The Mysterious Alexandra Tarasova-Yusupov

by Carl Douglass

  So, I will just say it. Alexandra, I have been in love with you for decades. I never married because I had the strange and compelling hope that I would see you, and we could be together—I mean for always. Perhaps you consider me too old or too much of a platonic friend, but I ask you to consider marrying me sometime when you deem it appropriate. I will say it even if it might come to embarrass me later: I love you, Alexandra Tarasova.”

  She was floored, so much so that a rush of Russian, then Australian, words came to her to describe her initial feelings: izumleny, and gobsmacked among them

  “Jamie, I never suspected. You have always been a wonderful friend. When I was barely twelve, I was so infatuated with you that I could scarcely sleep. Shortly before I met Boris, I envisioned you courting me, us having a grand Cinderella marriage, and making loads of beautiful children.”

  “And living happily ever after,” Jamie threw in.

  “Certainly.”

  “What happened to all of that?”

  “Boris. He swept me off my feet; I was still just a girl, you know. My parents were enchanted by him and by his title and his fortune. I got caught up in the tidal wave.”

  “That’s very honest of you. Dare I ask what your feelings are now?”

  “A bit confused. I have to say that something drove me to make land in Shanghai. Maybe I used my need for financial advice as a ruse to get to be near you. I admit fully that, as mature as I am…or should be…that I am all atingle like a shy girl meeting her Prince Charming.”

  “Then, I may dare to hope?”

  “Please do. I will. Let me sort myself out, and soon—very soon—I will get back to you; and we can see how serious we really are. And, I love you, too, Jamie. I suppose I always have, and no one else was ever quite right for me.”

  He kissed her hand, and assisted her to her ship, the Imperial Russian Czarina, which was to set sail for Port Arthur, Tokyo, Seoul, and finally, Vladivostok at dawn the next day.

  Jamie was at the dock when the ship began pulling away from its berth. They waved to each other until they could no longer make out their faces in the distance.

  Jamie said to himself, “What a fascinating woman, what a mysterious one! What an enigma.”

  Alexandra went to her stateroom and had a good cry—whether for happiness, or for sadness, or just for release; she could not decide. Perhaps she would never really understand herself. It was mystifying.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  WELCOME BACK HOME

  “I think you travel to search and you come back home to find yourself there.”

  —Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

  “It’s no use going back to yesterday because I was a different girl then.”

  —Lewis Carol,

  Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 1865

  Tarasova House, No. 71 Svetlanskaya Street, Vladivostok, Far East Russia, March 18, 1913

  The stops in Port Arthur, Seoul, and Tokyo, were casual and largely served to ramp up Alexandra’s excitement at the thought of returning home. It was going to take two and a half weeks–weather permitting, and no setbacks–so, she had to occupy her mind. She bought trinkets and souvenirs—nice ones—in each of the markets where the Imperial Russian Czarina made port. Something for her father Abram, her mother, Irina, her two brothers, Veniamin and Valéry, and for as many of the servants and employees of the Tarasova Fur Company she could remember.

  The sturdy ship entered Golden Horn Bay in late morning and was tied up at the wharf of Vladivostok Freeport Harbor by late afternoon. Several dozen stevedores, coolies, clerks, gruzchiki, and other cargo handlers, swarmed aboard to off-load heavy boxes, machinery, furs, and the passengers’ and officers’ baggage. Alexandra had wired ahead; so, an excited party of well-wishers thronged the dock to welcome her back. From the arrival deck, Alexandra could see her parents–Abram and Irina–who now looked wrinkled and stooped—long in the tooth, and grey of pate. Even Veniamin and Valery looked middle-aged.

  “Have I aged that much?” Alexandra asked herself.

  On the wharf, Alexandra was enveloped in powerful loving arms circumferentially and kissed until her cheeks glowed pink. Signs stood haphazardly all around: “Welcome Home,” Welcome Daughter,” “Welcome Back, Little Sister,” “Welcome Princess Yusupov”, Welcome Home Mrs. Alexandra,” “Welcome, Welcome Lady Tarasova Yusupov.” Laughter, tears, shouts of joy, and murmurs of loving endearments formed a cacophonous shell all around her creating a nest-like sense of being back in the bosom of the family, almost back into the womb.

  She could not wait to give out her gifts. She directed a Buryat servant to open the gift boxes, and she handed them out with a small personal greeting to each recipient. Everyone—rich and humble, old and young, male and female, servant and master—was touched by the largesse and the genuine feelings of love they all shared together in the cool moist north wind whistling across the dock and up the hillside.

  The following week was one long party. Family, friends, and neighbors crowded in and dirtied up the house; but even Irina and her maids paid no mind. They ate until they were surfeited with food and semi-stuporous with drink. They played, and sang, and danced to near exhaustion. By the end of the week, Alexandra felt herself to be fully welcomed home.

  Life slowly returned to the world of work, commerce, shipping, and fur trading, and seemed more normal than before Alexandra had even met Prince Boris. Vladivostok seemed to have settled into its long-established routines and traditions, giving the lie to warnings from Jamie Matheson. The great angst of 1905 was becoming a thing of the past, of memory.

  The Russo-Japanese war began in 1904 and resulted in a terrible disheartening defeat which spread depression over the land. Sunday, January 22, 1905 unarmed demonstrators in St. Petersburg, were fired upon by soldiers of the Imperial Guard as they marched towards the Winter Palace to present a petition to Tzar Nicholas II of Russia. Those Bloody Sunday shootings provoked public outrage and a series of massive strikes that spread quickly to the industrial centres of the Russian Empire. There followed a terrifying foreshadowing of anticipation of the world coming to an end with waves of political and social upheaval by the masses spreading like a great fire over vast stretches of the Russian Empire.

  Several problems long embedded in Russian society contributed to the revolution of 1905. Serfs emancipated by Tzar Nicholas II in 1861 earned too little and were not allowed to sell or mortgage their allotted land. Ethnic minorities resented the government because of its discrimination and repression, such as banning them from voting and serving in the Imperial Guard or Navy and limited attendance in schools. A weak and powerless industrial working class resented the government for doing too little to protect them by banning strikes and labor unions. Radical social and political ideas fomented and spread after a relaxing of discipline in universities allowed a new consciousness to grow among students.

  Among the many incidents of the short-lived 1905 revolution were protests and anger from hungry and weary peasants, others were specifically directed at the imperial government. At its zenith, the protestor/would-be revolutionaries included workers of all sorts on strike, crop burning by poverty-stricken peasants, and even several military mutinies. It lasted from January, 1905 to June, 1907. While the revolution failed to topple the government, real changes occurred: Constitutional Reform was instituted which included establishment of the State Duma–a multi-party system–and the creation of the Russian Constitution of 1906; and the empire quieted down.

  Vladivostok was briefly governed by rebel military units in early 1906 resulting in unrest in the city which was quelled with diplomacy and judiciously applied force by the imperial army led by General Georgy Kazbek, Commandant in charge of the Vladivostok Fortress. During the period after 1907, the tzarist government wisely garnered the favor of the public by enabling improvements and construction of much-needed facilities: an attractive 17th-century-style railway station, a power station, two girls’ schools, a school of commerce, trams, and the V
ersailles Hotel were built. Business and commerce flourished with a large increase steamship activity in the port, including 477 foreign ships. The number of shops in Vladivostok increased to over three thousand. In 1913–when Alexandra returned–local publishers produced sixty-one titles in Russian and several other languages.

  The Tarasovas resumed their active commercial businesses once the unrest settled down. Alexandra remained skittish; but her parents and brothers became contented that life was back to normal; and the taste of revolution was so repulsive that it would not be considered again. Tai-pan Jamie Matheson II visited on one of his smaller commercial vessels in early June of 1915 when he learned of some minor skirmishes between the supporters of the Bolsheviks and the White Army.

  Jamie and Alexandra closeted together and talked “turkey” as he termed it, i.e. seriously.

  “Alexandra,” Jamie said, as soon as they found an empty room in the house. “I am not an alarmist, but the ‘handwriting is on the wall’, as the Bible said. Bolsheviks are forming a new regime throughout the country and are making progress in Petrograd and Moscow. My spies have been watching the Irkutsk oblast and especially Vladivostok and Irkutsk cities. The White Army counterrevolutionaries force is weak here, and the Bolsheviks and their supporters are being driven out of the west and are taking hold here in the east. Have you not become aware of the increase in population during the past year and a half?”

  “Of course, I have; but I was not aware that the majority of them were Bolshies.”

  “I hate to sound harsh, especially given my feelings for you; but you cannot stay here any longer. The Reds are going to win when the all-out civil war comes, and come it will. No one can predict when the hammer will fall, but it will not be very long in coming.”

  “What is your best estimation?”

  “A year or maybe two at the most.”

  “So, I have to move away as soon as I can do it.”

  “Yes. Have you built your dacha here yet?”

  “It’s well underway and in a beautiful and secret place.”

  “Good. Will you transfer your Russian holdings to Hong Kong and Shanghai in the next two or three days?”

  “That quickly?”

  “Yes. Now, Alexandra, I fear for you. I want you to leave with me on my ship. I can wait until the dacha is finished, but neither of us will be safe after that. I know this is abrupt, but I want you to be safe, and I want you. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  He actually went down on one knee which made her smile and cry at the same time.

  “Yes, I will,” she said without hesitation. “Let’s get married at Tarasova House the day the dacha is completed. That won’t be more than two weeks from now.”

  “My beautiful and brilliant, Alexandra, you do me great honor. I will scarcely breathe until that moment.”

  Alexandra was not the least shy or retiring about getting married again. Given the angst that accompanied her absence for such a long time, her mother, Irina, was energized by the idea that Alexandra would be settled, living, and conducting her business in Vladivostok with none other than the Jardine-Matheson taipan. The energy put into the new wedding plans so dominated the energy of the two women, that they paid only scant attention to the dramatic changes in population that were occurring.

  Jamie’s corporate board began to fear for his safety and for that of his ship and its cargo; so, they unanimously demanded that he return to Hong Kong at next tide. He reluctantly told Alexandra that he would have to leave but would return as soon as the growing unrest quieted down. Otherwise, their fall back escape plan would be put into play.

  “Jamie, I don’t care about a grand wedding. I just want a marriage with you. I will slow down on the wedding plans and give most of my attention to the dacha. I should be done in a month.”

  They kissed fervently and promised each other eternity. But he had to set sail that evening to catch a promising tide. They telegrammed each other every day, with a growing sense of ardency and urgency.

  Workers fled or refused to work; so, construction of the dacha slowed to a snail’s pace. Bolsheviks poured in, and the government run by the counterrevolutionaries began to fail as the White Army proved increasingly unable to keep order. Over the next seven years, Vladivostok’s population quadrupled as Whites left and the Reds inundated the city. From 1915 to 1917, the White Army retreated to the east leaving supporters of the old regime to the not so tender mercies of the revolutionaries and all of their internecine struggles for power. The city began to descend into a chaotic mixture of partisan struggles.

  Alexandra made numerous but futile attempts to communicate with Jamie. Nothing could get through to him or back from him. Finally, Alexandra decided that she must join the exodus of the Whites. She told her parents and brothers that they needed to come.

  “It will pass, Alexandra. Have faith,” her mother said.

  “We can’t leave our ancestral home, all of our properties and investments, and our people,” her father, Abram said. “Besides, Irina and I are too old to begin galavanting around the country or maybe even the world at our age. We will have to weather the storm, as we have always done.”

  Collapse of the city was imminent. Alexandra asked, begged, cajoled, and even threatened, her family, but to no avail. They were opposed to any change, especially one of such magnitude. The argued that the Bolshies were just like them, decent people at heart; and everything would eventually turn out all right.

  Alexandra finally gave up. She made plans to leave with a small cart train of her necessaries and treasures three days from her last urgent pleading with her family, but events moved too quickly for that.

  A semi-disciplined Bolshevik armed force advanced to the street before Svetlanskaya Street in the late afternoon and made camp. Alexandra and three of the family Buryat faithfuls took their four horses and four pack horses with hastily gathered crucial goods including rations, firearms, swords, and ammunition, and fled in the night in the direction of General Kazbek and his army of stragglers. Alexandra bemoaned the fact that she could not communicate with Jamie, and in her depression over that; she wondered if perhaps God was punishing her for her bigamies. In lighter moments, she wondered if He were not just saving her from becoming a “trigamist”.

  Gen. Kazbek’s White Army encampment was in disarray. Few tents had been put up; there was no aid station; cooking facilities were inadequate. Discipline was beginning to deteriorate to an every-man-for-himself level with half of the soldiers absent from the camp on hunting trips. The desertion rate was mounting.

  Alexandra took stock of the situation and decided that she could best help by working on the mess hall and kitchen facilities to provide efficiently for her estimate of 65,000 men from the garrison and local Vladivostok aristocratic volunteers from among the remaining middle-class citizens, reactionaries, pro-monarchists, non-Bolshevik socialists, socialist revolutionaries, Mensheviks, republicans, and liberals, less some deserters and defectors, and almost that many camp followers. The best soldiers in the camp by far were the members of the well disciplined Ussuri Cossack Host. She relied on them to bring in meat from the hunt and cattle, sheep, hogs, and vegetables largely through forced divestitures from the peasant farmers in the region. She organized the kitchen policing staffs, cooks, servers, and storage managers. In three weeks, she had a well-functioning organization underway.

  The success of Alexandra’s efforts came to the attention of a young general named Vladimir Kappel. He recognized her value and appreciated her beauty, general healthiness, and ability to endure privation. After watching her for three weeks off and on, he approached her as she finished an all-day shift in the mess hall.

  “Mrs. Yusupov, I am Gen. Kappel. I admire your work and accomplishments. I wish we had a few thousand men like you in the White Guard service.”

  “Thank you, General. It is morale building to know that one’s efforts are appreciated.”

  “I have to tell you that I admire more tha
n just your work, excellent as it is. I admire you and would like you to accompany my army to Siberia when we leave. I trust that you can keep a secret?”

  “I can.”

  He took a moment to decide how far he should go.

  “General Kapchek has been recalled to the Southern Front, and I will replace him in command of the White Army in the East, Northeast, and Siberia. I need people of your caliber to be officers under my command. Times are rapidly changing, I hardly need tell you. Old alliances topple; new ones arise. It is difficult for a dedicated officer to know who to trust. I instinctively trust you. I hope you will not be offended, but I also have a rather strong attraction to you personally. I will be most candid; I am bold enough to hope that you and I can march together, live together, and comfort one another as we undertake our massive endeavor for the Rodina.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, in different times, or in pre-civil war society, she would have silenced the man abruptly and told him that he was an unprincipled boor. These, however, were neither ordinary circumstances nor polite society. She had given up her selfish desires to have a “trigamy” with Jamie Matheson or any other man from that long-ago time and far-away place that was “the civilized world”.

  “You are a great man, General, and likely to go far. You have been pleasant to me in a world that is no longer pleasant. For that I thank you. I am convinced of the righteousness of our cause and think it appropriate for us to help one another and to provide companionship. I would be proud to work with you, but you must know that I cannot be subservient to any man. I will work tirelessly as your partner in all things, but I will not be a staraya krest’yanka [old Russian peasant lady, babushka] who dares not speak or show her face.”

  Knowing she was going against all Russian tradition, and even her best chances to live a decent life in a rapidly deteriorating world, Alexandra looked Gen. Kappel directly in his eyes without giving in to the deep recesses of her traditional mind to look down at her feet.