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The King of Vodka

Page 19

by Linda Himelstein


  There was simply no denying Smirnov’s preeminence. It was on full display at the Nizhniy Novgorod exhibition—in his assigned location, in his flashing arch, in the stories carried in newspaper, and in the fair’s printed catalog. He also collected top honors again, earning the right to display another state emblem, his fourth, on his products. None of the adulation bestowed upon him during the event, though, moved Smirnov the way his brush with royalty did.

  ON MAY 18, the tsar’s coronation, intended to be a magnificent celebration of his reign, turned into tragedy. Smirnov’s vodka had gushed like a river at the largely symbolic event. Indeed, one-fifth of all the alcohol purchased for the occasion by the Imperial Court for its own pleasure came from Smirnov’s cellars and warehouses, including four different kinds of flavored vodkas.7 On top of the tsar’s elite party, more than 500,000 revelers showed up the day before the coronation for a traditional gathering held for commoners. They drank and ate throughout the night in a large outdoor field outside Moscow, all the while waiting for the moment when packaged gifts from the tsar would be distributed to the crowd. Rumors swirled among the assembled that herds of horses and cows would be given away, that fountains of beer and wine would flow, and that trained elephants would perform.

  None of these rumors were true, but the anticipation, along with the drink, made people anxious and impatient. Then someone shouted: “They give it,” referring to the presents from the tsar to this subjects. The crowd went wild, pushing, shoving, and charging. Mayhem ensued, as throngs frantically chased packages thrown into the air. In the end, an estimated 2,000 people were killed in the crush, many of them women and children. The tsar’s gifts, a souvenir enamel cup, a spice cake, a sausage, and some bread, offered little consolation.

  Nikolay II was reportedly grief-stricken, putting even more pressure on officials to ensure his experience at Nizhniy Novgorod would be refreshing and positive. The plan was for the tsar to arrive on July 17, spend three days touring the exhibition, meet with prominent attendees and participants, and attend a sumptuous dinner given in his honor. Smirnov, who had been commuting from Moscow to Nizhniy Novgorod since the exhibition’s opening, returned to the fair with childish anticipation. He brought Mariya and his children, including his youngest daughter, nineteen-year-old Aleksandra, and five sons. In Smirnov’s mind, greeting the monarch was not only an honor and a thrill, but also a duty that ought to be shared.

  The weather turned foul on the day of the tsar’s arrival. Until then, the summer in Nizhniy Novgorod had been quite pleasant. The days had been warm enough—but not too warm. A few small showers and breezes had kept the air clear and clean. Only once, in June, had it been hot. The air was so stifling then in the Machinery and Industrial Departments of the exhibition that glass bottles split, wax displays melted, and engines overheated. Officials reacted quickly, painting white over windows on the sunny side of the buildings and bringing in more fans.

  Now, though, as the tsar approach Nizhniy Novgorod in July, officials were frantic over the thunderstorm that trailed him. The skies darkened, giving way to sheets of rain mixed with hail the size of walnuts. The downpour knocked out windows and blew over several displays at the exhibition. Despite the inconvenience, the emperor’s welcome from the awaiting crowds was unabashedly enthusiastic. They cried out “Hooray!” as the royal party, comprised of Nikolay II, his wife, Empress Aleksandra Fyodorovna, and the Grand Duke Aleksey Aleksandrovich made its way from one hall to another.

  Order and decorum, unlike at the coronation, ruled the majesties’ tour. Everywhere the tsar and his companions went was paved in red carpet. An honorary guard made up of the young sons of prominent merchants shadowed them. Seventeen of the boys came from Moscow’s leading families, such as Morozov, Mamontov, and Ryabushinskiy, while ten came from business dynasties in Nizhniy Novgorod. They were dressed in expensive white kaftans with poleaxes on their shoulders, some made out of sterling silver. They stood in a line, motionless, as if anticipating a military style drill.

  This honorary guard was an unusual, calculated move by merchants to appeal to the tsar. They wanted to demonstrate simultaneously their importance to the country’s economic growth and their allegiance to Russia’s traditions and heritage. An editorial in the Volgar, a regional newspaper, suggested that the merchant class had proven its power and loyalty to the crown more fervently than the age-old aristocracy, which was leaning increasingly toward Western ideals. “The kupechestvo [merchantry] has preserved the genuine Russian spirit more than any other [social estate]. Nowhere else does the national feeling appear with such strength, conviction, and breadth. Of all groups in Russia, it alone is strong also in an economic sense. There is nothing it cannot do.”8

  The royal entourage was impressed with what it saw, even though they did not share the views expressed in the Volgar. The tsar greeted his guardians and then made his way through a sampling of the displays. The royal couple returned several times to walk through the exhibition, always guided by Minister Witte dressed in a summer coat and hat. Finally, on July 19, the tsar stood before Smirnov’s flashing arch. The nature of the exchange between the tsar and Smirnov is unknown, but given standard protocol and the vodka maker’s devotion to the Imperial Court, it is more than probable that Smirnov bowed deeply, perhaps even expressing his thanks and hope that the tsar and tsarina had enjoyed his exhibit. Other members in the imperial party certainly did. The Great Prince Vladimir Aleksandrovich and his wife, who later came to the exhibition, were so amused by Smirnov’s showcase that their appreciation made the Moscow news.9

  The tsar’s tour was possibly not the only encounter with royalty that Smirnov had at the exhibition. The banquet for the emperor took place that same night in a building that usually housed shops and kiosks on its first floor and apartments for city officials on the second. For this occasion, the place had been transformed into something out of a fairy tale. An entirely new staircase had been constructed, with decorations representing the heroes of Russian folk tales carved into it. Columns at the bottom of the stairs were draped in velvet and gold lace. Flowers, including snow-white lilies, roses, and azaleas, were everywhere, lit up by electrical lanterns to render the petals and leaves transparent. Garlands of lights surrounded the state emblem and a makeshift throne was set up under a thick cherry-velvet canopy. The Smirnovs joined a guest list packed with 1,700 international luminaries. “The fair has never seen such glitter,” commented one observer. “Along with the tsar’s family, there were almost all the ministers, ambassadors from foreign countries, the vice king of China, the diplomatic corps, the court, three general governors, and lots of various grand people.”10

  To join such company on that night made clear Smirnov’s eminence. Any lingering doubts the former serf or anyone else might have had simply faded away. That evening, he was a known man, a wealthy man, with his wife and children, gazing through the curling wisps of cigarette smoke, at Tsar Nikolay II. Smirnov was where he had always wanted to be: in the warm embrace of his motherland, a member of the inner circle.

  Chapter 13

  Twilight

  In the twilight of his life, Smirnov continued to oversee his business operations and go about his daily routines. But more and more he turned his attention to other pressing concerns: his family, his inevitable death, and his ensuing legacy. His commercial and financial affairs needed more ordering, and his philanthropy, already sizable, demanded one more major initiative—or so Smirnov thought. His sons and daughters, who had thus far produced a dozen grandchildren, still had complicated issues to resolve. Smirnov may not have seen it coming, but as 1897 came into view, he entered one of the most unsettling periods of his life.

  Rumblings of the turmoil began even before Nizhniy Novgorod. Aleksandra, Smirnov’s youngest daughter and Mariya’s only girl, reluctantly accompanied her parents to the exhibition, more out of duty than genuine desire. Smirnov and Mariya, in a show of steely determination, had given her no choice in the matter.

 
By the time she was nineteen years old, Aleksandra had grown into a glamorous young lady. She had wide, gray-blue eyes and a thick mop of wonderfully curly hair, which she styled according to the latest European trends. Her lips and body were full and voluptuous, giving her an innocent sensuality. She was charming, too, displaying a natural vibrancy. Aleksandra was indeed her mother’s daughter, independent and thrillingly passionate.

  It would have been hard for Aleksandra to imagine that any yearning in her young life could not be fulfilled. Like her siblings, she had experienced nothing but privilege. Her schooling revolved around all the fundamentals of good breeding, including music, art, foreign language, and literature. She traveled a lot, too, according to passport records, both for pleasure and out of necessity. For example, when she was diagnosed with an eye disorder as a young girl, Aleksandra went abroad in 1890 with her mother to find a cure.1 Aleksandra’s affliction probably inspired her father to become a primary benefactor of an eye clinic in Moscow.

  She seemed the model daughter, and it was assumed she would follow the lead of her sisters, who had selected worthy men and then slid comfortably into the traditional ranks of high society. Vera, Nataliya, Mariya, and Glafira all married sons of prominent merchants. Nataliya married Konstantin Bakhrushin, a member of the well-known family who later founded the Bakhrushin Theater Museum in Moscow. Mariya’s first husband was Pyotr Rastorguyev, a member of a prominent merchant dynasty. Her second husband, Mikhail Komissarov, was also well respected and adept at business. And Glafira married Aleksander Abrikosov, heir to a candy empire.

  Then came Aleksandra. In the spring of 1896, just a few months before the exhibition began, Aleksandra met a man more than twenty years her senior. Devilishly handsome and suave, he appealed to her instantly. His name was Martemyan Nikanorovich Borisovskiy. His family of merchants had been well respected and wealthy. The Borisovskiys owned a sugar refinery and a small textile factory, but a bad business deal and falling sugar prices had reversed their good fortune, plunging the family into bankruptcy. They were devastated, forced to sell their estate and close their factory. Borisovskiy’s father despaired while his son turned to more frivolous pursuits.

  Martemyan was a drinker, a gambler, a debtor, and a cad. He was also married. According to a contemporary merchant who knew him, Martemyan “didn’t possess elementary or basic notions of honesty.”2 He was a regular on Moscow’s party circuit, known to drink prodigiously at breakfast, and to seduce unsuspecting women at will, using deceit and a smarmy charm to get his way. It was rumored that Martemyan took a girl up to the belfry of a church located at the Kremlin where, in an act of utter blasphemy, he made advances on her. After this, according to his contemporary, Borisovskiy was caught and forced to marry the girl.3

  None of this debauched behavior, however, could derail the budding romance between Martemyan and Aleksandra. According to several personal letters Martemyan sent to Aleksandra between 1896 and 1897, the relationship unfolded routinely. He began to call on Aleksandra at Smirnov’s home. The visits were formal, chaperoned most often by Mariya. Relations between the Smirnovs and Aleksandra’s suitor were cordial and friendly. Once the Smirnovs realized the couple had more than friendship on their minds, they made inquiries around town about Martemyan. They quickly learned of his wretched reputation. Still, it appears that Martemyan was struck by the support the Smirnovs continued to demonstrate. In one letter he wrote, “I [Martemyan] still can’t understand why, after all this unpleasant feedback about me, your father talked to me so willingly. Your mama also seems to have a liking for me. It means that they do not believe the wicked people who want to blacken my reputation. It means that everything may be arranged on mutual agreement.” 4 In another, Martemyan refers to Mariya as their “guardian angel,” an ally in their quest for true love.

  Within a few weeks, the couple openly expressed their feelings to one another—and to their families. Aleksandra, unable to contain her ardor, disclosed her devotion to Martemyan to her parents, believing they would yield to her desires. Borisovskiy made plans to divorce his wife and pledged to renounce his playboy lifestyle: “Before I met you I lived like a pig because, as you know, I expected nothing from life and did anything I wanted to do…. I led an immoral life” (April 8, 3 AM). In a letter eleven days later, Martemyan declared, “Though I have had many affairs when I was young I’ve never really loved anybody. And I love you, not for your appearance but for your wonderful soul, which shines through your wonderful eyes. I even feel fear. I’ve never looked at a woman the way I look at you. And you are not just a woman but a goddess embodied in a woman” (April 19, 1 AM).

  The Smirnovs were not swayed by Martemyan’s poetic pronouncements nor were they convinced that Aleksandra was anything more than an innocent girl behaving rashly under the influence of an unscrupulous, manipulative man. They viewed Martemyan as a poor match for her, a scoundrel who would bring nothing but scandal to them and unhappiness to Aleksandra. Even though they forbid her to see him, the Smirnovs knew how headstrong their daughter was. From letters, it looks as if Mariya paid off Martemyan’s wife, getting her to contest a divorce that had been thought to be an already closed matter. Martemyan wrote to Aleksandra about his outrage. “Somebody, probably somebody from your family, gave money to my ex-wife to start a lawsuit against me. She hired a lawyer, some Jew man, and now he plays mean tricks on me…. He insists on delays in my divorce, on receiving lots of papers concerning my finished divorce. He appealed the decision. He wants all the witnesses to be interrogated again in his presence. It’s disgusting!” (Case 497, #100, June 3, 5 PM).

  At the same time, Mariya, likely in collaboration with her husband, pursued an alternative, riskier strategy. She approached Martemyan. Still a beauty herself and about the same age as her daughter’s suitor, she tried to seduce Martemyan, hoping to elicit direct, incontrovertible evidence from him about his base, unchanged character. He wrote to Aleksandra about the incident. “M. N. [Mariya Nikolayevna]…wanted not to make a son-in-law out of me but a lover. She was cruelly disappointed in her aspirations and will probably start looking for a partner for a fun pastime outside the house. Then you’ll have more freedom” (#87, May 22, 11 PM).

  The niceties practiced during the first days of the courtship had vanished. Martemyan only had his all-adoring mother and father to spur him on in his quest for a Smirnov. They embraced their son’s relationship with Aleksandra, according to several letters his mother wrote to Aleksandra, seeing the girl as a more-than-suitable match for Martemyan. She would bring money, respectability, and renewed stature to her son and his family. Moreover, she believed Martemyan genuinely loved Aleksandra and would make her a good husband. She wrote, “Believe me, my Mortya [a nickname for Martemyan] is a very good, very kind boy. He will always love you. And I love you beforehand. And his father also loves you…. It is such a pity that your parents oppose your love so much. I don’t understand them. You will live with Mortya, not them” (Case 497).

  Martemyan’s anger grew as each day brought more frustrations. In his letters, he expressed his raw hatred for the Smirnovs as well as his fears that they would try to force Aleksandra into abandoning him for another more suitable partner. “Your parents will definitely exert every effort to make you interested in a fiancé who would be more favorable to them” (Case 496, #21, April 19, 1 AM). Then later:

  They [the Smirnovs] will terrorize you because of me! They will torment you! They are animals, monsters!…Your father, though he gave you both education and good breeding, he still remains that terrible type of despot merchant—an emigrant from the people…. He accepts his opinion only while he’s indifferent to other people’s opinions…. Alas, I am very sorry to have to write all these things about your father but he seems to be a person like this. He really is. A person, who earns money not for life but for money’s sake, and is alien to any kinds of feelings where money plays a second or third role. And you wrongly call him religious…. No my darling, these are not religious people.
These are fiends! (Case 496, #55, April 25, 10 AM).

  Martemyan’s rants directly aimed at Mariya were just as visceral—and more pointed. “Let her go to hell,” he wrote (Case 497, #172, June 20).

  Pyotr Petrovich, Aleksandra’s half brother, was the one Smirnov for whom Martemyan had kind words. Aleksandra confided her troubles to her older brother, begging him to help her find a way to circumvent her parents’ opposition. She believed the younger Pyotr would be sympathetic to her predicament given his own struggles with their father over a married lover. From Martemyan’s letters, it is certain that Pyotr met with him and promised to assist the couple in their quest. “What a pleasant person! How he took our problem so close to his heart.”5 It’s not clear what, if anything, the younger Smirnov managed to accomplish on his sister’s behalf. He may not have had much opportunity to help. When it became evident that Aleksandra would not easily relinquish her love affair, Smirnov and Mariya decided to get their daughter out of Moscow and away from Martemyan. Their strategy, at least in part, was aided by coincidental good timing. A series of trips was already on the calendar that spring—from the Nizhniy Novgorod exhibition to a visit to Smirnov’s boyhood village in the Yaroslavl province. The vodka maker had ached to return to his roots and build a cathedral, an act that was thought to justify wealth and alleviate the sin of capitalism. For this deed, Smirnov chose Potapovo, a village within two miles of his birthplace and roughly 165 miles from Moscow. As a child, Smirnov had attended church there, but the building was now too small to hold all of its worshipers comfortably. It was also old, having been erected in 1757, and it needed major repair and renovation. The new structure commissioned by Smirnov was to be enormous by comparison. It would be built of stone, contain three altars, five domes, and a modern heating system. Decorative touches, such as iron-curved rods and brick columns, would create a grandness more akin to cathedrals found in the bigger cities than in the rural countryside.[33] Smirnov spared no expense for this undertaking, donating an estimated 250,000 rubles [more than $3.3 million in today’s dollars] from his own pocket.6 And it seemed that Smirnov was proudest of this one project. Local townspeople hailed their native son, treating him as a hero come home.

 

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