The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  “Let him have his say,” boomed Alexander’s voice. “I for one want to hear the proposal out in its entirety.”

  “Just imagine,” Melikov had continued once silence was restored. “What better way to stop the terrorists than to give the people the very thing these radicals say they are fighting for?”

  It was easy to see that the tsar was listening to every word with great care. Viktor supposed the bombing had had one positive result. The emperor had grown desperate enough to take even the most outlandish ideas under serious advisement.

  “By so doing, you undercut their very message. They have nothing else to be up in arms over. Don’t you see—we meet their demand, without giving in! We destroy public sympathy for the terrorists by turning the support of the masses toward the crown.”

  The room fell silent. It was indeed an audacious proposal.

  Yet it would take time to research the details involved in the implementation of a constitutional regime. And it was clear that something had to be done now to curb the terrorism.

  What was being done concerned Viktor. As pleased as he was to see Alexander listening, he didn’t quite know what impact these changes would have in the immediate future. His own internal debate had awakened him and sent him out on this morning’s lonely trek.

  Almost immediately after the decisive meeting, the tsar had formed the Supreme Executive Commission, headed by Melikov himself. In essence, with one sweep of Alexander’s imperial hand, Melikov was given powers that made him a virtual dictator over all of Russia, superseding all but the tsar himself.

  Viktor supposed that if Russia had to have a dictator in the interim period before a constitution could be implemented, the tsar could have done worse than Melikov. He was a liberal-minded man with a good head on his shoulders, and even something of an intellectual. He offered to Russian law enforcement something more than the dull-witted, brute force of Vlasenko. His plan was to root out the terrorists without resorting at the same time to mass government terror. He hoped to imprison the real criminals without breaking the hearts of those “ill-fated youths” spoken of by Tchaikovsky. And beyond this, he hoped to win back the hearts of the many who had been driven away from patriotism by the corruption and brutality they saw in the government. His was indeed an idealistic dream, and a gargantuan task. Viktor hoped Melikov could pull it off.

  He proved his mettle when The People’s Will made an unsuccessful attempt on his life. Within two days the guilty man was caught, quickly tried, and hanged, leaving the disgruntled Third Section chief looking foolish for his ineptitude during the past year.

  Viktor knew it would not be long before Melikov abolished the Third Section altogether, removing Vlasenko and taking complete control of all police power himself.

  Thus far, Melikov had proved himself able and astute. But it had been less than two weeks, and Viktor did not know if he was entirely comfortable with the idea of a man other than the tsar holding such immense power. Why should one autocrat be brought in to do the job of another? Yet if in the end some of the repression could be lifted, and the people could see themselves as less alienated from the forces that ruled them, perhaps the changes were acceptable. At this point, at least, Viktor was not going to make his the voice of protest.

  Suddenly aware of the chill that had come over him, Viktor turned away from the river and strode stiffly back in the direction of the house.

  64

  Anna had been back in St. Petersburg only a couple of weeks before the terrible bombing at the Winter Palace. Like the rest of the city, she was still in shock over the incident, especially because the Fedorcenkos, and to a lesser extent she herself, were regular guests there.

  Her thoughts had been so much occupied with Sergei, who had now rejoined his regiment in St. Petersburg, and with the resumption of her duties with the princess, that Anna had scarcely had time for anything else. She had only seen Polya once or twice, and even after a month back in the city they had not yet been out together. Anna often thought of Paul, but she had not had the chance to attempt locating him. The preparations for Katrina’s wedding kept both girls so busy there was little else to be thought about. Anna had not given Lieutenant Grigorov so much as a thought.

  Thus, her surprise was even greater one afternoon when one of the parlor maids came to the door to announce that he was downstairs, requesting to see Anna. She looked toward Princess Katrina, who gave her willing consent.

  “May I take him to the garden, Princess?” asked Anna.

  “But it’s so cold out.”

  “I haven’t been outside all day. It will feel good.”

  “As you wish, Anna. But don’t be more than an hour. I don’t want you to freeze, and we have to finish the lace on this sleeve.”

  “Thank you, Princess.”

  Anna descended the stairway and led her visitor out into the garden, which was covered with a thick blanket of March snow, stark bare trees replacing the thick summertime foliage. As long as she had a warm house to return to, Anna enjoyed the winter as much as any other season, for it held a quiet beauty that would stir any Russian heart. Especially in the knowledge that spring lay right around the corner, the cold seemed endurable.

  “I needed to see a friend I could talk to,” Misha began after they were some distance from the house.

  “What happened?” asked Anna.

  “Oh, I butted my own head against a brick wall like the fool I am,” he replied.

  Anna looked at him with a puzzled expression.

  “I went to visit Countess Dubjago this morning,” said Misha. “I hoped that she would be a sensitive ear to what happened last night. Ha! I should have known better! She just laughed in my face and called me a sap.”

  “Last night?”

  “I had a nightmare about the bombing. Please, Anna, if you think me an idiot for admitting such a thing, don’t tell me.”

  “Oh, Misha, I would never say such a thing! There’s nothing to be ashamed of about a nightmare. It just shows you’re more sensitive than most men about pain and suffering.”

  “I would like to think you are right. Unfortunately, that’s not the way Countess Dubjago sees it! She thinks it a sign of weakness in a man.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but I do not agree.”

  “And I’ve been trying to find the courage to propose marriage to the countess . . . and now this. Perhaps I am exactly the sap she takes me for! She would probably let me go down on one knee and pour out my heart to her, then throw her head back and laugh at my proposal!”

  “Misha, don’t say such a thing! I’m sure she would be honored.”

  Misha sighed and shook his head. “No,” he said in a forlorn voice, “I’m afraid there never could have been anything between us. It has just taken me all this time to realize it.” They walked on awhile in silence.

  “Would you care to tell me about the nightmare?” Anna asked at length.

  Misha continued to stare straight ahead, as if he too considered what he had experienced the night before a sign of weakness. Slowly he began to tell her of his dream, still averting his eyes.

  “It is not the first time,” he said when he was through. “There have been several since the bombing. I don’t think they come from being afraid. Perhaps it is from the anger, from the horrible things I dream of doing to those animals who are causing such destruction in our country.”

  Anna said nothing to Misha about Paul. The Cossack’s imperial loyalties were so strong that he would never be able to understand. How desperately she hoped Paul had not been involved in anything where people were hurt.

  “Perhaps in time,” she said, “the vividness of all that has happened will subside, and you will have peace. Prince Sergei has told me that he had many nightmares after the war, but they do not plague him as much now.”

  “The war never bothered me as much as this,” mused Misha. “I don’t know why. How can I explain the difference? On the battlefield, armies are trained and armed and ready to confront on
e another. Death is an expected element. Everyone is prepared to accept it. Perhaps the sight in the palace haunts me because it was so unnatural. A shattered vase of flowers caught between slabs of broken masonry. A polished dining table splintered into pieces with its china and crystal scattered in the midst of the rubble. The reality is a nightmare all its own!”

  “I am sorry you had to be there in the middle of it, Misha.”

  Misha pondered Anna’s words for a moment or two. “In a way, perhaps it was more than mere chance that placed me in the very center of events. You see, for some weeks I have been on the point of requesting a transfer. I had begun to feel like a thoroughbred prematurely put out to pasture. The walls were closing in on me, and more and more lately I have found myself thinking of my native land in the south, and the wide, beautiful, warm steppe. How much my frustrations with the countess may have contributed to this desire to escape St. Petersburg, I do not know. All I do know is that I have wanted to get away from the city.”

  “And now?”

  “Suddenly the bombing has given me a renewed sense of purpose. Or at least it has shown me the true purpose of my position, that being stationed at the Palace does have purpose. The danger to our emperor is very real. They will stop at nothing to try to kill him. And I am one of those who must protect the tsar from those maniacs. I only hope I will be rewarded with the opportunity to cut down a few of them before it is all over.”

  “It makes me shudder to hear you talk so, Misha. You have always been so gentle and kind to me.”

  “You probably think me as much an animal as those who are bringing this terror to our land.”

  “I could not think that of such a good friend.”

  “I know how you feel inside, about the love of God . . . about forgiveness.”

  He turned a penetrating gaze toward her.

  “Yes, I do believe in forgiveness,” said Anna sincerely.

  “I cannot forgive for what happened,” he said bitterly.

  “Give yourself time, Misha. Forgiveness sometimes comes by degrees.”

  “Why should I want to forgive at all?”

  “Because that is what Jesus himself would do—and do we not all strive to be like Him?”

  “Not I, Anna. I am a practical man, and it seems to me that it would be the height of impracticality to try to attain something that is clearly impossible.”

  “There is another reason you should forgive, then,” she said, taking up his challenge. “Maybe even a better one.”

  “What is that?”

  “Hate and unforgiveness eat away at a person’s soul. If left rotting down inside you long enough, they would turn you into . . . into someone like Basil Anickin.”

  Even as she said the words, Anna thought of one other example. But she pushed aside all thoughts of her brother.

  “Do you want to become a man who has sealed off all access to his heart, Misha?” she went on. “Princess Katrina tells me Basil has gone completely insane. Hate has destroyed not only his heart, but his mind as well—what used to be a brilliant mind. Please, don’t let such a thing happen to you.”

  “Well, for you, Anna,” he replied with a thoughtful smile, “I will remain open. But do not expect a miracle too soon.”

  She smiled. “I have faith in the greatness of your heart. And I have faith in the greatness of God also.”

  They walked on, trying to put thoughts of violence, bombings, and hatred out of their minds. The setting was too peaceful for all that.

  “Ah, Anna, I have missed you these last months!” Misha exclaimed all at once. “I have missed having a friend to talk to. Sometimes I so badly need your sanity to help me see the world a little more clearly.”

  He paused as they came to a bench. “Shall we sit for a while?”

  She nodded. He brushed aside a layer of powdery snow from the wooden surface and they sat down side by side. “We must forget about all these morbid topics for the rest of the day. Tell me about your family. Is your father well?”

  “He nearly killed himself trying to get in the harvest.” She went on to tell him of all the hard work they had done getting in the grain in advance of the storm.

  “Rest is what he needs most,” she concluded, “and he has had plenty of time for that through the winter. When spring planting comes the villagers will be able to help. And Prince Sergei has been so kind as to make arrangements for a hired hand to help out during the times of heaviest work. I believe he is feeling much better now; otherwise I would not have come back.”

  “But you wanted to return to the city?” he asked.

  “Yes. Odd, isn’t it?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “When I first came here I felt so alone and adrift. But now I will always have ties to St. Petersburg. I know that Princess Katrina considers me part of her family and will take me with her after she and Count Remizov are married.”

  “And yet you continue to wonder if you will ever be part of her family in another way?” questioned Misha.

  Anna could think of no immediate reply. Of course she wondered. Of course she hoped. But she didn’t have to say any of that to Misha. She could tell he knew.

  “You mentioned Prince Sergei before,” said Misha after a pause. “I take it then that you have seen him?”

  “He is back in St. Petersburg,” replied Anna evasively.

  “But what has he to do with your father’s affairs?”

  “He came to the village when I was home,” answered Anna. The glow that accompanied her words was unmistakable.

  “I am glad for you, Anna! You deserve to be happy.”

  “It is all very complicated,” said Anna with a sigh.

  “Surely it will not remain unresolved much longer, now that he is back.”

  “You are not trying to act the part of matchmaker, are you, Mikhail Igorovich?”

  “You should be married, Anna. With lots of babies to love and take care of. And a little izba in your precious Katyk. Laundry every day, bread to bake, a garden to tend . . . a man to care for you.”

  “It does not sound like a nobleman’s life.”

  “I can just as easily see you the mistress of an aristocratic mansion! Wherever you are, Anna, I know there will be love and happiness.”

  “It is a wonderful dream, Misha. Perhaps one day . . .”

  “And until then . . . ?”

  “I do not know. I have only seen the prince two or three times since my return. He was sent away on some military business two weeks ago.”

  “Ah, look!” said Misha, changing the subject. “It is starting to snow.”

  He flicked a small flake from his greatcoat, and several more immediately took its place. “I suppose it is time for me to go.”

  They rose and walked through the park until they came to the outer gates. Misha hailed a droshky. He haggled with the driver over the price, though it was a halfhearted effort so as not to insult the vanka who expected at least some questioning of the fare. Anna could tell there was more on her Cossack friend’s mind, for he had grown quiet as they made their way to the gate.

  “It was wonderful seeing you again, Anna,” he said.

  Anna waved as the droshky jerked into motion.

  65

  The day of the Fedorcenko-Remizov wedding dawned with a bright sun and brilliant blue sky.

  Katrina awoke and gave a long, languid stretch. Anna had not been in yet to pull back the drapes, but she could tell immediately that the day was going to be perfect.

  And why shouldn’t it be?

  This was the day she had dreamed of for years. This was the day she had been anticipating, with something less than the patience of a saint, for over six months. She, of course, had wanted it to take place much sooner, but her father had insisted on a “period of adjustment.” Who, Katrina wondered, needed to adjust? Perhaps her father wanted the time in order to get used to the idea himself! But at least he had given his consent, even though it had been with reservations, and for that she was gr
ateful.

  “I am not entirely convinced that Dmitri Gregorovich is completely reformed from his previous lifestyle,” he had said.

  But Dmitri’s admirable behavior in the unfortunate incident with Basil had impressed Viktor sufficiently for him to capitulate. By then other difficulties prolonged the waiting, foremost among them Anna’s absence, followed by the palace bombing. No one but Katrina was up for such a festive celebration after the stunning shock to the city.

  After that, Princess Natalia had conceived the brilliant idea of scheduling the wedding on her daughter’s birthday, which happened to fall on a Sunday and came shortly after the close of Lent. That was certainly longer than Katrina wanted to wait. What perturbed her most of all was Dmitri’s seeming contentment with the plan.

  The future bridegroom’s only response was to reveal that wonderful smile that could always melt Katrina’s heart, and say glibly, “It is perfect, my love! Now I shall forget neither your birthday nor our anniversary!”

  And now the day had come at last—the first Sunday of April, accompanied by blue sky and a sunny glow. The chill in the air would make the day more crisp and clear. And best of all, the horrible trouble in the city seemed to have come to a standstill since the bombing. Prince Fedorcenko said the new governor-general had cracked down so hard on the dissidents that those who had not been arrested had fled the city. Moreover, after this most recent outrage, the people had turned against the radicals and no longer were willing to hide and protect them. The capital breathed easier; more to the point, everyone was in the mood for a celebration. And Princess Katrina Viktorovna Fedorcenko was more than willing to accommodate them!

  Prince and Princess Fedorcenko planned a truly spectacular affair for their daughter, an event that would come near to rivaling an imperial wedding. The ceremony would take place at four o’clock in the afternoon at St. Isaac’s, followed by a gala ball and a lavish banquet with French champagne and mounds of Black Sea caviar. Another dinner and ball would follow the next day, given by the tsar’s aunt, the Grand Duchess Helen, during which the emperor himself would make an appearance. Alexander had expressed his regret that he could not host the evening himself for his old friend and faithful minister’s daughter, but the tsaritsa’s ill health and the recent disturbances made it impossible at the time. Even if he had not been the emperor, no one would have faulted him for that.