→ Greg King and Penny Wilson, Resurrection of the Romanovs: Anastasia, Anna Anderson, and the world’s greatest royal mystery (Hoboken, New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2011): 330.
→ Alexander Mosolov, At the court of the last tsar (London: Methuen, 1935): 64.
→ Greg King and Penny Wilson, Resurrection of the Romanovs: Anastasia, Anna Anderson, and the world’s greatest royal mystery (Hoboken, New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2011): 2.
→ Carolyn Meyer, Anastasia, the last Grand Duchess (New York: Scholastic Inc., 2000): 190.
Some persons seem endowed with a peculiar and semitragic gift. They live out their lives and die, only to provide drama for the playwright or novelist. Theirs is not the stuff of life but the stuff of fiction. Such a woman was Anastasia, daughter of the last Russian Tsars, supposedly massacred at Ekaterinburg in July, 1918. She lived her life like a princess in a fairy tale, with her bumbling, bourgeois Emperor father the only false note in the royal symphony. Anastasia laughed and played and worked through the hours of her young life, touched with the magic of unreality, carrying a thousand years of august tradition upon her frail shoulders.
In the fairy tales, the princesses lived happily ever after. Anastasia lived in an all-too real world.
Officially, her life was snuffed out by Bolshevist guns in the Ekaterinburg cellar. If it was, she fell - I am sure - with dignity and grace, her silken shirts weighted with the jewels that would have bought her way to freedom.
The historical Anastasia vanishes here, reduced to a grotesque, red-stained doll lying limply across a sack of potatoes; and the infinitely more satisfying Anastasia of legend rises, phoenix-like, from her body.
→ Edwin Fadiman, Jr., from the introduction to the Signet edition of Anastasia by Marcelle Maurette, 1956.