with cheese rather than the oatmeal we eat for breakfast practically every morning. I am beginning to feel more like a peasant than a czarovitch.

."Alexei, oatmeal is better for you anyway. See, if you don't feel better because of it." said Mama who is positively a vegetarian by now. If it weren't for visits to Auntie Annya's small cottage where she sneaks me a few pastries and chocolates, I think I would shrivel up and blow away. I'm hoping that Grandmama returns from her travels soon. My Mama, the matushka of all Russia is too stringent. Must she give everything including the cream which used to go on my porridge to the poor? One can over do it a bit in my opinion.

19 February, 1916 - 26 March 1916 - Mama and I went for a sleigh ride with all of the horses wearing their silver bells. We stopped to visit Uncle Paul at his mansion. He and Mama are becoming fervent friends now that Papa is always away at military headquarters. They discuss books they've read as well as politics. I find this boring, but I do like Uncle Paul. He tells us of his life in Europe which makes Mama rather nostalgic for England and her dead Grandmama who raised her. His son Dmitry is never home. Is he actually living with Cousin Irina and Felix at the Yousopouv mansion in Petrograd as rumored. Mama is most upset. At least Olga is no longer mooning over him.

22 February, 1916 - 25 February, 1916 - Mama is so busy helping Papa helping Papa with minor domestic disputes in Russia and other diplomatic schemes, she never has much time for me. I have completed a three dimensional puzzle an artist made for me of Peterhoff. It is quite impressive and even Anastasia was pleased with my spatial and gluing abilities.

"Alexei, perhaps when you're czar, you'll let me live in Peterhoff and build yourself a new palace." I know that palace is one of my sister's favorite residences.

Our Russian diplomats in London have put out their feelers trying to find an English Lord willing to come to Russia to marry Olga if the price were right. There have been no takers. Apparently according to our English spies, they expect revolution here at any moment. Not even a lavish dowry can convince any distant cousins to immigrate here for a Russian bride as lovely as Olga. Hopefully, Grandmama can convince a distant Danish relative that he needs to marry in Russia and raise a family.

26 February, 1916, - 12 March 1914 - Mama is surprisingly healthy and feisty. I reviewed my scratchings last year when she was being wheeled about the palace in her rattan wheelchair. One wouldn't recognize my Mama now. She no longer has time to complain about her sciatica or her enlarged heart, let alone an examination from the two good doctors. If only they would stop examining me! Making decisions is empowering as well as transforming for Mama.

Anastasia and I have made new kites this year. I have designed a pentagon shaped one with a huge tail out of silk and clever Anastasia has made a kite resembling a bat of black silk. Our tutors have required us to read about fruit and vampire bats throughout the world. Anastasia couldn't get enough of them. Her large eery kite should like a real one, but I think my geometric marvel will out fly it. Monsieur Gilliard will not say which one has the best design, but both Olgas think that my kite will win. Of all my sisters, Olga reads the most and so I have high hopes regarding my kite. But I have a secret plan which is going to stump Anastasia totally.

25 March 1916, - 7 April 1914 - If only we could go to our Palace in Livadia, but Mama will not let us have such a pleasure when our soldiers are dying. However she had agreed to let us migrate to Peterhoff. Anastasia is now much poorer and is determined to have her revenge. I outwitted her. My kite flew almost one hundred feet higher than my sisters and she is still calling me a cheat. I simply outmanned her, but all is fair in love and war isn't it? I used small lit candles under a waterproof canopy to carry my kite aloft. It puffed up like a hot air balloon. Anastasia was not amused and now owes me her monthly allowance. I plan on spending it all on gum drops and chocolates at the local village store.

26 March 1916, - 9 April 1916 - Father Grigory has written that he is traveling, but he did stop to bless me and Mama before he left Petrograd. Since he has friends in high places, he enjoys staying in mansions like the Yousopouvs and mansions of other Russian gentry. His daughter writes to Marie that he hasn't been home to Siberia in ages. Mama and I were glad to feel his soothing hand and feel his mystical powers. One look in his dark bizarre eyes and I am strengthened and no longer fear for the future. I feel as if he's sucked the evil causing my malady from my system. Mama feels it too and no longer asks how this is possible.

28 March 1916 - 10 April 1916 - Papa has sent me a new gun which an inventor sent to him. It is an automatic repeating rifle, but it would be too expensive to make for the troops, but he realized how it could be adapted to shoot simple hard peas or beans to entertain me. I lay in Mama's rattan wicker wheelchair outside and shoot a paper target. I am a dead eye shot. If someone chooses to invade the palace, he'll have to get by me. There is not a bird left in sight in any of the trees.

1 April 1916 - 13 April 1916 - It is April Fools day and I am determined to out do myself this year. I sent Anastasia a phony telegram from Grandmama to join her in Livadia. The imp spent the day excitedly packing. When her trunk was packed, I had another telegram delivered which read: April Fools you sucker. I wonder if Anastasia is getting more naïve as she grows older?

I watched my other sisters eat chocolate covered box elder bugs oblivious of their contents until I yelled out April Fools after the sack was empty. It had the words chocolate covered raisins on the package.

I had Uncle Paul call Mama and tell her that Papa had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts with the Duma. Mama actually stopped chewing her greens for a moment before I shouted: April Fools.

Anastasia got me back late that night when the telephone rang and a mysterious voice said that Rasputin had been shot. My heart almost stopped until laughter in the background convinced me that I had been had. "April Fools!" came Anastasia's high pitched voice. I was not laughing.

All of us had new clothes for Easter as was traditional. My sisters looked charming in pale pink pleated skirts and blouses with elbow length angel sleeves edged in wide lace. Their hats had brims which were five inches wide.

I had a new sailor suit of navy and white with gold buttons which my sisters think compliments my good looks.

Mama's dress was made of Alencon lace with angel sleeves. Our picture was snapped for posterity and to display in our albums.

Faberge's eggs were remarkable. Mama was pleased with Papa's and my picture which popped out when a button was pressed. What would our family do without Monsieur Faberge's creative genius. I long to see what was hidden in Grandmama's egg, but she is far away in the Crimea.

15 May 1916 - 28 May 1916 - I am teaching Joy to do tricks. Wearing Grandpapa Alexander's old opera hat and cape which I found in a trunk in the attic, I dressed Joy up like a stage magician. With silent signals namely a touch of a wand on her head, she answers yes or no to my questions by wagging her tail frantically which means yes; shaking her head means no. When Auntie Annya and my sisters came to read the latest novel at twilight, I asked them if they wouldn't rather have Joy answer a few questions. Of course they all wanted to hear Joy's remarks. When asked if Anastasia would ever get married. Joy shook her head no. When asked if Olga would get married, she wagged her tail. When asked if Auntie Annya would have children, Joy wagged her tail. When asked if Tatiana would marry she shook her head no. When asked if Tatiana would ever have children, Joy wagged her tail. Everyone laughed. When asked if Dmitry and Olga would marry she shook her head no. When asked if Countess Buxhoeveden would have a love child in her nineties, Joy wagged her tail. A good time was had by all.

30 June 1916 - 12 July 1916 - I had a hangnail on my finger and I bit it off not realizing what I was doing. The bleeding has refused to stop. Will I die from a hang nail?

Mama says that we will have one summer birthday celebration for everyone. Tatiana protests since she hasn't had her ball yet, but only for a short time because she knows that Mama is counting on her support. That year, I received a small yaught of my own to sail in the lake. Mama always spoils me nonetheless. Anastasia enjoyed my expensive gift at least. She sailed around in the water as if she were a pirate princess while I watched longingly from my bedroom window much too weak to do anything.

15 September 1916 - 28 September 1916 - It has been quite awhile since my last entry. Once more, I was very sick expecting to die. I have tasted every vile concoction any old hag could come up with. Many medicines tasted so disgusting, I was certain I'd been poisoned, but still I live. Eventually the bleeding stopped. I am so tired of this disease. What kind of life do I have?

Now that I've rallied once more, M. Gilliard and M. Petrov had me write an essay on peaceful ways to end public demonstrations. I came up with several suggestions which I may use in the future if I'm ever confronted with demonstrations when I become czar. One used fog horns, loud blaring noises, water balloons, and tear gas. I also thought that thowing rotten eggs into a crowd disperse it quickly. A little noxious sulphuric smell would send Joy running away with her tail between her legs. Anastasia suggested that her collection of worms might be used if she mentioned they'd been taken from living victims. She just might have something there.

It's rumored that the majority of people are living on thin cabbage soup and moldy crusts of bread. How do people have the energy to demonstrate I asked Mama. After living on some of the rations that Mama insisted we eat I could not publicly protest by marching. I'm positively weak after our meatless day.

30 September 1916 - 12 October 1916 -- Signs fill the street. Mama, my sisters and M. Gilliard, went into town in our car to watch the parades with women marchers. I asked my sisters what they thought about equality for women when they returned. They said simply: "We know who really wears the pants in our family. Don't you?" Wisely I said nothing, but in Papa's defense I then said: "The czar always has the final word and makes the final decision even if Mama has her say."

1 October 1916 - 13 October 1916 - I think of the time I spent with Papa at military headquarters as October approaches. What fun we shared together. If only I could join him once more. I am sick and tired of being surrounded only by women. I need my Papa.

2 October 1916 - 15 October 1916 - Uncle Paul drives over in his car and Mama and I go for a drive with him and then spend afternoon tea in his palace in order to lift both of our spirits. He tells me of games that he and his brothers played with Papa when they were boys at the Annitchkov Palace. One day they rigged a bucket of water over a door knowing that their Papa would soon be walking through it. He did and was drenched completely, but he did not discipline his sons for the trick. This made me wish that I had known this fun loving Grandpapa.

15 October 1916 - 28 October 1916 - Anastasia has decided to go on strike so that Mama will stock better provisions. I agree with her so I go on strike too. Uncle Paul and all our relatives eat better than we do. What's a growing boy to do? Protest! If only Papa would return and this war would end.

3 November 1916 - 16 November 1916 We are going to the ballet with Auntie Olga, but first we are going to eat blinis and jam at her townhouse. Afterwards, she shows us the mansion that Papa and his pretty ballerina lived in before he married Mama. What did Olga think of that I asked her?

"Mama forgave him for his weakness so I do too."

"That's stuff and nonsense. According to Anastasia, Grandmama and her husband did not want Papa to marry Mama and so they set the obstacle of a pretty ballerina in his path, but their plan still went awry.

"Why don't Mama and Papa manipulate things that way for you Olga?"

"They did but apparently, I'm headstrong like my forebears and everyone else in the family." Laughter echoed throughout the townhouse.

15 December 1916 - 28 December 1916 - We're back at Alexander Palace preparing for the holiday season. Has another year flown so quickly? Anastasia and I begin making our angel Christmas cards since we have decided to make this our special tradition. I have decided not to send one to King George this year.

30 December 1916 - I'm too upset to count the days on my calendar to determine the other date. Father Grigory is missing! His daughter called Auntie Annya and said that he never returned home to their apartment. Where could he be? I fear the worst.

A brown boot was found on the Great Petrovsky Bridge by our secret police which his daughter identified as belonging to her father along with reddish brown stains. Shots were heard fired at the Yousoppouv palace the night before.

Did Cousin Irina's husband Felix kill my healer? He is denying everything and so is my cousin Dmitry, but Father Grigory was seen going into the Y's palace in Petrograd. Heaven help his soul and mine if he did. Mama says that I mustn't jump to conclusions, but I should pray for Grigory's safe return. I sense that he is no longer living and the feeling will not leave. Mama has collapsed and is most distraught. What ever will I do without Father Grigory? I am desolate.

1 January 1917 - 14 January 1917 - Mama has telegraphed Papa and told him the news and her sources at the Yaught club have verified that the young Grand Dukes are very pleased. The rumor must be true. Even though Felix denies the deed, Cousin Dmitry's paleness and aloofness says more than a thousand words. Mama's forbidden entrance to any of the Grand Dukes in our palace. She's moved Annya Vyrubovna into our palace and changed the locks on her rooms. She thinks that her best friend and our honorary auntie will be their next target.

Mama has ordered an all night mass to be held at the church and we are all fasting for Papa Grigory -even the servants. Mama has commanded them. Papa is on his way home. Why hadn't our secret police protected Father Grigory? Are we all in danger?

Word has arrived that Father Grigory's frozen, mutilated body has been found in the river. His private parts were cut off. An autopsy revealed that he'd been poisoned and shot, but that he'd been alive when he was thrown in the river. Water was found in his lungs. My poor Father Grigory drowned His worst nightmare had been realized. He hadn't escaped his fate, like he had as a youth after all.

My heart skipped a beat as I listened to the telephone call. Poison and gun shot wounds hadn't killed him, but the water had. In a way, my prayers had protected him for a time: he had not succumbed from the poison, or the bullets, but I'd never dreamed that water was a danger to him. He'd been found below the bridge at Kretovsky Island. My tears will not stop and I am inconsolable. I'm crying just like a baby, but can't help myself. I'm so frightened. Father Grigory didn't deserve to die in this atrocious manner. No one did. Russia and all who live here are lost.

2 January 1917 - 15 January 1917 - Mama has ordered that everything found on Father Grigory must be sent to her as well as his body. She and those who loved him would bury him. She's ordered a grave to be dug nearby on land owned by Annya V.

His bloodstained torn shirt and Mama's platinum bracelet along with the small golden cross that she'd had engraved with the words "Save and Protect" that she'd given to my staretz were returned to Mama. She will keep them as relics along with his letters.

I picked them up and lovingly examined all of them. The small golden cross had ceased to protect him; his time was up. I hoped these relics of Father Grigory would help me in my times of need. Perhaps they still have power to cure me. I was thirteen years old now and only had to make it a few more years until I was seventeen and cured, but that had been before my healer had been murdered. Now things had changed. According to Father Grigory's prophecy nobles would now cease to exist on the land, brothers would kill brothers. Would the czar cease to exist? Was not Papa of noble birth? What about me, the czarovitch? My blood ran cold and shivers cascaded down my spine. I did not dare ask Mama, but kept my thoughts to myself.

Mama began writing a letter to Father Grigory to be buried with him and told me that I could include my thoughts and love for Father Grigory with hers. I wrote the last paragraph on the crème paper. It read: Father Grigory. I am so sorry, but now you're a martyr and a saint. Please continue to watch over us, especially me. I'll never forget you. I loved and trusted you. Sleep in peace. Alexei.

3 January 1917 - 16 January 1917 - Mama gave the letter to Sister Akulina, who had loved Father Grigory and who was bathing and dressing his body. I'd read Mama's words: "Give me thy blessing, that it may follow me always on this sad and dreary path I have yet to traverse here below. And remember us from on high in your holy prayers!" Sister Akulina was given the direction to place the letter in his coffin unopened. Mama really believes that her life is a sad and dreary path. I only feel this way during my bad times. Most of the time I rejoice in my life as does my sister Anastasia.

I was not allowed to see Father Grigory nor was his daughter or others that he loved after the autopsy was performed. It is just as well; I already have trouble sleeping and his appearance in life was disturbing; what must he look like in death? Mama had forbidden anyone besides the attendant and Sister Akulina to see the martyr; perhaps this was selfish of Mama. Didn't his daughter have a right to see her Papa one last time in order to say her goodbyes? But then again, perhaps it was kinder this way. After all, his spirit was no longer in his earthly shell, but had gone elsewhere.

My family drove out to the burial sight in Papa's Rolls Royce and a simple graveside service was performed for my staretz whose coffin had already been placed in the ground. Our confessor and a monk performed the requiem mass. Everything was done simply, in the manner Father Grigory would have preferred and then the dirt was thrown over the coffin. The service was done secretly because we feared that his body would be stolen and desecrated. Our secret service watched the proceedings distantly so that we would not be harmed. I looked around and noticed them hiding in the trees. I uttered a prayer of protection. Who for? Father Grigory no longer had need of it. What had happened to his manhood? Would his murderer be displaying it in Moscow or Petrograd? How vile. Of course, this was something I could not ask Mama, but I would ask my father before he returned to Mogiliev. Why would anyone want to display such a trophy unless they themselves were devils?

I felt that Father Grigory's death was the beginning of the end for my family. The frost which rimed the coffin settled over my heart and I could not be comforted. There was no peace in my soul or in my mother's for we both knew that family members had been implicated in the death of this holy man and that now a curse had descended on Russia as well as the Romanov family. Father Grigory had written this in one of his letters and I knew he was a prophet.

10 January 1917, - 23 January 1917 - As my grief continued, jubilation filled the land. Newspapers headlined: The Nameless One is Dead! Clapping and cheering reverberated throughout Russia. Bonfires lit the skies and round these, Russians danced celebrating the death of a political enemy. Papa said that thugs had killed the staretz, but didn't arrest or prosecute Felix and the police commissioner who had helped him take my healer down. My cousin Dmitry had participated in the murder. Papa banned the assassins from Petrograd, but that was all. The perpetrators should have been banned from Russia at the very least. What type of a penalty was being sent to the Crimea? I longed to see the Crimea and our beautiful palace again; yet Grigory's assassins were exiled here, a fools paradise. Was Papa wise making this decision? His prime concern appeared to be mending the division in our family and restoring peace throughout Russia. Knowledge of this was not comforting. Would the assassins be dining with my Grandma in her mansion? How would Peter the Great have handled the situation?

20 January 1917 - 4 January 1917 - Strikes continue and demonstrators march commemorating Bloody Sunday, an event where soldiers had fired into crowd of demonstrators in an effort to restore peace. The masses blamed Papa for their deaths, but Papa hadn't even been in the capital, he'd been at Mogiliev and he hadn't given the order for the massacre. The patrols had overstepped their boundaries and should have fired over their heads. Papa had been horrified that so many had been killed in cold blood, but he'd been even more alarmed to know that he'd been blamed for their deaths.

M. Gilliard and M. Petrov had me write an essay on peaceful ways to end public demonstrations. I came up with several suggestions which I may use in the future if I'm ever confronted with demonstrations when I am czar. I proposed to use fog horns, water balloons, and tear gas as well as shooting above their heads. I also thought that throwing rotten eggs would break up a crowd. Who would want to linger after one was thrown? Anastasia thought it was a clever idea and offered her worm collection. Would demonstrators flee if people knew that having worms in one's gut was a life long affliction? But how would I get people to eat them? Anastasia said: "If people were hungry enough they'd eat anything." I had to laugh; she's still the imp.

It is rumored that the majority of people are living on thin soup and moldy crusts. If this is true, how do they have the energy to demonstrate? I suppose where there's a will, there's a way as the old cliché goes. I don't have much energy myself after living on Mama's rations. On meatless days, I'm positively weak, but then again, I do suffer from hemophilia and most Russians do not.

14 February 1917 - 27 February 1917 - I gave Mama a valentine that I made of shiny red paper with cutout windows which when opened mentioned why I loved her.

Love is a scarce commodity here in Russia amidst the classes. Riots are happening daily. There are women marchers as well as men marchers. Change is in the air; the crowds grow bolder still. Mama says that women's issues will have to wait; Russia can only one war at a time. My sisters longed to join in. I believe that women are the equals of men. My Great Grandmother ruled one of the greatest and largest dominions in the world, the British Empire with aplomb. Catherine the Great made her mark here in my country. Of all my sisters, Tatiana, who we siblings call "Governor", whod make a great leader. Olga, is a little too emotional as well as mulish. Anastasia, would be disastrous since she is so unorganized and flighty darting about one thing after another. She'd have all the ministers laughing. For now, Russia still has only male sovereigns. I'm second in line followed closely by my Uncle Michael if my health fails.

Several soldiers have fired on their officers and regiments are refusing to fire into crowds.

I read in the newspaper that crowds singing the Marseilles marched through Moscow and Petrograd. Something must be done. If Papa gives out bread while music plays his theme song will that save the Romanov Dynasty? Would it have saved the French aristocracy? Is Papa's throne hanging by a thread as Grandmama insists in the comfort of her mansion in the Crimea? I'm going to donate my allowance to pay for bread for hungry children this month.

9 March 1917 - 22 March 1917 - Two hundred thousand workers are on strike and it seems that everyone in Petrograd is demonstrating. Police are backing down and the soldiers and police have been ordered not to fire on them, at least until evening, as long as they are being orderly. Papa does not want a repeat of bloody Sunday. It seems to Mama and I that the demonstrators are getting bolder. I cringed when Annya said that an orator yelled that Russia's corrupt leaders must be swept away and it now was in their power to sweep them away. Mama reported this to Papa who advised General Khabalov to post signs warning demonstrators that they would be fired upon if the demonstrations persisted. Papa said that then he wouldn't be blamed when the crowds were dispersed by gun fire. I am glad to be safe in my cocoon in the Alexander Palace.

11 March 1917 - 24 March 1917 - The secret police have been out since dawn and have arrested the demonstrators, but they are replaced by more zealous protestors. Mama is much disturbed by the loud demonstrators and writes to her loved ones abroad not to believe everyone hears about what is happening in Russia. Could she be wrong? It appears to me and Grandmama that anarchy surrounds us, but Mama insists that our loyal guards and soldiers will protect us in our palace and that the humble peasants remain true and loyal to the Romanovs. Does Mama only believe what she wants to believe? I'm neither blind nor deaf and I'm much disturbed about what's going on around me. My tutors are both alarmed. Nagorny and Demerov are positively rude to me and no longer follow my commands. My tutors insist that history is repeating itself here in Russia. Conditions are exactly the same as before the French revolution when the French throne collapsed. Both tell me to keep my bags packed.

Nevertheless sober Mama maintains that as long as Papa is surrounded by his loyal troops and regiments in Mogiliev that his throne is safe. The Preobrezhenzky regiment fired down near Kazan Cathedral and left many dead in the square, but the crowd persisted.

12 March 1917 - 25 March 1917 - Workers and soldiers have captured the Military Armory and have ransacked it completely. M. Gilliard said guardedly: "Now ordinary citizens are armed. This happened during the French revolution; then the women marched on the Bastille as well as the palaces.

"What happened to the royal children Monsieur Gilliard?" I asked.

Without regard for my feelings he said: "The dauphin was corrupted. He was taught to say vile things about his mother and father by his crude captors in front of his sister Madame Royale." I flinched not expecting this answer. Would I be brain washed and required to perform like a monkey for the revolutionaries? I already knew that Marie Antoinette and King Louis had been beheaded by a guillotine. Many of the dead queen's jewels had been purchased by Russian diplomats at fire sale prices and were now part of our vast royal collection.

Will they be marching here to the Alexander Palace? The revolutionists marched into the Central Office of the secret police and confiscated files before burning the law courts and its records. Finally the mob breached the Fortress of Peter and Paul, our last secure prison. I know that a revolution is in process even if Mama and Papa call it by another name. As a child, I'd order my playmate soldiers to take the fortress knowing that whoever did, won the game. Clearly, Papa has lost the battle. Should I tell Mama and telephone Grandmama? Grandmama was not at home having already journeyed to meet with Papa.

Not knowing what to do, I retreat to my bedroom and surround myself with all of my stuffed animals putting my large bear in charge after dressing him in a Cossack uniform; there is no use defending our palace with my toy cannons since war is not a game and I am only thirteen.

I wait for the evening newspapers and then anxiously read whether the guards are defending the Winter Palace in Petrograd. With alarm, I read that Papa's wine supplies are now being swallowed by the soldiers. What traitors! If I were Czar, I'd behead them all or hang them from the highest bridge in the land like Elizabeth I did or hang them and then draw and quarter them like Henry VIII, her father, but alas I am only a czarovitch and a cripple at that.

By morning a telegram arrives stating that the revolutionaries have taken his throne. Duma leader, Rodzianko, sent a telegram to Papa telling him that the situation was grave and Mama received a copy.

Papa didn't respond and thought at first that Rodzianko must be exaggerating and ordered the Duma dissolved as he'd done before. Once more, Papa was the only one in authority in far away in Mogiliev. But had he any power?

13 March 1917 - 26 March 1917 - Sophie Buxhoeveden received a telegram and awakens Mama who is still sleeping telling her that the troops have mutinied. I would have shot the bearer of bad news and aim my bb gun at Sophie's heart. Mama listens calmly to her hysterics and tells her: "If the troops have mutinied; it's all up." Then calmly proceeds to dress. Looking at me with alarm the countess gives me a wicked look, so I put down my gun.

I'm running a temperature and am covered with red patches and so are my sisters, except for Marie. Mama sends for the acting commander of the Palace Guard. The numbskull assures Mama that the garrison at Tsar Koe Selo is still in charge and will remain loyal if called upon to defend the palace if the revolutionaries charge the palace.

By nightfall, the electricity was shut off and I was so sick that I could barely lift my head off my pillow. My temperature was one hundred and four degrees. Tatiana had abscesses in her ears and couldn't hear. Last word from Papa was that he was on his way home. I longed to telegraph him to remain where he was surrounded by his troops, but I also selfishly longed for him to be home with me. At that moment, I didn't realize that Papa was signing away his rights and then my rights to the throne. He gave them to Uncle Michael who then refused them. No Romanov would be able to save the throne. By then, I was out of my mind due to fever or perhaps I might have felt a disconnection.

Mama and Marie were running around frantically like chickens with their heads cut off from bed to bed trying to nurse four ill patients while worrying whether the palace guards would desert or not. The two of them might be the only ones left defending the palace before morning came. Jim, our faux Ethiopian and our other black sentinel had long since tired of the war and returned to America. They weren't Russians, but I'd been dismayed when they left.

Our water had been shut off and the only remaining phone line was connected to the Winter Palace in Petrograd. It became Mama's lifeline. Mama ordered the few remaining house servants to collect the large ice blocks which still floated on the lake and brought them on troikas to the palace for drinking water. As in times past, Mama's strengths always surfaced when the situation was bleak. I was amazed at her ingenuity.

Donning her nursing uniform with its red cross, she put it on over her black silk dress, then she pulled out her blue sapphire cross on its platinum chain, so that it would show front and center and was now armed with two holy crosses. Rolling up her sleeves, she resolutely determined that all of us would float instead of sink as if we were on our yaught.

Countess Buxhoeveden and Auntie Annya followed her example and rallied trying to decide had they or had they not already had the measles? Neither of them could remember having had them, but both hoped for the best since they'd certainly been exposed.

Olga was the sickest with pericarditis and ear abscesses like Tatiana had; both my sisters were now stone deaf. Mama prayed that we'd all survive and made the sign of the cross above each of our heads. Bringing Father Grigory's relics near us, she placed them around her sick ones supplementing them with other cherished icons.

Mama's nursing skills were quickly resurfacing as she diagnosed the afflicted ones as their temperatures continued to rise. Anastasia was stuck in the bottom of my bed with a hot water bottle so that she'd only have to go back and forth between two rooms. Calmly, she told Anastasia and I that we had "German" measles and that they could be fatal, but prayed that they would not be.

"You have the best nurse in the entire world seeing to your needs." Both of us lamely smiled when she said this.Then she went into the big pairs' room and wrote out messages to them informing them of the dire situation and their condition. Cries and moaning echoed from my sisters' bedroom at the news and reverberated down the empty palace halls.

Anastasia promptly turned over, groaned and said: "I'm too young to die. I've never been kissed." That comment made me laugh, but laughing made my stomach hurt. I appreciated her company. At least I would not die alone.

What else could go wrong I wondered? When lightening struck, it hit with power; surely nothing worse had ever happened before to our family. But things did get worse, by mid afternoon, Auntie Annya had come down with the illness and had to be put to bed.

Petrograd had fallen, a revolution was taking place, five of us were deathly ill, we'd recently lost my staretz, we'd lost contact with Papa, who was in the process of abdicating for himself and for me, and we had little food in the palace because fleeing servants had ransacked the place. Servants were absconding with whatever wasn't tacked down as their pay. Clearly we'd been buried by a carload of manure, but our invincible Mama was shoveling us out as rapidly as she could.

Mama ordered Shura to pack our trunks in case it was necessary to flee the palace. Elderly Count Buxhoevedon thought that we needed to leave and that our lives were in danger. What was Mama to do? How could she possibly flee with five sick ones? She couldn't. The move would kill us so she turned it over to the Lord. The decision was out of her hands and we stayed put in our beds. By evening, Mama had things well under control and had thought of a plan. She and my beautiful sister Marie chaperoned by old Count Buxhoeveden would entreat the remaining guards to remain loyal to me, the czarovitch, and defend our palace against the revolutionaries.

Word had come that the soldiers stationed at Tzar Koe Selo garrison had mutinied and were joining those from Petrograd and were going to march on the Alexander Palace and seize Mama, who was their primary target.

Mama and Marie recoiffed their hair, freshened their faces, put on warm coats over their nurses uniforms and went out and cajoled the troops to remain loyal to us while serving them coffee, tea, and hot soup. Speaking positively in the frozen night air, she assured them how much we valued them and that the future of Russia, namely me, was depending on them.

Marie implored them with her saucer sized eyes looking totally defenseless standing alongside Mama and the old count who had already been proven in battle who vowed to defend them to death. The three of them worked their magic casting a spell on the remaining guards.

By the time Mama finished her speech, all the czars' men: three battalions of guardsmen, two patrols of Cossacks dressed in red, one company of railway soldiers and one set of field soldiers pointed their guns and artillery towards the palace gates waiting for mutineers. One soldier climbed the roof ready to gun down with his machine gun, whatever or whomever, dared enter the palace gates. And Mama always thought that she was an ineffective speaker.

I could hear gunfire going off all around the palace. Marie came in and told us that now the guards were all willing to lay down their lives for me, their czarovitch. How proud I was to be Russian. Little did I know how short would be my reign.

That night, Sophie Buxhoeveden and Lili Dehn, camped outside Mama's boudoir ready to defend her if necessary with their lives from the "hooligans" who were running wild throughout our land. Mama had few friends, but the ones she had -remained loyal through thick and thin. I loved and admired them for their steadfastness. Didn't they know that Madame Lamballe, Marie's Antoinette's best friend's head had been severed and put on a pike the night French madames stormed their palace? I tried to put the thought from my mind and prayed for our preservation.

That night I vowed that when I was crowned czar, I would give them medals of Honor for their bravery. Papa had been correct when he'd given Mama her order of St. Michael during the first year of their reign. She was the most courageous woman I have ever known. In my humble opinion, she far surpassed St. Joan d'Arc and by midnight I knew that she'd earned her sainthood.

As steadfast as any of my tin soldiers, these brave women including Marie, defended me. Women were not as weak as Grandmama always insisted they were. These friends of Mama along with my sisters joined my mother as amazing Amazons.

Two of Papa's devoted aides had made it from Petrograd and now joined the women in defending my mother and I. The Winter Palace with its green stone floors and vast treasures had been taken. Mobs were carting off heirlooms which had been in our family for three hundred years.

At the bottom of my bed, I felt Anastasia's comforting form next to mine as I prayed and asked Father Grigory to help me and Mama as I held onto his bloody shirt. As I prayed, my fever broke. I knew that I would live and was able to sleep. Father Grigory had answered my prayer and healed me, wherever he was.

14 March 1917 - 27 March 1917 - The next morning, the sun peered through my bedroom window awakening me. Where was I? Then I recognized my bedroom when I saw my bear General dressed in his long red Cossack coat and black hat with his drawn sword. I was still alive in the Alexander Palace being roughly kicked by my sister Anastasia who was fidgeting at the bottom of my bed. I'd survived that dreadful night and a new day dawned. I'd aged considerably through the past week, but why did I feel as old as Methuselah or Father Adam, the Ancient of Days? Was this a complication of measles? My muscles were stiff and my knee even stiffer.

Anastasia fought for her share of the covers and Lili Dehn arrived with our breakfast of porridge and maple syrup. I was so hungry that I wolfed it down. When my stomach pains were satiated I asked Lili: "Where's Mama?"

"Poor Marie succumbed to the illness and was placed alongside Auntie Annya in Anastasia's bed. Your Mama and Dr. Botkin are tending her. Usually the last to come down with the illness is hardest hit and your Mama fears for her life.

"We all need to pray for her survival, Alexei." From Lili's reports I learned that angelic Marie's temperature soared higher than mine had and she was now senseless. My pitiable mother gritted her teeth and rose to the challenge of ministering to another sick daughter.

Mama was the one who needed the help of ministering angels and I prayed for their comforting presence in order to help her through this unending ordeal. Her faith was undaunted and she was strengthened. I realize then that my fragile Mama's nerves and backbone had been replaced with platinum.

As the day wore on, she served us chicken broth, more porridge and toast, aided by Countess Buxhoeveden and Lilli Dehn both whom apparently were immune to the German measles. The earthly angels huffed and puffed pushing each other up the stairs to the second floor because our elevator no longer worked. Faithful old Count Beckendorff, who helped Mama run the house hold knew that she needed another man around and sent for Uncle Paul who was obliged to come to our aid.

Papa was expected to return at any moment, but Mama had lost contact with him which only added to her anxiety. Marie had come down with double pneumonia and Dr. Botkin told Mama to prepare for her death. Of all my sisters, I knew that saintly Marie, was most ready to meet her maker, but I did not want her to die so I prayed for her recovery. Mama began to chain smoke cigarettes just like Papa and her face looked haggard. Would her hair turn white from the ordeal as Auntie Ella's had done when her husband Sergei had been blown up in Moscow? What else was going to go wrong? I shuddered to think, but praised the Lord that I was now on the mend.

Mama stewed about the fallen capital and the palace, but knew that Petrograd was now in God's hands. What will be, will be and soon she was reconciled to the fact of the loss. I pleaded with her to send additional soldiers to force out those who had mutinied, but found that I was grasping at straws since we had few remaining loyal regiments to spare. Couldn't Cousin Kyrill's regiment be ordered to go to Petrograd on a rat hunt?

16 March 1917 - 29 March 1917 - Leaflets were brought from Petrograd announcing that Papa Czar had abdicated. Could they possibly be true or was this propaganda to weaken the moral of our remaining forces? How could Papa have given up so easily fumed my Mama taking away my breakfast tray? I read one of the grimy papers and my life events sped through my mind's eye like Father Grigory's had during the time he'd almost drowned in the river as a young teenager. I felt my head going under water and a black gripping malaise had my head in a vice forcing my life out of me. I struggled to continue breathing.

How could Papa have done such a treacherous thing? Didn't he know that I was going to be healed in less than four years? Where was his faith? Father Grigory had prophesied as much. But then I remembered my staretz's letter about the curse on the nobility if he was murdered by the hand of a Romanov and felt that someone had just walked over my grave. I knew then that I too was cursed as were all the Romanovs. All of us were doomed.

Rising from my bed, I limped around the floor throwing my covers wildly on the floor, I was so angry; the force of Papa's treachery hit me as if I'd been kicked in the head by Papa's white stallion. Grandmama had not been my enemy; my worst enemy was my own weak Papa! How I hated his pathetic puniness, Strapping Grandfather Czar Alexander had been right about his first born; he was a weakling. Why couldn't he be more like Mama? She would have fought to the finish for me and the Romanov throne. Had Grandmama persuaded him to relinquish the throne to my Uncle Michael because of my hemophilia? How I hated this blasted disease. Wasn't I really cursed from birth? Had some wicked witch from Transylvania put an evil spell on me?

Hobbling down the stairs I sought out Count Beckendorff to validate the news of the abdication; one look at him told me that it was all true. I'd never seen the old soldier cry before, but he was crying now. Not only had Papa abdicated the throne for himself, he'd abdicated for me! The information hit me like a bullet to my heart; how I wished I was dead. No, the depiction of what I felt at the time is to meager - a cannonball had just knocked me flat.

Uncle Michael was now the czar. Papa had abdicated, eager to save Russia at Grandmama's suggestion hoping the fighting would cease with a firmer hand at the helm. Perhaps strong Michael could end the war and cause the people to rally around him as they had the first Russian czar. My beloved Papa had yielded to Grandmama's plan for the dynasty and I was the sacrificial lamb! What treachery! Not only had Papa abdicated for himself, he had abdicated for me! Without even asking me!

Totally decimated, I spent the rest of the morning envisioning hanging Papa and then drawing and quartering him leaving what was left of him for the vultures on the bridge below where they'd found my Rasputin. Surely, I was l'infant terrible my parents had joked about and I would become another Vlad the Impaler, if I lived long enough. What was to become of me now? I could not control the hate I was feeling in my heart.

Papa had always wanted to be a gentleman farmer and now he could be one if I let him live, but I'd always been raised to become the nineteenth Czar Alexei the Great. Papa had never wanted to be the czar and I now realized he'd been a poor, weak one at best. How I loathed his meekness and hated my infirmity.

Defeated, I returned to my room tripping up the stairs I was forced to face reality as a large bruise appeared beneath my skin. I was bleeding again. Why not just throw myself down the stair and end it all? Because of Felix Yousopouv and other treacherous family members, I was now as cursed as Papa and all Romanovs who had no future, even if I lived to the age of seventeen.

Laying back down on my bed, I cried into my pillow for my heart was breaking even though men are not supposed to cry. Tactfully, Anastasia removed herself from my bed as well as my bedroom. Did she realize that I was a czarovitch without a kingdom and she a Grand Duchess without a future? Our beautiful kingdom of Atlantis was lost.

17 March 1917 - 30 March 1917 - Mama said that it was for the best speaking in French for the old Count's sake when she called all of the remaining palace staff together to inform them about the abdication. I excused her for her lapse in not speaking in my beloved Russian tongue. Although she tried her best, she was never able to speak Russian like a native having learned the language as an adult rather than as a child like my sisters and I. She spoke it well although occasionally she still butchered the verbs and spoke with a strong German accent which always amused my Papa. Mama had accomplished more for Russia than Papa had with her loftier goals and her knitting and embroidery needle. Having risked her life seven or perhaps eight times going into the valley of death trying to give birth to an heir for Russia, yet she'd been repeatedly been misjudged by the Russian aristocracy as well as the peasants.

What had Papa done but fail miserably when he'd been given the ripe plum of the throne and all it meant? As I listened to Mama not really caring if my bleeding ceased or not, I continued to curse and hex my Papa as if I were a Jew assigned to another far off village. Anastasia left me alone for a few hours while I vented my anger by cutting up the German military uniform and the wooden duck decoy Kaiser Wilhelm had sent me at the beginning of the war. By late afternoon, most of my rage had dissipated. Anastasia hugged me and told me how sorry she was for me and for all of Russia.

"Alexei, I know that given the chance, you would have been a great czar." Those words were the balm of Gilead which I needed on my wounds in order to go forward.

"I don't really care whether or not I'm a spinster or a Grand Duchess or not because of my large nose and shortness, some defects, shouldn't be passed on, but I have always looked forward to your being the Czar of all Russia. Perhaps you'll rise again from the ashes like a phoenix. One must believe, Alexei." I hugged my sister to me. In a few words she had renewed my hope and will to live. Dared I believe?

"Anastasia, your nose is not as big as I have suggested in the past. I was a bully to say such cruel things. Had I, the czarovitch, actually apologized to a female? Truly, nothing is a constant as change.

18 March 1917 - 31 March 1917 - Mama skulked around the palace like a lost soul smoking her chain of cigarettes. She had lost her identity since she was no longer the Czarina of all Russia. Nor were her daughters Grand Ducheses, nor could she longer dream that I would be the czar. All her bubbles had burst.

My Uncle Michael, the sniveling rat, the coward, abdicated from the throne as well stating that the people no longer wanted a monarchy ruled by a Romanov. Obviously, he was trying to save his own neck.

Mama was truly livid when she heard this news saying sarcastically: "So much for Grandmama's grand plan. She too has been stabbed in the back with her own knife. Which of our foreign relatives is going to want to take her under their wing when she flees for her life?

Count B. went out to chop firewood so that we might have some warmth and a fire to cook over in our fireplaces. I begged him to let me go with him, but he prevented me from chopping wood and would only let me sit on a log and watch him since my bruise had swollen to the size of a grapefruit. However, I was pleased to note that my blood slowed of its own accord and soon my swelling would go down as the blood was reabsorbed.

Alexander Guchkov, the new minister of war and General Kornilov, arrived with their contingency, which represented the provincial government. Papa still had not arrived, but we've heard from him and he's still alive. Would the new government kill Bloody Nicholas? I still wasn't voer his treachery, but having sisters, I was alarmed for their sakes if not my own, that he might be murdered.

Throughout the day, I heard various leaders bullying our remaining servants telling them that they were all traitors to bloodsuckers. Is that what they thought my family were? Were we nothing but bloodsucking leeches who fed off the populace? I'd never heard of us being represented this way before having been kept in a cocoon in my numerous palaces. This was a new first for me.

Mama sent for Uncle Paul to come and meet the new authorities with her. He came over immediately. Mama was afraid that the men intended to imprison her causing us all to be separated. What she should do? Stalling for a time, she rolled bandages as she tried to think of a plan. I laid by her on the flowered mauve divan and she refused to let me out of her sight. Telling the men that she was now merely a woman concerned about her sick children, they would have to be patient with her.

At midnight, with my Uncle Paul by her side, she met with Guchkov and the General. They were polite to her and asked Mama if she had everything she required. As usual, Mama put the needs of others before her needs and ours. She requested that her hospitals continue to be supplied although I longed to have a fresh egg and a nice steak rather than the gruel we were eating three times a day.

Our new guards acted more like jailers than protectors and we soon realized that is exactly what they were. Crude and coarse, they yelled obscenities at my sisters. I would reply to them in Russian that true gentleman didn't speak so offensively. By their language, they were revealing themselves as the scoundrels they were.

Marveling at Mama's cleverness, I was impressed at her ability to change like a chameleon when circumstances warranted it. Dressed in her plain nurse's dress instead of one of her elaborate silk gowns, she'd removed her blue sapphire cross and replaced it with a plain wood one. Almost overnight, she had become a plain citizen instead of a czarina, one who was a concerned mother, a fellow Russian, like he was.

Count B. was impressed with the calm dignity that Mama displayed now. Nevertheless the ruthless General informed us that Papa had been arrested when he'd returned to Mogiliev, but arrangements were being made for him to join us at the Alexander Palace.

Mama pleaded that some of the servants be allowed to remain to help her nurse her sick children who were still to sick to be moved. She continued to stall for time sot that her children were well enough to be moved. She told the authorities that she'd had to shave off their hair because it was beginning to fall out and showed him pieces of their shorn braids trying to earn his sympathy for her as well as her patients. What a diplomat my Mama would have made! Was this the real reason my comely sisters heads had been shaved? Or was it to protect their virtue? They were no longer the sirens Auntie Olga had painted in her oil painting which I had coveted. My sisters looked like four bald Russian eaglets. In front of the General, my sisters no longer appeared as spoiled cosseted Grand Duchesses in white picture hats wearing beautiful clothing, but bald headed invalids in dirty nightgowns. The pity factor was presented during that meeting, but without much effect because of the hardness of our enemies' hearts.

Mama continued to plead for her hospitals to be supplied and for compassion to be used for the wounded soldiers hospitalized in the Catherine Palace showing that she had a heart and that she was not the selfish unfeeling empress she was purported to be in the newspapers.

General Kornilov squirmed when he told Mama that any remaining servants would be arrested. All who wanted to avoid arrest must leave today. Then he left. Now we would see how much our servants loved us. Nagorny and Demerov were some of the first to leave. I had no idea they despised me so much since they'd carried me around from my infancy. This duplicity was hard for me to stomach. I was not loved by all as I thought.

M. Gilliard, Count Buxhoeveden and his wife, Count B. as well as Mademoiselle Schneider, Anastasia Henrikov, and our two doctors remained. All others left as fast as their short legs could carry them without a word or kiss of farewell. We had the German measles, not the Bubonic plague.

The real gold was separated from the dross that day mentioned my Mama as she kissed me that night with tear filled eyes sick with worry over what would become of us.

At least Minister Miliukow had sent a message to the English minister Lloyd George asking his country for asylum. King George was Papa's look a like first cousin, who no doubt would quickly grant us asylum in England or one of the other countries in his vast empire. Perhaps I would grow up to become a country squire like many of my English cousins. Wasn't blood thicker than water? On tenter's hooks we waited for King George's reply.

As she tucked me into bed, Mama told me that I must forgive my Papa and musn't judge him so harshly. Admonishing me she said: "The Savior of the world had forgiven everyone and I must follow His example and do the same." She forgave Papa and so must I. However, I would hear him out and confront him before I forgave him. Perhaps, I would be able to understand his circumstances and exactly what had happened after he arrived home and faced him face to face.

Mama was a true saint and I wasn't, at least not yet, but I was beginning to lose some of my rough edges because of my suffering and all that I had now lost. Maybe I was a diamond in the rough, but I was quickly becoming cut and my beautiful facets were beginning to be explored. How much weight would be lost as I was cut, polished, and perfected I wondered?

All of us assumed that we Romanovs and our devotees would be leaving for England on our yaughts. Grandmama was packing her trunks in the Crimea as were the Yousoppovs and other Russian aristocrats. Auntie Ella would be staying in her cloister caring for the poor.

22 March 1917 - 4 April 1917 - C. Beckendorff advised Mama to begin packing our trunks. Practically, she packed our sheets first and her lace collection which was priceless and had my sisters begin sewing precious jewels into their brassieres, corsets and under garments. If we had to leave our homeland, we were not leaving empty handed. She intended to pack as many of her valuable possessions as she could. While she packed I laid on her divan and couldn't help but notice Queen Marie Antoinette's Portrait which hung on the wall above her. The words of the old crone we'd seen that afternoon entered my mind: "There goes the martyr Empress Alexandra. Then as now, I said nothing not wanting to disturb my Mama.

23 March 1917 - 27 March 1917 - I was watching Mama burn all of her papers: all her diaries, her letters from her sisters and brother, old ones from her father, and even her love letters from my father. Her private life was to remain her private life regardless of its historical significance. Nothing incriminating was to remain and as she threw these cherished items in the fire in her boudoir. I watched as sentimental lines of words went up in smoke.

"Alexei, I do not want my writings scrutinized by thousands of unseen strangers delving into affairs which are intensely personal. A few of my letters have already been misinterpreted and sensationalized in the newspapers." Auntie Annya was doing the same in her rooms in the palace.

In this matter I disagreed with my Mama. I wanted others to know about me and recognize that I was a flesh and blood youth who lived, breathed and loved. I wanted to live in my writings if I couldn't live in their hearts forever.

As the smoke filled the room, I heard the crunch of gravel out front in the drive and knew that Papa was finally home. Peering out the window, I watched transfixed while he opened his own car door and then closed it himself. That, more than anything else made me realize that he was no longer the czar; he was simply Nicholas Romanov. His gold epauletter had been removed from his uniform along with all of his other medals. Would he be required to carry his own suitcases? I watched carefully as my father removed them from the trunk of the Rolls Royce and carry them into the house.

"Hell's bells!" I was glad that Mama had not witnessed this humiliation: How far the great had fallen. The man who had been worshipped by millions was carrying his own luggage and opening his own doors.

As he entered the room, my bald headed sisters and I all rushed to him and hugged him. Briefly, he hugged us back, but then he was in my Mama's arms and we children knew that no one else was in the room but her and politely we exited leaving them alone together. I shut the door as I heard Papa stammer: "Forgive me, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Mama held him tightly to her shushing and comforting as if he were her child while Papa sobbed.

He was a broken man. Any resentment that I'd felt for him melted and I was ashamed at the harsh feelings that I'd felt. Would Papa ever recover? It was as if he'd shattered into a thousand pieces. Could anyone glue them back to resemble the man I knew as my Papa? If anyone could, it would be Mama, but I did not envy her the heartrending task.

Hobbling to my bedroom I sat on my window seat with Joy in my arms so that I could absorb all that was happening without cataclysmic consequences. Joy licked my face and I breathed in her comforting doggy smell patting her soft calming fur and felt her reassuring tongue. Hearing my Papa breakdown had shocked my system as well as my sense of security that I'd always felt in the presence of my parents. I was beyond tears now. I'd cried so many in the past month that I was as dry as the Sahara Desert. I was regaining my strength from my attack of measles but was still quite weak. I hadn't lost any of my curiosity or my resilient joie d'vivre, thanks be to God for that.

Writing in my diary, I am recording recent events noting that history was being made which was one of the reasons Papa had given me my diary. I was being obedient to Papa. Would he feel differently about record keeping now that he was no longer czar? What would he write about his own downfall? Would he want these thoughts spread abroad for everyone to peruse? Old habits died hard; would he continue his diaries? I will finish this diary and then deposit it in a safe place like a spider burying her egg sac at the end of summer before we are forced to leave.

I'd decided to put it in the cellar under one of the oldest wine bottles; perhaps years later when this revolution is over and our way of life has disappeared, some servant or new inhabitant of our palace will find and publish my diary. Then I might rise like a phoenix after all.

Rising from my desk, I went into my dark room closet to review the photographs that I was developing of my bald headed sisters. The pictures had all turned out remarkably well and had I the heart for it, I knew that the older pair would pay a heavy ransom for them, but I no longer had the self-possession to be so cruel. My sisters had never looked uglier. Would bald Romanov eaglets ever find husbands?

Olga's head was the largest now that her dark blonde locks had been shorn and it appeared oddly misshapen, but even Marie's head was immense and her once beautiful eyes looked out from the photos like round metal storm drain covers on a street in Petrograd. Tatiana peered back at me with every ounce of her dignity missing in action .Baldness would have done that to any beguiling princess of storybook fame. Now she peculiarly reminded me of Count Beckendorff, but of course I would never tell her of the similarity. She'd never forgive me for that.

Only the imp, Anastasia, was left with a shred of self respect, because of the huge grin on her face. True to form, nothing ever fazed my sister Anastasia, not even baldness. All of my sisters were clearly out of the marriage market for the time being. Prince Carol would not pine for his lost love as he now pined for his besieged country if he could see Olga now. Auntie Annya had been right. It was a blessing that Olga was still here with us rather than trying to survive as a refugee in a foreign land. Who would want to marry my bald headed sisters? I read of a French King who selfishly kept all of his daughters as virgins at home. However, one somehow still managed to sow her wild oats.

What would my fastidious English cousin David think of Olga now if he had spurned her crowned with her own hair at the height of her beauty? Papa was still a rich man, but I doubted that even large dowries would find them husbands. Then it occurred to me - perhaps this was the real reason for their shorn locks. Mama had no intention of parting with any of them after all her sacrifices she'd made for the motherland. Had she realized she needed her daughters around her after all?

Perhaps there really was a method in my mother's madness. Hadn't my Mama and my Papa given their all for their country? Was this another of my intelligent mother's defense mechanisms? If it was, it was certainly working. Even I, their loving brother, found them unattractive. Thank heavens Papa was home; I'd ask his opinion on the subject. I went down to the kitchen to forage for a piece of black bread and a carrot or two since I'm always hungry.

24 March 1917 - 6 April 1917 - Our routine life as a family was soon established. Papa and Mama had breakfast with us as well as lunch, tea, and dinner. Papa received permission to chop wood to restore the palace wood supply. I followed him out and talked with him while he chopped. Papa thought that chopping wood was an art and showed me his technique, but he wouldn't let me chop any wood, because it was too dangerous for me. Knowing me as he does, I'd probably miss and chop off one of my feet and bleed to death. Soon his paleness was replaced with bright pink cheeks as the fresh air and sun performed magic on his skin as the wood supply grew as large as a mountain.

Papa disclosed that he had abdicated for me after he learned that the new government would not allow the two of us to remain together. I would have been taken to Moscow to live until I reached my majority indoctrinated by the state and he would be exiled. Would I have preferred this?

Much chagrined, I admitted that I would not have wanted this to happen. I would never have managed without my loved ones near particularly Mama since I was such a wimp. Papa had made the right decision, even if it had cost me my throne. Even though I am tall at thirteen, I still need to nestle under Mama's wings at night. How well Papa knew me.

I repented of the harsh feelings that I'd felt in my heart towards Papa. I forgave him so that the Saviour can forgive me. A large weight was removed from Papa's shoulders as well as mine. He'd fretted over how I'd take the loss of my throne and had dragged his feet coming home.

The nosy guards listened to every word that we said and watched every thing we did. Much to my amusement, we were forbidden to speak anything other than Russian. Truly in life, what goes around comes around just like my merry go round. My mother had to laugh at this turn of events since she well remembered how as a child, I'd stubbornly refused to speak anything but Russian. Now it annoyed me that my liberties had been restricted and I longed to speak a little French, English, and even guttural sounding German.

I could not get used to the guards rudeness to my Papa calling him "Colonel" and "Mr. Romanov" while spitting and urinating in his presence, sometimes on his shoes or the bike wheels when he rode one of the bicycles. Papa simply looked away and always turned the other cheek except when they did this in front of my sisters. That always riled him, and he told the blackguards to stop being so vulgar, but there was little he could do about it.

At night, Papa reads to us or we had musical recitals or performed plays written by my sisters and M. Gilliard. Sometimes Papa and Mama went to Auntie Annya's bedroom and visited with her discussing topics that they didn't want to alarm us about and various rumors that they had heard. Often, Mama sat on Papa's lap and they reminisced about the past. We all waited on pins and needles expecting to board the train to Murmansk, to freedom at any moment like General Guchkov had promised; but the weeks turned into months and it appeared that Murmansk was only a pipe dream that dissipated in the air along with the government's other idle promises. Had they already confiscated the yaught and sold it to compensate the people by now on behalf of the new republic? Had Grandmama's yaught been sold?

We were to be permanently jailed in our palace while they debated over what to do with us. No word had come from King George granting us permission to immigrate. An officer was left to act as go between the palace and the new authorities. The new government vacillated back and forth and ministers disappeared and were replaced. Would they replace as many as Papa had during the years he ruled? I tried to keep track, but when the newspapers were cut off, I could not continue to follow what was happening in the government.

Mama was relieved we were still together; she didn't want to go to England anyway, especially without her children. Her fondest wish was that we remain together at all costs. She knew that the cold, wet climate in England would not suit me; at least that is what she said. Or was this sour grapes like in Aesop's old fox tales since the English king had not granted us asylum anywhere in his vast dominion? How that must have hurt Mama's feelings after having been one of Queen Victoria's favorite granddaughters. Wasn't her Aunt Alexandra King George's mother? Bertie had even come to hers and her husband's aid when Czar Alexander died. She thought she and her family were valued in England, but learned otherwise. My Papa was as upset as she was, but learned that beggars cannot be choosers.

25 March 1917 - 7 April 1917 - The guards would not allow any of my sisters' privacy not even using the bathroom. My Mama insisted that she accompany them and held up a blanket whenever they had to pee, because we were not permitted to shut the door. But the vulgar guards continuously made rude remarks and sounds. Tatiana left a note on the toilet saying" "Please leave it as clean as you found it." Naturally this vexed our wardens and Tatiana found the note and the toilet seat defiled with excrement the next time she used it.

I would stare the guards down making eye contact with them with a Rasputin stare and say: "True gentlemen would not behave this way." Sometimes they'd back down, but more often, that would only cause them to come up with more devilish things to do. Not long afterwards, the guards made known to me that Rasputin's body had been dug up and burned. These men were truly fiends of the eternal pit, but I refused to flinch at the news having long ago reconciled myself that nothing could harm my healer any longer since he was in a different realm.

The guards would strip and bathe in the lake in front of my sisters and prudish Mama, intentionally trying to rouse her priggish ways. Mama would become incensed and Auntie Annya and Tatiana and I would have to defuse her and grab her arms in order to hold her back from the guards. She was like a bomb ready to explode at any moment which wouldn't help our situation any. After all, we were nothing but lowly prisoners with few rights, totally dependent on our guards. At least we were still alive.

Our meals were simple now, coffee, tea, and porridge for breakfast, stew or soup with bread for lunch which was the big meal of the day. Afternoon tea was simply a slice or bread with no butter, and then we had a light dinner of pancakes, or a little fish. I dreamed of our lavish dinners of times past with eight courses and was always ravenously hungry. My voice was changing and I was shooting up like a young sapling. My chest had gained three inches and I tried to keep to my habit of swimming in the pool with Papa, rowing, and lifting weights, but the ice floes were still rather dangerous on our lake.

26 March 1917 - 9 April 1917 - We were permitted to continue with our Russian Orthodox services and our confessor was allowed to offer us the Easter service, but things were much simpler than in the past. Our Faberge Easter eggs were now only a memory, the plain enameled white egg with its red cross and pop up surprise of pictures of Mama, my sisters, and Cousin Marie in their nurses' uniforms was the last of its kind. We mourned this beautiful tradition as we adjusted to our plebian way of life. The most costly eggs in Mama's cabinet soon disappeared having been requisitioned by the workers. Mama and my sisters began hiding their jewels and other expensive treasures packing them away so that they wouldn't disappear, too. My sisters sewed them into the seams of their underwear and corsets when the guards were not looking.

We learned that Monsieur Faberge had fled to France when the throne collapsed and when his business had been taken over by the workers. Many aristocrats had fled to Paris. Word about our Romanov relatives was hard to come by. Were Uncle Michael and Aunt Ella still alive? We heard that some of my uncles and cousins had been imprisoned in the fortress of Peter and Paul. Rasputin's prophecy had come to pass when we received word that Uncle Michael had been shot. It was open season on Romanovs. Many had fled Petrograd for their safer Crimea estates or had escaped Russia altogether. I so wished that we could. We were advised that plans were still being made for us without realizing that many doors had been permanently locked against us including England and Denmark since the kings there did not want to upset their constituents. But ignorance was bliss since we were unaware of this.

I told Papa that killing Rasputin had actually saved Felix and Cousin Irina's lives. He'd banished them to the Crimea, or they might have been imprisoned now in their Petrograd mansion, like we were. Had Grandmother Dear gone abroad from the Crimea? We prayed that she had escaped to England and that King George would save her, Aunt Olga, and Aunt Xenia if he wouldn't save us.

My sisters and I made papier mache goose eggs and large Ostrich eggs by covering some of my balloons with newspaper and strips pasted with flour. After they dried we painted them with water color to put in our Easter baskets to present to Mama and Papa. Although not as sumptuous as the eggs created by Monsieur Faberge, they were beautiful because my sisters and I are all artists at heart. I even made a pop-up surprise picture of myself and enclosed the best shots of each of my bald sisters in the eggs for the surprise, just like M. Faberge would have done. Mama and Papa laughed uproariously when they were given the baskets with the elaborate handmade eggs. A tiny parachute and man was included in Papa's egg which he could drop off the balcony and have Joy retrieve for him. Mama and Papa said that it was their best Easter ever; proving that wealth and power weren't everything nor did they have an exclusive hold on happiness.

"Well done, son!" said my proud Papa delighted with my efforts. We Romanovs were proving resourceful and resilient in our poverty.

1 April 1917 - 14 April 1917 - Anastasia played her usual pranks this year, only our targets were the guards. We applied our old trick of the sheer sheet of paper taped under the toilet seat just before a guard was entering the main bathroom and waited in the background for his curses. My how Russians can swear! Brave Anastasia yelled out naughtily: "Does you mother know you swear like that?" The guard came out with his wet pants that he'd tried to clean and looked at us angrily as if he wanted to shoot us just before we yelled: "April Fools! And then he actually laughed.

One of the place guards that repeatedly called my Mama "The Tyrant's Wife" was given a glass of wine with paregoric which stops one's bowels. That should make him speedily more contrite. Perhaps he'll learn to think before he speaks again. He'd emptied the glass before we yelled: "April fools!" That serves him right for being so greedy.

We put a bucket of sawdust above the doorway to my sisters' room and the guards were liberally dowsed with the debris when the nosy buggers opened the door to see what the older pair were up to. We'd warned my sisters and they'd hidden themselves in the room wanting in on the trick also. They were so tired of being oogled when they dressed in the morning and when they undressed at night. They were sick of their corsets, brassieres, garter belts, stocking and chemises being manhandled. Was nothing sacred? I thought Anastasia would die from laughing when the bucket emptied over the fools heads. "April Fools!" we both shouted as the guards inhaled the fragments and wiped their eyes. My sister is almost as brave as Mama and so naughty! What would the guards do to us? Our revenge tasted sweet as the buffoons ran outside.

We left our coffee cups still full on the dining room table knowing that the guards would finish them off, because they usually helped themselves to our meager breakfast, but this time we'd liberally laced the dark brew with salt and left a rotten chicken egg as contents for them to savor.

One odious guard who repeatedly blew harsh smelly cigar smoke in Mama's face was given a package of Papa's cigarettes which had been doctored with gunpowder from one of Papa's bullets. When he lit them during his break he'd be in for a surprise. We left another package of cigarettes on the breakfast table knowing that he'd steal them. These cigarettes had been doctored with gunpowder and bran. Just desserts for the thief, hadn't he broken one of the ten commandments by stealing the cigarettes in the first place? Too bad we wouldn't be around to see him light up. How would he explain his powder marks to his superior officer? The guards had been ordered not to steal anything of ours.

One malevolent guard stuck a saber between the spokes of Papa's bicycle while he was riding it and Papa was thrown over the handlebars almost breaking his neck; he was our next target. Anastasia had left a small jar of candy by the chair he usually sat in while propping his legs up on Mama's ottoman, the brown taffies were really Mama's terrier's poop wrapped in used silver toffee papers. Some of Mama's French perfume in a beautiful spray bottle was left nearby filled with my urine which I'd happily supplied for the prank along with a tall glass of delicious iced tea mixed with agua de Alexei.

My kaleidoscope was nearby which had been primed with black grease on the eye piece as well as the turn mechanism. We hoped he'd sample all of the surprises we'd prepared for him.

To our delight, we were not disappointed; he'd tried them all. The ring around his eyes and his hands indicated that he'd sampled my kaleidoscope which was not easily removed, especially without soap. We'd removed this necessity from the bathrooms. Without a mirror, the dummy didn't realize that he looked like a fool until his comrades laughed at him. We offered to help him clean up and in doing so Anastasia slapped a sign on his back stating: "Kick me please." The other guards laughed until they cried when they realized what the two of us had done. We then yelled: "April Fools!" Then we shouted: "Ivan, we hope there's no hard feelings and walked away. We felt that we'd more than revenged our Papa. When Papa heard about our antics from the presiding officer, he said simply: "Perhaps my young ones are out of control; it appears that not only am I a failure as czar, but as a parent as well. What's a man to do?" He said with a wink. "Perhaps they should be drawn and quartered and hung from the balcony. Will you see to it?" said Papa while laughing and walking away.

15 April 1917 - 28 April 1917 - By mid April most of our mail wasn't being delivered to us with the exception of the evil hate mail being sent to Papa and Mama in order to demoralize us. Even our yogurt was stirred by a guard's dirty finger checking for lumps which might contain messages before it was given to us.

However, a lovely letter from Aunt Xenia slipped through to Mama. My mother did have one valiant guard who had befriended her after he'd observed her a while and found out that he'd misjudged her; perhaps this was why she was allowed the letter. He'd discovered for himself that Mama was not the cold blooded, selfish German Bitch of the newspapers, but instead she was a caring, kindhearted Russian woman who had delivered, nursed, and raised five children, like a common peasant woman and one who had taken the time to learn the difficult Russian language.

The letter was shared by all of us and greatly lifted our spirits relieving our angst about the whereabouts of some of our relatives. Xenia and Xandro were safe in the Crimea with Grandmother and Auntie Olga.

Kerensky, the new minister of the government, came to the palace and questioned Mama. Word had gotten out that she was instigating a counter revolution. By now all of Mama's papers had been burned and there was simply no evidence to confirm this. Mama answered every one of the minister's questions boldly and concisely. A weaker woman than Mama would have faltered under his lengthy interrogation. When it was all over, the minister turned to Papa and said: "Sir, your wife doesn't lie." What was Papa supposed to say to that?

Watching his confusion, I yelled out: "Mama taught me that if I lied my nose would grow and my mouth would be washed out with strong soap. She learned that from my Great Grandmother Queen Victoria and so did Great Uncle Bertie, the former King of England." Papa, and Mama laughed realizing that I had saved both of them from a serious situation which could have had long term repercussions. The minister had been distracted and changed the subject.

Kerensky said that he'd been wrong about my Mama. At heart she was not a conniving German spy, she was a simple devoted mother. However, he took Auntie Annya away for questioning because she'd been caught burning her letters in her bedroom. Papa and I laughed at his poor judgment. Obviously, the man wasn't much of a judge of character because Auntie Annya was the most naive of Russian women politically speaking of course. He'd find that out soon enough when he examined Annya V. carefully. She was nothing more than a lamb dressed as an adult woman parading around in a huge drawstring skirt and a virgin to boot. We all chortled that our adult child masquerading as a woman was suspected of being a German spy. One might as well suspect Saint Nicholas.

1 May 1917 - 14 May 1917 - By now newspapers were being delivered to our palace again and we took turns reading them aloud at night. Of course, we all knew they were biased and were simply spouting whatever the new regime thought was politically correct, but it was nice once more having a link with the outside word. Mama and I enjoyed the caricatures drawn of Kerensky and the General. It was fun to laugh at someone else's expense for a change and I drew a few cartoons with their faces with some comical dialogue underneath.

Scarcely any or our mail was allowed out, but Mama was permitted a letter to slip by to her friend Lilly Dehn. A few of Olga's letters to her girl friends were allowed to reach them as were some of Anastasia's. My letters to my Grandmama were not allowed to be mailed. Apparently, no one was allowed any information about me, the former czarovitch, in case it might start a new uprising backed by ardent supporters. How shaky, the new government must be. The new leaders were truly walking on eggshells and were as probably as confused about what was happening as we were.

I played with my toy trains and made new cardboard people including figurines of Kerensky and the General, adding to my collection of three dimensional characters to amuse my sister and I. Anastasia told me to draw their faces in pencil because things would probably be changing and then I could simply erase them and draw in new ones. We all laughed at this comment . Anastasia and I had the most unusual conversations taking place between my tiny railroad characters. Once she had Kerensky say that perhaps the czar wasn't such a fool after all. General G. replied: "Nicholas Romanov was a bloody fool, but not such a bad leader. If one wants a bad king try England's King Henry VIII. Didn't he pave the way for women to rule by trying to kill off his wives and creating his own church? Didn't he crown himself king and head of the church when the pope excommunicated him? Mama and Papa enjoyed listening to the conversations between our tiny characters.

Mama had recently become upset when one of the valuable dark blue Sevres vases had been broken and Anastasia said: "Mama, don't worry that vase didn't belong to us anyway, that vase belonged to the people. Mama cheered up and didn't even bother to collect the pieces of the vase for repair.

The situation in Petrograd appeared to be changing, a Bolshevik, named Vladimir Ilyich Lenin was gaining ground. We weren't too concerned and enlarged our garden planting hundreds of cabbage plants and vegetables. At least we wouldn't starve if we had to remain confined to the palace in winter. How does one make sauerkraut anyway? What would the next month bring?

1 June 1917 - 14 June 1917 - Lenin continues to shout: "Peace, Land and Bread." All of the things that the poor peasants hungered for and that Papa could not deliver. The provisional government was collapsing and according to the newspapers, the Bolsheviks were increasing from twenty thousand to fifty thousand. Lenin wanted the war stopped and he was making demands. From our cocoon in the Alexander Palace, we didn't realize that things were becoming extremely dangerous for us again. My father was contented and happy farmer growing his vegetables and acting as my history teacher. M. Gilliard looked so funny farming in his tweed suit and bowler hat. We all had green thumbs and it appeared that whatever we planted grew. Mama said that I'd better not stick my wooden spoons in the ground or they'd sprout. We've truly been blessed. Despite, the revolution, I've never been happier and neither has Papa. He makes a good woodchopper and a pleasant farmer.

We started another garden for the servants and my sisters pickled cucumbers and turned cabbages into sauerkraut in our kitchen. Now barrels of kraut and pickles filled the cellar along with vintage wine and champagne. We were truly blessed despite continued harassment from our despicable guards who flirt outrageously with my sisters. Mama is teaching me my catechism and the debates about whether the Holy Spirit emanated from Jesus and Mary, or from God? I enjoy my new teachers, Mama and Papa, immensely as well as their undivided attention. In the past, they were too busy, but now they appear to have all the time in the world and give it to me. Newspapers say that Kerensky has succeeded Lvov as Prime Minister. If this is true, he will be too busy to pester us.

30 June 1917 - June 1917 - Riots and fighting have begun again in Petrograd. Russians are tired of the lack of food and the provincial government. Kerensky arrived at our palace saying that they were after him. "Who is after you?" I asked.

"The Bolsheviks" he said to Papa. "Soon they'll be coming after you, too," said the prime minister wiping his brow with his handkerchief. Papa winced, his respite had been all too short.

However, the new prime minister was on our side and tried to get us moved to our palace in the Crimea, but it was not to be. For a moment, I dreamed once more of our beautiful palace in Livadia and the happy times that we spent there and so did my sisters.

By now my sisters' hair had begun to sprout and they resembled human beings once more. Olga's hair began to curl around her head in a charming mop of riotous curls, but Anastasia's stuck out straight and still like a porcupines quills from her head. Marie's short hair made her eyes appear even larger and more luminescent like some enchanting pixie. Tatiana resembled a minstrel boy rather than a maiden. Most of the time my sisters donned the caps and wigs that my tenderhearted Papa had ordered for them from a Moscow wig maker. Soon, Papa and I would have to stave off the guards because my sisters are becoming attractive again.

Word has come that we are going to be moving east away from Petrograd which would be safer for us and Mama is glad that we will be leaving the malevolent, lecherous guards behind. Mama's nerves were beginning to be affected again and her sciatica began to bother her. Should she pack warm clothes or lighter ones?" she asked the new prime minister. Desperately, she wanted to know where we were being sent.

Generous Mama had given away all of her grand garments which no longer fit her to peasants. I wondered how they'd look in her beautiful clothing. Would they be as beautiful as she had been in them? Her closets were almost bare and sadly I missed the fact that I'd never see her in them again, but Mama told me not to worry because Papa had taken plenty of pictures of her dressed in her finery and we still had our photo albums and years ahead of us in which to gaze at them. Why didn't I believe her? She kept her gray engagement dress which she wore the day that she announced her engagement to Papa when she told Gangun about her coming marriage. The three cousins involved in the war, Kaiser Wilhelm, King George VI and Czar Nicholas II were all there. Wilhelm can be seen clearly looking at Auntie Ella. I've often gazed at the wonderful photograph of the family where Mama is broadly smiling. She looked so carefree and happy then. I longed to see her smile that way again. Papa had told me that when Mama smiled she made the world light up and he didn't lie either. Perhaps when we moved, she'd smile again.

1 July 1917 - 14 July 1917 - Mama was told to pack her furs and so she did. Her black Persian lamb coat went into the trunk and so did her sables. She kept her skirts which could be taken in, but gave away almost everything else: her hats, gloves and fine lingerie to Polish peasants and some of the aristocrats who had fallen on hard times. She'd lost so much weight that she was a mere shadow of her former self. I could now put my arms entirely around her, but I missed my plump, cushiony Mama and her sharp edges and boniness alarmed me. Shouldn't she have saved some of her magnificent gowns for my sisters? Mama told me that if God wanted them well dressed, they'd be well dressed again. Remember the lilies of the field Could anyone match them in their glory? Yet they toil and spin not." I knew that she was right and that most of this frippery didn't really matter and that I was the one being selfish trying to hang onto all of her former glory. Besides, we needed to travel light, because only God knew where we would end up. Most of their goods might be stolen by porters anyway now that we were only humble Romanovs without protection traveling by public rail and boats. I wondered about the Standart, our yaught, and Grandmama's yaught, had the people confiscated both of them? Would I ever stand on its teakwood deck again? Only God and the angels above knew, but I longed to see Grandmama and our yaught with its officers once more. Must I really sacrifice this much? Mama told me that sacrifice brought forth the blessings of Heaven.

30 July 1917 - 12 August 1917 - It's been a year since Rasputin disappeared forever and Mama and I went to our chapel and lit a candle for him. We both missed him but were comforted knowing that he still watched over us. Hadn't his bloody shirt helped me stop my bleeding that day? Surely he was in heaven now protecting us and praying for us as he did on earth. It disturbed me that the guards watched over us and listened to our prayers. I longed to speak my prayers vocally, but that night I whispered them privately. No one but God had a right to listen to my private thoughts and prayers.

I was actually relieved a little when I heard that Father Grigory's body had been burned by the guards and other revolutionaries, because now I would not be required to dig him up when I was an adult and gaze at his mortal remains again to see if he'd been preserved from corruption and been sanctified proving that he was a saint. That duty had now been taken from me..

Perhaps on the anniversary of his death, there would be a sign which would lead to our rescue. Cautiously, I opened my eyes and looked around the dark church. I knew that his son-in-law, Soloviev, had been earnestly working for our rescue. I hoped that he could be trusted and hadn't run off with the funds raised by the people on our behalf along with the money from the sale of some of Mama's jewels. Was he drinking the proceeds or gambling them away? For our sakes, I hoped not.

Why hadn't the rescue team made contact with any of us? Mama had sent a few letters out and a few had managed to come back to us and so had a few of Olga's letters, but why was there no response from Rasputin's in-law? We weren't that hard to reach having stayed put in our palace. Sophie Buxhoeveden was allowed to leave the palace and so was the count and M. Gilliard. Either one of them could have been contacted in the czar's village. The cook's boy might easily carry in a message, but nobody had been approached.

Mama's friendly guard was now even on our side and could have been bribed and used as a go-between. I honestly think that he would have risked his own life for Mama. Women from the village regularly brought us a few eggs and cream and performed labors as charwomen, because of our diminished staff. If there were rescuers, they weren't trying very hard.

Perhaps if I peered through the dark, I might see a message on the sacrament table. Was anything amiss that would alert me about our rescue? Not a sign was given, not even a chirping from a cricket and I went back sleepily to the palace and fell into bed.

31 July 1917 - 13 August 1917 - Prime Minister Kerensky was fighting increasingly with our palace guards. It was becoming obvious that there was a power struggle between them. They knew that something was up and the guards didn't want their former royal prey to escape. They watched us closely as if we were under a magnifying glass and provoked us to a greater degree. Mama tried to remain calm, but she was like a stick of nitroglycerin and she didn't have much of a fuse. Anything might set her off.

Something was bound to give as the pressure increased. Mama continued to pack under their very noses. I'm certain that some of them thought she was just doing her summer cleaning as the trunks were packed and sent away, especially when the guards followed some of the trunks and their contents were given away to the Polish peasants at the village near Tsarkoe Selo. Mama was still my ingenuous Mama and the bird dogs were led expertly off her trail. When the time came they had no idea that we were prepared to leave and that our bags had all been packed. Papa continued his wood chopping and afternoon walks with his aide, Prince Dolgorukov and Count B. chatted away with Papa as if nothing were wrong and they acted as if they had all the time in the world. I tried keeping the guards entertained and out of Mama's and my sister's hair by showing them new tricks which I taught Joy. She could now walk on her hind legs, dance and curtsy. If I had to earn my living in the cold cruel world, perhaps we could join the circus.

My sisters continued to cut up cabbage and placed it in vinegar in large crocks and then carried them down to the cellar. It appeared that we were storing away food for the winter, just like in the story about the ant and the grasshopper and that we had no intention of leaving.

2 August 1917 - 15 August 1917 - Tonight Papa and I, M. Gilliard and Prince D. set off all of the Chinese explosives stored in the basement down by the lake and we celebrated the summer birthdays: Papa's, Mama's, and Tatiana's. Would this be my parent's last celebration I wondered? Kerensky had warned all of us that all of the male Romanovs were in extreme danger.

Cook had saved all of the eggs, cream and sugar for two weeks and we had rich custard ice cream and peaches from some of our trees and a spice birthday cake lit with a hundred candles and decorated with white rolled marzipan roses.

The birthday celebrants closed their eyes and made a wish and then blew out all of the candles. For some reason, everyone started crying. But the gloomy moment passed when Anastasia pulled off her wig startling everyone into laughing again when they saw her spiky sprouting hair. Thank heavens for the imp. I'll love her forever for salvaging that moment in time. The desserts tasted so heavenly after our stark menu, I savored every tiny bite and we all had seconds. I wanted the party to go on forever. Even Mama stayed up past midnight and watched as Papa danced with his lovely daughters then Sophie B. and Auntie Annya who had finally been let out of the fortress, but not without an examination by a medical doctor who proved that she was still a virgin. Won't the newspapers have a field day with that information!

5 August 1917 - 18 August 1917 - I took my small sailboats and sailed them across the lake along with my small gas powered motorboats. Anastasia put on my water walkers and went for a little walk on the water helping me with my boats. The invention had been Leonardo DaVinci's, one that he used often collecting fish and bug specimens. My air filled devices were like large air filled pillows one could slip their feet into. My walkers had been given to me on my last birthday by a merchant before the fall of the Romanovs.

Mama had told me that I could only take a few of my favorite toys and it was difficult making the choice from my play rooms full of fascinating play things. I had to leave behind my large Steiff Teddy Bear and all of his clothing. Thank heavens I had my replacement miniature teddy bear and his clothes which was easy to pack. I had to say goodbye to my trains, rock collection, canons, catapults, fortresses, model cars, science laboratory, model car collection, hot air balloons and even my pet elephant. Leaving behind so many things was not easy, but I realized I would be taking the best with me: my four sisters and parents.

Anastasia and I rowed over to the children's island taking all of my toy soldiers including my Cossacks in their red jackets with their toy horses and dug a deep hole. After wrapping them up in the red flag with the yellow double headed Romanov eagles, I buried them.

Anastasia empathized with me patting me on the back. Then she and I both gave a final salute after I finished covering the grave with dirt. Mama wanted me to give them to the poor, but I wasn't willing to share my beloved soldiers with anyone else. I am not as high-minded as my mother.

Anastasia and my sisters had given away all of their dolls they'd saved from birthdays and Christmases past which they had wanted to keep for their own children. There were some two hundred including the replica ones of us in her doll house. Surely we Romanov children had more than other children, but that also meant that we had more to sacrifice. Would we ever see the Alexander Palace again? We were scheduled to depart on 13 August. Anastasia and I made farewell cards to Grandmama, Auntie Olga, Auntie Xenia and our cousins. After wrapping them in a waterproof yellow wader or boot, we put it in a jar of sauerkraut which the guards didn't go through because of the smell. I would have loved to see Auntie Olga's face when she saw my beautiful artwork. It was a painting of myself and fours sisters as mermaids (one merman) swimming to safety across the ocean. It was my best work ever. The facial resemblances were uncanny.

8 August 1917 - 21 August 1917- We were allowed to take our dogs with us, but Mama's black terrier was too old and would remain with C. Benckendorff, who was too old to take also. Of course nobody mentioned this fact to him, but he must have known why he was not accompanying us. Sophie Buxhoeveden would be staying behind as well since she needed an operation. These two dear old people were dearer to me than grandparents and they had tended to my needs since I was born. How could I say goodbye to them?

Picking a bright berry from one of our mulberry bushes, I squashed it and pressed the juice on my lips and then kissed the farewell cards I had made for them. My lips remained on the inside of the cards with my messages. I'd drawn a self portrait and placed them in small frames for each of my honorary grandparents. Count B's message said: Thank you for never spanking me or cussing at me. I never heard a cross word pass your lips. When I think of a true gentleman, I always think of you. Love and kisses, Alexei Romanov, the Last Czarovitch

My message to Countess B said: Thank you for civilizing me and teaching me some manners. Because of your efforts, another polished diamond -me- has been added to Mama's collection. With love and kisses, Alexei Romanov, the Last Czarovitch

I put these in white envelopes in Mama's empty jewel box where I was certain the pair would find them. I wound up the music box so that it would play The Sleeping Beauty Waltz when the lid was opened and wiped the tears from my eyes.

13 August 1917 - 26 August 1917 - Everything is ready for our departure. Almost three dozen people were going with us although the destination is still unknown. Were we really going to Siberia as rumored? Perhaps we'd be sent to Rasputin's village and I'd be able to sleep on a stove alongside of my Mama and Papa in order to keep warm in quilts stuffed with straw during cold nights. Our two doctors, Botkin and Dervenko, were going with us along with Dr. Botkin's two children, Gleb and Tatiana. Imagine having to take your children into exile! Mama said that he couldn't very well leave them alone, besides, they were well mannered children and were like part of the family. Anastasia and I had often entertained them and they reciprocated.

M. Gilliard, Prince D. and Ilya Tatichev, Count B.'s replacement, were the men accompanying us into exile. Anastasia Hendrikov and Mademoiselle Schneider would be the women attending us along with a few faithful cooks and servants. Auntie Annya was also being left behind. What would she ever do without us?

I was nervous, but excited at the same time. One of my uncles was allowed to meet with Papa before we left. I wasn't to see him. I still had mixed feelings about my uncles. Had they done enough to save the throne and the family dynasty?

Hadn't King George managed to save his throne in England? Even Uncle Ernie appeared to be saving his throne in Hesse-Darmstadt. Had I not been a bleeder, I tell myself, I would have saved my own throne. What were my uncles' excuses? They had the best of health.

The dogs including Tatiana's small spaniel were placed in their carriers along with a good supply of dried dog food and ingenious bottles of water which dripped drops of water when licked. My clever Mama had thought of everything.

Taking my diary, I wrapped it in a waterproof tarp and went down the cellar. Under the dustiest bottle of wine I could find. I placed my diary.
