The Mysterious Alexandra Tarasova-Yusupov

by Carl Douglass

  Alexandra spoke calmly and coldly, “Mother, these are my plans for my marriage. First, you can invite anyone you want. That goes for Boris, for my brothers, for Father, and all of his business and shipping friends. I am going to invite whomever I want, and you do not get a veto. Second, I choose the location. That will be on our back lawn; it will accommodate hundreds. Third, I choose the menu with your help if you can catch the spirit of things. We are going to have a lawn party, a great picnic. Fourth, I am going to have modern music, not just those old people like Beethoven, Mozart, and Handel. I plan to hire small orchestras to play the folk tunes of Mikhail Glinka, music by the “Mighty Five”–Miliy Balakirev, Aleksandr Borodin, César Cui, Modest Musorgskiy, and Nikolay Rimskiy-Korsakov.”

  “Who in the world are those people? I never head of them.”

  “I am in a new generation, and one different from yours and my grandparents. The music my friends and I like is lively, exciting, and all about Russian life and folklore.”

  “And ‘fun’, I suppose?”

  “Yes, Mother, ‘and fun’. You need to give it a try. My wedding will be different, something to talk about, and something to remember us and our companies over. I guarantee that Boris Yusupov will be delighted, and his introduction into Russian life and that of our business partners all around us will be a most positive thing.”

  “You always get what you want, no?”

  “When I make up my mind, and I insist, Mother. And you have to agree, I am seldom, if ever, wrong about my firm convictions because I think them through. Will you help me or make things difficult?”

  “I will have to help you. My goodness, I can only imagine what crazy things you would come up with without me to put a bridle on at least a few of them. Please promise me that you will listen to reason if I have a concern.”

  “But, of course, Mother, I always do.”

  Knowing that she could never succeed in a fight with her self-willed, obstinate, and overly intelligent daughter, Irina sighed.

  “One last question, Alexandra. Does the groom-to-be agree to all of this modern folderol?”

  “He will, once I tell him,” Alexandra replied with her patented irresistible and impish grin.

  Irina suppressed a laugh and rolled her eyes theatrically.

  Boris came down the stairs from his room on the third floor of Tarasova House looking freshly bathed and refreshed. He was dressed in the latest casual fashion for gentlemen: an informal tan matched three-piece wool sack suit with loose fitting Cossack style trousers which was now dominating men’s style in the Victorian era, knee-high riding boots from Paris, a beaver skin top hat (which came from the Tarasova emporium), a paisley cravat tied as a bow that formed almost, a Lavallière–his only nod to the ornamental in dress of the day–and a soft white linen shirt.

  Alexandra was waiting on the marble floor at the bottom of the stairs. She gave a brief little clap and an affectionate smile as he reached her.

  “Like my new fashion, Alexandra?” he asked.

  “Love it. In fact, it is going to be part of my plan to modernize this stuffy old place and family.”

  “Do you have a little time for me?” he asked.

  “Always. How about a ride around the property?”

  “I’d love to. Can we go the way we’re dressed?”

  “I need to change into pants,” she said knowing that women wearing pants was strongly frowned upon.

  She searched Boris’s face; and when she failed to see any disapproval, she scampered off to her room to change into riding pants. He almost had to turn away when he saw her youthful form in the tight-fitting pants. He breathed out slowly to settle himself down.

  The couple rode out to the carefully preserved copse of white birch trees. Alexandra dismounted by throwing her right leg over the saddle and jumping gracefully to the ground. Boris moved a little more carefully.

  “I have taken the liberty of getting tickets for the opera tonight…if you would like to go.”

  “Which opera? I don’t really care so long as we go together,” Alexandra responded.

  “Actually, it’s something rather modern, an operetta called Madame Favart, by a Frenchman named Jacques Offenbach.”

  “Is it new?”

  “New to here—maybe first presented in the late ‘fifties. Apparently, it has been popular ever since—stood the test of time.”

  “Someday, we really must go to Berlin, or London, or Paris, or Moscow, or Saint Petersburg and see the great and new entertainments available. It always seems like Vladivostok and the Irkutsk oblast are backward and lacking modern changes,” she said.

  What happened next, struck Boris for some reason he would never be able to understand. He looked into Alexandra’s eyes, took her right hand in his. He dropped to one knee and watched her face flush and her breathing become deeper and quicker.

  “Alexandra Abramovna Tarasova,” he said, his voice quavering a little. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife. I find that I cannot live without you.”

  Despite the amount of manipulating, maneuvering, hoping, and planning, she and her mother have done; Alexandra was still somewhat taken aback at how rapidly the progress to this point had happened. She paused for only a minute.

  “Oh, yes…yes!” she whispered softly and intensely.

  He swept her up in his arms and hugged her until she gasped for breath.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I am just so excited.”

  “You have to talk to my father, you know.”

  “Of course. I will do it before dinner tonight. Do think he will give us his blessing?”

  “I know he will or else he will be sleeping in the servants’ quarters for the next month.”

  They both laughed and then kissed passionately, sealing the engagement so far as they were concerned.

  Boris showered, trimmed his beard, polished his boots, and put on his dress uniform. He asked the major domo to request a meeting with Abram before dinner.

  An hour before the family was to be seated at the family’s long table, Boris took a seat across from Abram who was dressed equally formally and sat in authoritative stiffness behind his desk.

  “Prince Boris, my man said you wanted to meet with me before dinner. Please tell me what is on your mind.”

  Boris determined not to stammer or to allow his voice to crack, “Sir, I have come to ask your blessing on my engagement to your daughter Alexandra Abramovna. I have asked her, and she has consented.”

  Abram smiled, “So, I am just a formality, then Prince?”

  “Most definitely not. You and your entire family have treated me as a member of the Tarasovas. I would be most disheartened if you were not to approve, but I would abide by your decision. Furthermore, I am new to the oblast, but I have means at my disposal to join you in business–if that becomes agreeable to you–as well. I can think of no way better to weld a union of marriage than for us also to be partners in commerce. I would be everyone’s fool if I were to think of you or to treat you as anything less than I would my father, and I assure you that my allegiance to him is very much more than a mere formality.”

  “You could not have expressed it better, Boris. Of course, you have my blessing. For one thing I would fear being shot by any one of several women if I refused. Welcome to the family, my son. Tonight, let’s feast and toast to the engagement. The women will plan the wedding itself. But the two of us can begin looking into having you join our growing commercial empire.”

  “That sounds like the best of all worlds to me. I guarantee that I will treat Alexandra as a princess, and you and your wife as king and queen. I also pledge to do all I can to further the Tarasova company.”

  “The Jardine, Matheson, Tarasova, Yusupov business empire which will end up victorious over the British East India Company!”

  Abram reached for his decanter of thirty-year-old Macallan Select Oak single malt whiskey and offered Boris two fingers of the precious amber liquid. He poured himself a glass; they touched gla
sses, and Abram said, “K dolgoy zhizni i uspekhu [to long life and success].”

  Abram summoned Irina and Alexandra to join him and Boris.

  He said, “A parade of eligible young men have been sniffing around Alexandra since she was twelve…”

  “Daddy!” Alexandra yelped.

  “Sorry, Dorogoy, I have spent too much time around the rough men in the warehouse and on the ships. You are my dear one; and I will try to speak more like a gentleman, especially around our prince.”

  His smile belied his sincerity, and all of them laughed.

  “What I was trying to say, is that Boris is the finest of the lot. He wants to marry you. Your mother wants him to marry you; and I want him to marry you. My two boys are too young to join the business, and we need a good, smart, strong man—a man who is part of the family—that we can trust and rely on to join our family in all ways. With your permission, I am going to propose a business arrangement that will bind us together and make us prosper beyond our previous imaginations.”

  He paused to wait for the affect that his statement would have. The usually unflappable Irina gave her approval with a slight nod of her head.

  Alexandra spoke softly and enunciated clearly to be sure that she did not betray her rising excitement for the events of the day, past, present, and future, “Although I am supposed to be the blushing bride with air in her head, I want you to know that I have given a great deal of thought to the matters of business. I love Boris and want to be his wife. I would accept an arrangement in which he had nothing to do with the business if that is what you or he would want. I look at the arrangement–the business arrangement—with caution as I always do with matters of business, just as you have always taught me…I approve heartily…with all of my heart!”

  Boris said, “And so do I. I will make my contribution, and I pledge my loyalty and to this fine woman who has consented to have me as her husband and to each of you for accepting me without reservation as a member of the family. I am certain that none of us will regret this decision made on this extremely important day.”

  At dinner, Alexandra made the announcement about the engagement which was received with cries of ‘congratulations!’ ‘great choice!’ ‘to your success!’ ‘bol’shoye schast’ye [great happiness]!’ By mutual decision, Abram, Boris, Irina, and Alexandra, did not bring up the subject of any business arrangements.

  The following morning, Boris sent a telegram to his mother—the first communication since he arrived in Vladivostok. He did not include his name in deference to his agreement with his parents.

  “Mother, I am well and prospering. Stop. I have a great business opportunity. Stop. Please release the sum of four million (4,000,000) roubles (silver based) from my trust. Stop. It can be sent to the Irkutsk Oblast Bank. Stop. Thank you. Stop. Your loving son.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  A MARRIAGE IN EVERY SENSE

  The goal in marriage is not to think alike, but to think together.

  —Robert C. Dobbs

  Tarasova House, No. 71 Pekinskaya Street, Vladivostok, Far East Russia, September 30, 1879

  The wedding of Alexandra Abramovich Tarasova and General mayor Prince Boris Nikolaiovich Yusupov was talked of in the oblast and in Vladivostok that it was certain to be the greatest wedding celebration in the entire history of Far Eastern Russia. It was rumored that the wedding would exceed the grand celebration attending the young Tarasova girl’s sixteenth birthday party when dignitaries from all over Russia, China, Japan, and Europe attended and brought lavish gifts. They should have gotten an inkling that things would be different when they learned that a blanket invitation was proffered to everyone in the oblast, as well as the foreigners from as far away as America.

  The next two innovations should have alerted the citizens of the oblast that this indeed would be quite different from Alexandra’s birthday bash, but also very different from any wedding celebration they had ever seen. The first was that it was clearly scheduled for late morning. The second was that—weather permitting—the festivities would take place in the Tarasova property’s lavish lawn and gardens. Had they been informed about the entertainments that were planned, they would have come to the conclusion that this was going to be something passing strange.

  Alexandra won out against her mother about the food and the entertainment. Irina outmaneuvered her daughter by commandeering the invitation list. As a result, the food and entertainments—while sumptuous—would appeal to a more avant garde crowd, and the guest list was half again as large, included more business contacts, and also would include a younger and more fashionable crowd—dandies, actors, entertainers, folklorists, and a few that Irina raised an eyebrow sternly about. They agreed that it would be a formal religious marriage ceremony—a sacrament—and they also agreed that the officiator would be a very popular, but not entirely well-regarded priest serving in the naval base by Saint Petersburg. Both Irina and Alexandra had been leaning towards would-be reformers of the orthodox church and had read several of the writings of Father Ivan Ilyich Sergiyev, better known as Father John. Alexandra was especially in favor of him performing her marriage because he had the reputation of being somewhat at odds with the conservative hierarchy by his insistence on reform in some areas of church practice.

  Their hopes were enhanced when they learned that Father John would be preaching in Siberia. He had already performed masses and had given strong speeches in Novonikolaevsk, and this very week he was in Irkutsk. Alexandra had the chauffer drive her to Irkutsk where she quickly learned that Father John was conducting a mass confession and giving a lengthy prayer with a reformist theme. Alexandra ordered that she be driven to the Epiphany Cathedral, an example of distinctly northern Russian religious architecture. Father John had finished his mass and his group forgiveness for sins and was about to leave the huge crowds and retire into the interior of the cathedral when a very determined Alexandra pushed her way through the crowds and intercepted him before he could go into seclusion.

  “Your holiness,” she said, a little out of breath, “I must speak with you in private for a few moments…just a few moments, please, kind father.”

  Taking note that the supplicant was obviously a very rich young woman, and that she was most earnest in her request, he granted her a brief audience just inside the narthex–the entrance–located at the west end of the nave, opposite the cathedral’s main altar.

  “What troubles you, Daughter?”

  “My mother and I are devotees of you and your message. I know that you will be coming to Vladivostok in two weeks, and we would be greatly honored to have you stay in our home during your visit. I humbly plead with you to perform my marriage which will take place at that time. Please, Holy Father, grant me this wish, and my family and I will be forever grateful.”

  “Are you a virginal, Dear Daughter? For I have sworn to perform marriages only for the pure.”

  “I am.”

  “Have you sins to confess before you take upon yourself the holy sacrament of marriage?”

  “I think nothing serious, but perhaps you could hear my confession now and make your own judgment.”

  He nodded and led her by the hand to the nearest confessional booth. There, he heard her petty confessions of telling the occasional lie, of having lustful feelings, and have sometimes used profanity when she was among rough sailors while on commercial voyages. He made the sign of the cross with his three fingers then kissed his out-sized three-bar cross hanging from a heavy silver chain around his neck.

  Outside the booth, he showered a beaming smile on her, which was accentuated by his large white teeth showing in contrast to his heavy full-face beard and shaggy, curly, shoulder-length black mane. His piercing black eyes were kindly but a bit unnerving with their intensity.

  “Tell me your name and all about yourself and your family,” he asked.

  Alexandra told him everything about herself, her groom-to-be, and her family. She casually let drop several times that the family was very ri
ch and influential and that the groom was a member of the House of Yusupov. Father John’s interest peaked at that, and he took her by the shoulders with his very large and powerful hands.

  “My Dear Daughter,” he said quietly, “I cannot refuse the offer to seal you and your beloved in the sacramental bonds of holy matrimony. I will be delighted to stay with you and your family and to perform the ceremony on the day you have chosen.”

  Alexandra leaned forward and gave right-left-right brush kisses on his cheek and bowed low before him.

  “Oh, thank you Gracious Father. You will have no problem finding our home. Ask anyone where the House of Tarasova is located as soon as you arrive in the city. Oh, I forgot to tell you that we would love to have the ceremony performed outdoors in our garden, a place rather like where you were preaching today.”

  He said, “I would be delighted. The greatness of God is best manifest out in nature. It is a perfect choice.”

  She made the sign of the cross, and he responded in like manner which was as serious as any signed contract might have been.

  Tarasova House, No. 71 Pekinskaya Street, Vladivostok, Far East Russia, October 15, 1879

  The day of the wedding was a radiant Indian summer day. The leaves on the trees had not yet fallen, and their color was a rainbow of resplendent oranges, yellows, and reds with a few remaining green leaves whose turn to color and then to fall had not yet come. The gardens were freshly weeded and raked; the lawns were still a rich green and appeared to have been manicured with comb and scissors. Old and new flowers lined the perimeter of the garden area like a fragrant park wall.

  Abram walked through the garden with Irina and Alexandra, and they all pronounced that the site of the wedding was ready and looked perfect.

  He said, “My two favorite ladies, I would like to mention something about Father John; so, none of us get surprised by something he does or that we hear of disapproval of him by the Metropolitan in Irkutsk. I hear from my people that the father is odd, to say the least. The church has heard complaints for his wife that he has refused to have relations with her and has sworn a vow of celibacy—something too much like the Roman practice. People see him walking about the streets making the sign of the cross, constantly reciting long prayers, and walking with his arms crossed on his chest. Some say this might be a sign of mental illness. He is unlike any other priest in that he serves the liturgy every day without assistants. His performance during the services is loud, and he waves his arms wildly. He regularly departs for the standard text, and more strangely, he turns his back to the altar. Like the Romans, he preaches confession and taking the Holy Communion regularly, even weekly or daily, instead of the usual once or twice a year. Finally–and the thing I find strangest of all–is that he permits menstruating women to take part in confession and communion, which–as you know–is strictly forbidden by the archpriests and the metropolitans.”