Sunday, September 1, 2013

Journal of a Russian Imperial Guard soldier #13


Alexander Palace, July 1917

Marie is recovering well. The tsar visited her as soon as her health began to improve, carrying breakfast to her bed. Once she was free of her wheelchair, she would enter my room and sit at my bedside to watch me sleep, greeting me when I awoke. In the evenings she would come in and wish me goodnight. When she was in the mood, which happened often, she would hide behind the doorway and scare me when I emerged.

Shortly after the tsar abdicated, he received a telegram from his cousin, King George V, offering asylum in England. But the tsar was not prepared to leave until his daughters had recovered from their illnesses. No word came from the British ever since, thus the imperial family remain under house arrest. I have lived to see something which I have never expected. Royal cousins wage war across Europe, now one is afraid to help the other in need.

The guards instructed us that only Russian is to be spoken in the palace. The family is barred from using the telephone or receiving visitors and any outgoing letters will be examined by the guard commandant. We are forbidden from leaving the palace except for fenced in areas in the park. Olga recognized a former colleague of mine among the guards. While he explained to me his decision to side with the revolutionaries, Olga looked away. Once he was gone, she told me he was a vile man. Only a few guards show respect for the imperial family.

We celebrated Anastasia's sixteenth birthday in the palace. Her hair was finally pinned up and she now wears ankle-length skirts like her sisters. However, clumps of hair were falling from the girls' heads as a result of the measles. They all had their heads shaved on 22 June, which was a terrible pity for Anastasia. The Tsarevich Alexei also had his head shaved to show solidarity. They are not ashamed to show their bald heads while walking outside or gardening.

Anastasia collected a lock of her strawberry-blonde hair and gave it to me, something to remember her by should we ever part ways. In the garden, she lit up a cigarette and offered to share it with me. We took turns smoking it. I savoured the lingering warmth of her lips on the cigarette with each puff. She giggled when I choked. I will miss seeing her long hair. It will take a while for it to grow back. But now that Anastasia is old enough to wear a chignon, she has suddenly blossomed into a beautiful young lady.

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