“Anastasia,” she cried, “where have you been?”
“Right on the balcony and no one could find me,” I answered with all the glee in my voice I could muster.
Almost before I could finish, Father was beside me. He took me by the hand. One look at his face warned me that something was very wrong. Without a word he signaled to the distressed nurse. Her face was flushed. She marched me to my room and I never ventured one look of triumph as she undressed me. She did not say a word until I was in bed. Then she said, “You were a very naughty girl to worry your Mother so. She was very hurt.”
Mother always came to kiss me goodnight. I didn’t stir in my bed lest I should miss her footsteps. Finally I heard her approaching with my sisters; their voices sounded happy. She stopped at the door for only a moment, and Marie entered the room alone. When the nurse turned out the lights, I realized that Mother was not going to kiss me that night.
The next morning a penitent little girl asked herself: “Will Mother come to me now?” And: “Will she be cross with me?” I was full of contrition, but how could I express it if Mother were not in a receptive mood? My eyes fastened on the door, hoping to see Mother’s face. Suddenly she appeared. I ran to her and wrapped myself around her neck. I promised never to worry her again.
Mother’s daily round took her to the nursery the first thing every morning before breakfast to say a prayer with us children and to read one chapter to us from the Bible. She was usually attired in a beautiful dressing gown of white—occasionally in other soft colors—her hair braided and tied with silk ribbon to match the trimming of her gown, a habit acquired from her grandmother, Queen Victoria of England. These were precious moments to us children. She was a fairytale empress—stately and beautiful.
On July 30th, 1904, Russian calendar, August 12th by the new, my little brother was born on a Friday noon. Three hundred guns announced the birth of the heir from the Fortress of Sts. Peter and Paul, in St. Petersburg.
On the same day, it was learned that the Russian fleet at Port Arthur had been sunk on August 10th by the Japanese navy. My Mother often said it was a day of sunshine and a day of darkness at the same time. It would have been customary to hold a large banquet to celebrate the birth of an heir to the throne but my Father would not hear of it. Instead, prayers were offered in the churches for the lost ones at sea and for the baby Tsarevich. All day long the bells rang out from all the churches of Russia. Thirteen years later Mother spoke of this day as being as gloomy as the day we arrived in Ekaterinburg. It was on Alexei’s thirteenth birthday, and about the same hour in 1917, that the family was informed they must leave their beloved home in Tsarskoe Selo.
I do not remember Alexei’s christening since I was so small, but I have been told about it and have often seen his christening mantle and the cross which he wore on a chain around his neck. These were displayed in a glass case along with the christening dresses of us sisters. Olga’s was an exact copy of that of Marie Antoinette’s older daughter. It had been made in Lyons. Olga and Tatiana held a corner of the long mantle which was attached to the cushion because of its weight. Alexei’s godmothers were his grandmother, the Dowager Empress Marie Feodorovna; his sister, Olga Nicholaevna; his aunts, Mother’s sisters, the Princesses Irene of Prussia and Victoria of Battenberg (subsequently Marchioness of Milford Haven). The godfathers were his grand uncles, the Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich and King Edward VII of Great Britain; his cousin, Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany; his great-grandfather, King Christian IX of Denmark; his uncle, the Grand Duke Ernest Louis of Hesse, the Empress’ only brother; and his Aunt Irene’s husband, Prince Henry of Prussia. To commemorate his birth the cornerstone for the Feodorovsky Sobor (Church) was laid in Tsarskoe Selo.
Now that this handsome brother had arrived, the handicap of my life, that of being a girl, seemed somewhat lifted. Alexei was a beautiful little boy with a very light complexion and curly auburn hair which my Mother brushed lovingly into a curl in the middle, big blue eyes, long eyelashes and a most alluring smile. He was the most fascinating thing in my existence, so whenever an opportunity presented itself, I ran into his nursery bringing various toys to him. Mother had many pet names for him, among them: “My precious Agoo” and “Kroshka” which means crumb. Olga and Tatiana were permitted to hold the baby; Marie and I could only hold his feet.