CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
THE WAY HOME
All that is gold does not glitter. Not all those who wander are lost.
—J.R.R. Tolkien,
The Fellowship of the Ring
We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.
—Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 7: 1966-1974
On board the SS Cameronia, from Sydney to Shanghai, from January 28 to March 12, 1913
Alexandra went out of her way to maintain anonymity, even if the other passengers might consider her to be haughty and unapproachable. She spent most of her time with a gentleman escort offered by the shipping company; so, she would not be lonely or unhappy. His name was David C. Nelson, a retired architect from London, who was enjoying a pleasant retirement sailing around the world for free. Alexandra did not ask for his personal information, and he did not offer any particulars; nor did she, which suited them both.
For wealthy Americans, South Americans, Australians, Europeans, and the British, travel throughout Europe—on the so-called “Grand Tour”, a travel experience patterned after that awesome experience afforded the very well-to-do from the seventeenth century on–was a decided mark of status. From the early 1900s, passenger ships—like the SS Cameronia–catered to the lavish tastes of the rich by providing extravagant spaces at sea on a par with the finest hotels and restaurants of the world. The United States, Great Britain, Germany, and France, competed to create showpiece “ships of state,” and new—ever more grand–steamers appeared every year or so claiming—accurately–to being more spacious, more luxurious, offered more courtesy, were faster, and safer than anything that had sailed before. The style of the Gilded Age was to engage well-known hotel designers to fashion the ship’s most elaborate spaces into a mixture of historic styles of the great cities of the world that matched the look of fashionable hotels, clubs, and apartment houses, familiar to the wealthy travelers—as opposed to those lesser mortals who were just casual vacationers.
Alexandra was first introduced to her distinguished looking tuxedoed escort, David Nelson, in the First-Class lounge; and shortly thereafter, they were on a first name basis. The lounge featured skylights—lanterns—which brought filtered daylight into interior spaces, adding elegance. The façades of the elegant walls alternated magnificent hand-made Turkish floor to ceiling tapestries with plaster panels depicting famous early vessels and naval battles. Similar grandeur was featured throughout the dining areas, libraries, and other first-class lounges.
Her stateroom—called “the Aristocracy Suite” and described as “a room Napolean or the Rockefellers would covet”–was an apartment which rendered the illusion of a great hotel suite. Her rooms were–in fact–copied and improved upon from the French jewel Peninsula Hotel located 300 meters from the Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile. The bed was the epitome of comfort; the furniture was richer and more baroque than actually fitted the room: matching deep red velvet couches, Moroccan leather swivel chair and mahogany desk, French leather wingback chair, and matching gilded silk and damask tapestry carpet, draperies, and bedspread. There was electrical lighting and facilities en suite. She successfully achieved the first wireless communication between ships out at sea and was able to transmit a message to her three children about why and where she had gone and about the provisions of their trusts and her will which would make them richer than anyone they knew; in sum, the amenities created the illusion of not being at sea for a two-week voyage of unparalled luxury.
David rapped on Alexandra’s stateroom door precisely at the agreed-upon hour; so, they could make a short orienting tour of the first-class common areas, all decorated differently, and all extravagantly—he in his tuxedo, and she in her most recently acquired and most gorgeous new gown with the daring décolletage. After all, one of the most important reasons for leaving one’s stateroom was to demonstrate the level of affluence demonstrated by such magnificent attire. On the way to the first-class dining and theater area, David introduced her to the mens’smoking room, one of two writing rooms, a small private lounge for cards, cocktails, and intimate conversation, a grand curving staircase, and a cosy veranda café that evoked the moist greenery of an indoor winter garden, and at the same time, something of the ambience of an outdoor café in gay Paree or snooty uptown New York.
Alexandra and David walked into the First-Class Dining area at precisely eight o’clock, the dinner hour. The maî·tre d’hô·tel–in his perfectly fitting long coat, white tie, and tails escorted them to a cosy table for two with a view of the swiftly passing ocean. The first-class dining saloon was inspired by a mid-17th century French château– Château des Comtes de Marchi–located in all its elegance in Belgium. Above its oak splendor rose a dome dotted with Chinese signs of the zodiac. Creamed Oysters, Creamed Lobster, boiled salmon, boiled live lobster tail, giant prawns, and duck constituted the main course. During the 1920s, buffets and sit-downs had become very popular with an emphasis on “creamed” meat dishes like chicken or fish, hot vegetable dishes, bread rolls, salads, prime rib of beef, and various cakes, and ice creams—all of which were readily available after the massive dinners in the dining room for the passengers with discerning but unwisely over-enthusiastic palates.
David introduced Alexandra to the etiquette and history of champagne.
“The first thing to know, Alexandra, my dear, is that champagne must be made from grapes grown in the Champagne region of France and must follow a specific set of production practices. When conditioning champagne for service, the chilling should be slowly and carefully done by placing the warm bottle in a refrigerator for several hours and not packed in ice until shortly before serving. Vintage champagne should be served at forty-five degrees. Upon taking the bottle from the cooler, Alexandra, my dear, it should be well wrapped with a napkin; so, the warm hand of the waiter will not come in contact with the bottle and inadvertently agitate the wine. One should only fill the flutes to within one-fourth of an inch from the brim; and, of course only “solid stem” glasses should be used.
“It is crucial to watch the tiny bubbles rise up the interior of the flute before sipping. The finest way to be served champagne is to create a pyramid of glasses delicately balanced and to pour the bubbly swiftly so as to fill each glass without spilling more than a very few drops. As much as we should love a beautiful champagne flute or even admire plain crystal white wine glasses, neither should be used in the construction of a tower because it is so important that all the glasses—coupe glasses–be identical. Remember that for future reference. Champagne is never gulped or slurped; that is evidence of a low-class and uneducated upbringing. The proper time for serving champagne is during the last meat course of the dinner just after clearing the palate with a lemon sorbet.”
Alexandra had to laugh—an easy and companiable sort of laugh—because David took his champagne so seriously. It was part of his charm; but, for her, more than a bit absurd. He liked it that she was so genuine and comfortable to be with.
After the sumptuous and soporific dinner, David escorted Alexandra to the ladies’ cocktail lounge–another elegant first-class location; and he went to the smoking room—a restful and inclusive room which evoked a late-Renaissance Italian palazzo ambience. It was de rigeuer for men traveling in first class to retire to this room after dinner to drink, to talk, to play games, and to be seen.
By the fourth day at sea, Alexandra found herself becoming rather bored. During those four days, David squired her to every activity that created the magical glamor of life on board known to the ocean cruising elite: shuffleboard, badminton, wooden horse racing across the second-class deck, the gymnasium where he introduced her to free weights, climbing bars, twenty-pound medicine exercise ball, climbing ropes, chin-up bars, stationery bicycle, and punching bag.
He sat for hours with her on the sundeck where the passengers were served by a deck steward in starched summer whites. She woke up to breakfast in bed, more sumptuous than any meal she had
eaten in Australia. In the afternoons, she and David joined the other passengers in formal dress to relax and listen to a piano performance, read the ship’s newspaper, browse in the many ship’s shops, exercise in the swimming pool, play hoopla (ring toss), celebrate birthday parties, and to improve her education of the world around her in the large planetarium and ample libraries. She went trap shooting off the stern with a determination each day to better her record of the day before. Even though she was the only woman among shooters, Alexandra consistently won.
In her favorite library, she began a determined study of financial markets, economics, and how to manipulate the stock markets. Always patient David allowed her to win at card games—whist, bridge, gin rummy, phase 10 card game, train dominoes, and even poker where she was able to contribute some games as yet unknown to the other passengers or the activities directors—games she somehow always won, and by which she considerably enriched herself. Before dinner, she and David went dancing and even started dance classes; so, she could learn the Argentine tango, the Viennese Waltz, the quickstep, the samba, the cha-cha, and the rhumba. She wore him out, but he felt himself to be highly successful. Later each evening, after dinner and a necessary short rest, they enjoyed a ball every night, especially the ship line’s balloon dance, costume and hat parades, followed by quiet moonlit strolls on the deck.
Despite this level of frenetic activity, Alexandra felt bored or perhaps more accurately, unfulfilled. For the first time in years she began to think about her two Russian sons, then to be concerned about them, then to develop a determination to find out where they were. Although David tried his level best, he began to realize that Alexandra was drifting away from him. His job depended upon making this rich woman happy and content. As the days passed, he noted that she preferred to sit in the women’s library and to research some arcane Russian history and current affairs—for the life of him, he could not fathom why in the world she did so. He had to get her interest to return to him, or she would look unhappy to the ship’s activities directors; or, heaven forbid, she might register a criticism.
On the sixth evening at sea, he determined that bold action was required. He walked her to her stateroom after they closed down the dancing with a final request to the orchestra that they play a soft arabesque, then a full orchestral accompaniment to the Charleston and the Shimmy—with a dynamic range from pianississimo to full fortississimo, a tonal range to include the lowest to the highest notes of the piano and everything in between, and speed from legato to staccato. The orchestra loved to share in the skill of the two great dancers and enjoyed improvising for affect. This was an era when dancers moved independently of other couples and created a mood of greater intimacy and sensuality. They finished with one of Chopin’s Polonaises, a Baroque English country dance, and one wild ragtime number.
It was a dreamy romantic evening. The moonlight on the water turned it to silver. The thrumming of the engines, and the sound of the great ship’s wake—like a troika gliding over show—promoted a comforting sense of lassitude. David said good night to Alexandra and waited until she entered her state room as he always did. An hour later, Alexandra heard a quiet rapping on her door. She squinted through the eyehole in the door and was surprised to see David standing outside, still in his tuxedo, and now holding a bouquet of coral red rose buds in his right hand and a platter with a bottle of Dom Pérignon vin de goutte–first press, using only the weight of the grapes on top of each other—which produced the highest quality wine] champagne and two flutes in his left.
Alexandra muttered to herself, “Uh, oh,” and reluctantly unlocked, turned the dogs, and opened the door.
“May I come in, my dear?” he asked with a slight slur in his speech.
As he drew close, she caught a waft of alcohol on his breath which heightened her level of caution.
“Of course, David. What is the occasion–Dom Pérignon and Fragrant Cloud red rose buds? I love its captivating fragrance more than any other rose.”
“An opportunity to pay a compliment to you and to provide an opportunity for us to have some private time together without the Aryan Hordes we encounter in the lounges and dining salon.”
“That’s very nice, David; but I am afraid I am too tired. You wore me out today. This is not a good time.”
“Ah, my dear lady,” David said, “anytime is a good time for Dom Pérignon and Fragrant Cloud. They create a definite mood, and are the quintessence of romance, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps, but; I think you have gotten the wrong idea; or I have sent out signals that were inappropriate. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all you have done, but I do not have such tender feelings for you. I will be frank, and do not wish to give offense; but I am not in the mood for a romantic connection with you tonight or any other time. Our pleasant times together were just that. Please do not make this awkward, David.”
“Alexandra, I know you have some feelings for me. Perhaps you are like the rose buds—beautiful but not fully opened as yet.”
“David,” she said sharply, “you have stepped over the line. I am not a giddy girl struck dumb by heady overtures of romance. The reference to my being ‘opened up’is an ungentlemanly and grossly improper inuendo. Please leave.”
“I’m sorry, Alexandra. Please let me be completely candid. I have definitely become fond of you. The grandees of the Anchor Line expect–even require–that we escorts make direct overtures—and hopefully—have romantic liaisons with the ladies we entertain lest they think we do not find them appealing; and they are affronted. Please consider me in a positive light and give me a good letter of recommendation.”
He was almost in tears.
“David, I will do as you ask if you leave tout de suite and never harass me again.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
RETURN TO SHANGHAI
To my child’s eyes, which had seen nothing else, Shanghai was a waking dream where everything I could imagine had already been taken to its extreme.
– J. G. Ballard
“New York may be the city that never sleeps, but Shanghai doesn’t even sit down, and not just because there is no room.”
– Patricia Marx
On board the British Passenger SS Cameronia from Sydney to Shanghai, from January 28 to March 12, 1913
David did a sharp about face and left the room. Alexander never saw him again for the remainder of the voyage. She was relieved at the gentlemanly departure and absence, even though she felt a mild stirring that she had long believed to be only historical for her. She was mildly put out at herself for having allowed a hairline fracture to insinuate itself into her deeply held defenses. She was disappointed that she had begun to equivocate about her strongly held indispensable desideratum for her life—a life free of entanglements with men and dependence upon outsiders. The idea that her base urges could even momentarily distract her caused her to have a niggling doubt about her resolves and her ability to sublimate her temporary needs to the long-term plan.
The SS Cameronia made landfall in the early morning of January 23 and pulled alongside the dock of the huge and extremely busy Port of Shanghai of the Republic of China at the mouth of the Yangtze River. There were tea clippers, ocean liners, steam cargo freighters, treaty power gun boats, junks, and sampans moving about in the crowded waterways. Alexandra and the other first-class passengers were piped off the ship and gathered on a red-carpeted area of the wharf where they were greeted by a Chinese band. The famous musical group was led by Li Jinhui who was regarded by the populace the “Father of Chinese Popular Music”. They played spirited Mandopop tunes [Mandarin popular songs that started in the 1920s called shidaiqu, meaning “music of the time”—i.e., popular music]
Alexandra and her fellow notables were officially greeted by Sir Francis Aglen, inspector general and director of the port; Sir Martin Frontieriari-Bedford, British plenipotentiary and governor of HongKong; Li Choa Tse, Superintendent of Customs, and Chin Hoy, the Tao-Tai—the senior government off
icial in charge of the district.
The Tao-Tai bowed and spoke for the coterie of dignitaries: “Welcome to the Treaty Port of Shanghai, Griffins [Shanghailander term for newcomers to the city], we are pleased to have your presence in the Paris of the East, the New York of the West. The Chinese name for our city means ‘City on the Sea’ located at the point where the great Yangzi completes its 3,400 mile journey to enter the Pacific Ocean.
“As the young people say, ‘Shanghai is the place to be’ because—we are proud to say–it has the best art, modern restaurants featuring the foods of the world, the greatest architecture available anywhere on earth, the finest dance halls, international clubs, Duì jìyuàn de wěiwǎn shuōfǎ [selling tofu, or gentleman’s clubs–euphemisms for brothels] and—tennis clubs. Of course, we have our great Shanghai Racecourse. We cater to your every whim.”
The superintendent of customs gave a short welcome and instruction: “We welcome you to The Chinese Customs and maritime and International Service. Here, we will collect your entrance information and the likin [provincial tax on transfer of goods]. After that, safe transportation will be provided to the Richards’ Hotel, our city’s finest.”
Alexandra climbed into a Citroen Landaulette taxi along with a Sikh police officer as a security guard and was taken directly to the venerable old Richards’ Hotel and Restaurant on The Bund at 15 Huangpu Lu, Shanghai, near the confluence of the Huangpu River and the Suzhou Creek in the Hongkou District. It was near the northern end of the Waibaidu [Garden] Bridge. They drove at the dizzying speed of thirty-five-miles-per hour—the fastest Alexandra had ever moved. This amazing speed was accomplished despite the presence of thousands of rickshaws, other taxis, overloaded lorries, herds of pigs, sheep, and goats, an infinity of peddlers, and heedless pedestrians. The sides of the streets and the buildings were plastered with advertisements and billboards, making them a blur of Chinese characters as Alexandra’s taxi wove its way past the impediments. There was no accident, Alexandra thanked God; but a thousand miracles.
The Mysterious Alexandra Tarasova-Yusupov Page 48