“But in his words we can take hope.”
“Anna, I love you so!” he said softly, kissing one of her light curls.
They had been so close to finally having each other . . . as close as talk of a midnight flight out of St. Petersburg. Now that the voice of reason had prevailed, would it ever happen? Or would they eternally find themselves pawns in a cruel game of fate, maneuvered about by voices of reason, by autocratic rulers, and by an uncaring father?
As if in answer to his unspoken questions, Sergei suddenly heard the sound of a footfall on the garden path. He and Anna parted, but it was too late. Viktor saw enough, and for what he did not see, he was well able to draw his own conclusions.
“Father!” exclaimed Sergei as Anna shrank timidly back.
“I see I was right all along,” said Viktor, with such control Sergei could have exploded. “You care nothing for honor, or for a name that stands for honor.”
“Think what you will, Father.”
“My previous assessment of things turns out to be the correct one. Your mother’s tears can do nothing to change that now.”
“I don’t care anymore!”
“That is obvious enough.”
“What do you mean by that?” challenged the son bitterly.
“It is the lowest sort of man who would use a poor servant girl for his own ends. I had hoped I’d raised better.”
“Think the worst of me if you will—you always have anyway. But I am glad you have found out the truth about Anna and me. And since you have, let me set you completely straight. This is no sordid affair, as you seem to think. Anna and I have known each other quite well for two years. Not only is she gracious enough to love me, I love her as well and plan to marry her. Thanks to you, that will have to wait, for I must go south as I have been ordered. But we will marry. Nothing you can do will stop it.”
“Don’t be foolish, Sergei,” said Viktor in as close to a pleading tone as the old soldier could come, although it still bore the sound of command. “To throw your life away for a servant—”
“Don’t even dare speak a word against Anna.”
“I only meant—”
“I am through listening to you!”
“Well, at least you have enough sense left to obey your orders. I am more certain than ever that your going on this duty will be the best thing for you under the circumstances.”
“No doubt you and the tsar planned it together!”
“Sergei—!” Anna tried to speak, but choking tears and her own fear in the elder prince’s presence made her voice useless.
“And let me tell you this,” Sergei continued to rail against his father. “My decision to obey my orders has nothing to do with you. If it were up to me alone, I would desert and leave the country, even if it meant you spending your life in shame. But for Anna’s sake, and my own, I have chosen to do otherwise. Honor does mean something to me, after all, Father. Unfortunately, it is an honor different than you and your colleagues of the court will ever know.”
Viktor replied only with silence. He was nearly as dumbfounded by the turn of events as his daughter’s maid.
“Goodbye, Father. You are finally rid of me.”
Sergei walked to where Anna stood, pale and trembling. He took her arm and together they began to walk away. But some demon of bitterness in Sergei’s heart made him pause and look back for one final cruel thrust. “If you are lucky, Father,” he said, “I will catch a Tartar bullet and not return!”
8
Anna went immediately to her room after leaving Sergei at the door of his father’s house. The thought of running away right then with Sergei had occurred to her. But that awful face of reason—she was growing to hate it, too!—rose to prevent her.
What she would do she did not yet know. But just as Sergei could not run away, neither could she.
Anna sat on her bed for a long while and wept. She wanted to think, but her thoughts were in far too much disarray to be coherent.
When the knock came at her door a couple of hours later, she could not imagine who it could possibly be. Katrina had been gone almost three weeks. She had only had one visitor in all that time, her old friend Polya. Perhaps Nina or one of the other maids needed her for something. She almost hoped so. Work was just the thing she needed right now. As her papa always said, A hand to the plow is the surest remedy for cobwebs in the brain.
Anna dried her eyes, took in a deep, steadying breath, and opened the door.
Prince Viktor Fedorcenko stood before her. She let out a little gasp of shock and felt her knees waver.
“I believe you will agree with me, Anna Yevnovna,” he said, “when I suggest that we need to talk.”
Anna only nodded mutely. She prayed silently, desperately, that somehow she could find not only her voice but the courage to speak her heart to this man—her employer, her master.
“I think we may make use of Princess Katrina’s sitting room,” the prince went on, leading Anna, nearly having to pull her forward into the other room. “Sit . . . please.”
Anna dumbly obeyed, while the prince himself stood, pacing occasionally as he spoke, and pausing now and then by the mantel.
“At this point, Anna,” the prince began in a more informal tone than he had used with his own son, “I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I have had, over the years, little occasion for any personal involvement with you. But that is not to say that I have not observed with interest your activities in this household. I have never had reason to find the slightest fault with you. Moreover, you have exercised a most positive influence on my daughter, for which I am grateful. Because of your influence she succeeded in her studies where no one else was able to encourage her. Fingal tells me your motivation was even greater than hers. Katrina also has confided in me how your intercession saved her from her headstrong determination to marry Anickin. In short, you have been a faithful and loyal servant, Anna Yevnovna. And thus I find myself completely baffled by this most uncharacteristic departure on your part. I must conclude, indeed I can see no other conclusion to draw, that you were overwhelmed by aristocratic force, unable to protest for fear of reprisals, and thus went along with whatever my son may have told you, despite what all reason and sensibility should have dictated on both your parts. I know how persuasive my son can be, even when he is behaving in a self-motivated and debased sense of his own—”
Suddenly Anna found her voice. She could not listen to Sergei being wrongly accused for another moment.
“If you will forgive me, Your Excellency,” she interrupted, “your conclusions about Sergei are not at all correct.” In the same breath she had not only found her voice but had contradicted her master!
The prince’s eyebrows shot up. This insolence was not lost on him; he was accustomed to unquestioning obedience and servility from his servants. Apparently Sergei had already rubbed off more on this girl than he at first realized!
“How so, Anna Yevnovna?” he said, retaining amazing control.
“I thought you knew your children better than that, Your Excellency,” Anna said, finding courage even as she spoke. “If you did, you could never accuse your son of such crass behavior.”
“So . . . my son is innocent, and it was rather you who lured him into this unusual liaison?”
“Is it always a question of one luring the other?”
“I do not understand you.”
“Is it not possible for a young man and a young woman, even a prince and a servant, to meet and talk and find that they have ideas and interests in common, and then discover that the friendship emerging between them one day blossoms into love? Is that so unusual . . . or so impossible, Your Excellency?”
“My son ought to have enough sense to stop such a thing before it goes that far.”
“Perhaps we were wrong in that, sir. But even now I cannot truly believe what we feel toward each other is wrong. And whether you believe it or not, Prince Sergei has always behaved completely honorably toward me. You
may want to think the worst of him, and of me also. But we have done nothing to be ashamed of. Whatever mistakes we have made have only been errors in judgment.”
“I do not want to believe the worst,” replied Viktor emphatically. “And I can even understand the impetuosity of youth in these matters. But the fact remains, you both made a mistake, even if only in judgment. My son may have acted honorably toward you, but he has shown beyond question his own disregard for his family and position.”
He paused momentarily, then went on. “But that has nothing to do with you, Anna Yevnovna. I came here to give you a chance to speak for yourself. It seems you have chosen to use the opportunity to speak instead for my son.”
He paused again, now standing by the mantel, an arm propped on the ledge, and studied Anna for a brief moment. “That, in itself, speaks as much for you as anything.”
“What would you have me do, Your Excellency?”
“Sergei intends on obeying his orders. In that decision, I take hope that he is not completely lost. You both must use this timely separation to reconsider your individual positions. You are free, of course, to return to your home in the country, Anna. But you are also free to remain. In a short time my daughter will return from Greece and you will take up residence with her in Count Remizov’s home—if you choose. I will not prevent you. In fact, I am sure she would be lost without you.”
“And when your son returns . . . ?”
“I will hope by then you will both have come to your senses. My son may truly believe that he loves you, Anna. But I am convinced that his rebellious nature is at the root of this. He would do anything to incur my displeasure. I must rely on your good sense, Anna, of which I believe you have an abundance, to right this unfortunate situation. If you care for my son, surely you will not stand by and watch his life ruined by such a . . . hastily conceived . . . liaison.”
“Your Excellency, I must be honest with you.” Anna lifted her eyes until for the first time they were steadily focused on the prince. “I cannot in good conscience promise anything. I admit, there is confusion for me in all this. Yet do I simply turn my back on your son because we are from different backgrounds? If that turns out best for him, of course I will do it for his sake. But right now . . . I cannot see such things clearly. Perhaps for now it is best left in time’s hands. In the meantime, I do wish to remain here, if Princess Katrina wishes to retain me after she knows—”
“Anna, this matter is best kept quiet. No one need know what has transpired today.”
“As you wish, Your Excellency.”
When Prince Fedorcenko left the room, Anna remained for several moments, standing silently in disbelief over the inconceivable interchange. Had anything even been resolved? She wasn’t certain. The only result seemed to be that Sergei’s father had, at least partially, left a resolution in her hands.
Slowly she turned and walked back into her own small room, closed the door, and sat down on the side of her bed. Within the short span of twenty-four hours, everything had been turned upside down.
After two or three minutes she slipped to her knees.
“Oh, God,” she prayed, “I don’t know how to face the choices that lie ahead for us . . . for me! Yet I know you are in control of my life, and Sergei’s too—even though perhaps he doesn’t know it—and our destiny together, whatever it is. Help me, God, to know what to do, what to think, what to say. Be with Sergei, too, wherever he goes, whatever happens. Protect him and watch over him. Whatever the final outcome of all this, Lord, strengthen us . . . strengthen me and make me a woman you are proud of. Help Sergei’s father to see him as I see him, and to love him as I love him. Oh, God . . . I want to place the future, whatever it holds—for me, for Sergei, for our two families—in your hands. Help me to trust you in bringing about what is for our very best!”
Anna was silent a few minutes more, then rose, went to her cupboard, and took out the Bible her father had given her. She turned to one of her favorite passages, suddenly thinking of it in terms of Sergei, and read from John the familiar words: In a little while I am going away and you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me again. I tell you the truth, you will weep and mourn. You will grieve, but the day will come when your grief will turn to joy.
She drew in a deep breath, and uttered one more prayer. “Oh, God, whatever grief and mourning comes, let me trust for the day when you will turn it to joy. Keep Sergei in your hand, Lord.”
9
Had Sergei been able to hear the prayers of the girl he loved, he would not have dismissed them lightly, for they were Anna’s. Yet he would have had difficulty believing them to contain much present meaning for his life. As bitterness and anger sealed off his heart, the One whose voice Anna was humbly trying to hear grew more and more distant to him.
Sergei returned to his barracks and packed up his belongings. He was expected to be on the first train south in the morning. He had two more errands to attend to before then. The last would be to say goodbye to Anna one final time. But before that there was one more person he wanted to see.
He found Lieutenant Misha Grigorov off duty, in his quarters adjacent to the palace. The lieutenant invited the prince in, pulled up a simple wooden chair for him, and then seated himself on the edge of his bed.
“I heard about your unfortunate trouble with the emperor,” said Grigorov. “You have my sympathy.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. But that is not why I have come.”
“I didn’t think so. What can I do for you?”
“I understand from Anna that you and she have become friends, that she has confided in you about us.” He paused, obviously feeling the awkwardness of the situation.
“Yes . . . on both counts,” replied Misha slowly.
“I honestly don’t know how to speak my mind without sounding like a melancholy fool,” said Sergei with a nervous laugh.
“Just speak out, Prince Fedorcenko. I will neither take you for a melancholic nor a fool. Remember, I owe my life to you. I know what kind of man you are.”
“All right then, here it is plainly,” said Sergei. “I received orders of transfer just yesterday. Since then I have had ominous misgivings. These are only compounded by the fact that in the last few days everything seems to have turned against me.”
He paused, groping for the right words.
“My father has discovered about Anna and me, and although I do not fear that he would harm her in any way, he very well could use his influence to force her to leave his home, or St. Petersburg, perhaps even to go somewhere far away, to disappear. And even if she should remain in his home, or with my sister, he could eliminate any form of communication between us and make her life miserable if he so chose. Anything could happen, Lieutenant, and I do not want to return to find that I have lost her or that she has disappeared.”
“I can hardly believe such fears are justified.”
“Perhaps not. Nevertheless, I would feel much better about leaving if I knew there was someone here who understood the situation and could watch out for Anna, to see that she is not trundled off some dark night to Spain, or, heaven forbid, to Siberia.”
“Do you really fear such deception from your own father?”
Slowly Sergei nodded his head. “He might do something rash, fully believing it to be for my own good,” he said. “But I don’t know. I have just been possessed by this dreadful sense that once I leave, I will never see Anna again. Yet . . . I must go, for reasons I hardly understand myself.”
“What can I do?” said Misha sincerely.
“It would give me some peace of mind to know there is someone here for Anna, someone other than my sister, who to my knowledge knows nothing about our relationship.”
“It would be an honor to serve you in this way.”
“And if anything should happen to me,” Sergei added, “it will be good to know . . . that she has a friend here.”
“I pray, Prince Fedorcenko, that all your fears are imaginary,�
�� said Misha with conviction. “I am certain they are! But you need not worry about Anna. I will continue to be her friend, and yours through her. If the need ever arose, I would give my life to protect her—not merely for her sake but because of the debt I have owed you since the Balkans.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Please . . . I am Misha to my friends.”
“I am happy to be counted so,” said Sergei, rising. “And you must do me the honor of using my given name also. Yours is a friendship I will value highly.”
Both men embraced, sealing their friendship in ancient Russian fashion. “Godspeed, Sergei!”
“And to you also, my friend.”
10
Only two more farewells were left for Sergei.
He would say goodbye to his mother in the morning, for she had insisted on driving with him to the train station. He regretted that he would not see Katrina before he left, or Dmitri.
Somehow his vague misgivings felt strongest when he thought of his sister. What would be her reaction when she learned about him and Anna, as she was bound to sooner or later? Would she hate him for it? Or worse, would she reject Anna? Or would she understand, as she had always been able to understand him? He wished he could tell her himself, but he would be far away by the time Katrina returned. He could only leave matters in God’s hands, although at the moment his faith was so weak that this thought gave him little comfort.
By the time he saw Anna later in the evening, his mood had descended to its lowest ebb, perhaps of his entire life. They had arranged to meet in a little tea shop around the corner from the Marïnsky Theater. With Katrina gone, scarcely anyone paid the least attention to Anna, who found herself free to come and go almost at will. They ordered tea, but their glasses had hardly been touched thirty minutes later.
Anna tried to lift the heavy oppression weighing on them. It was a feeble attempt at best.
“I remember when I saw my first ballet at the Marïnsky,” she said. “I could not believe anything under a stone roof could be so beautiful.”
The Russians Collection Page 81