‘He’s probably the only aristocratic father to do such a thing. I remember when Prince Korgin displayed special talent in the sciences, his father forbade him to study medicine or train to be a scientist,’ said Fabergé disapprovingly.
‘The only thing Prince Korgin does these days is drink to excess and gamble.’
‘You turned out to be a man of great talent,’ Fabergé said.
‘Thank you,’ Dimitri said ardently.
‘Let me take your sketches and mark up some suggestions,’ Fabergé said. ‘Can we meet in my office in a week? My craftsmen will be there and will have questions for you. Each week, you can come to see the progress of the work.’
Dimitri liked the suggestion. He didn’t want to simply hand off the drawings and wait to see the finished product. He wanted to be involved in every step, just as in his architectural work. He had really enjoyed designing the gift for the Tsar, and hoped that Fabergé wasn’t just blowing hot air about more opportunities to design. That was the trouble with being an aristocrat, people were always buttering you up.
‘Yes, I’d like to do that,’ he said.
Fabergé picked up his hat and cane. As he was about to open the door of the study, he frowned. ‘That was dreadful what almost happened to the Tsar and Tsarina. They would have been blown to bits.’
‘And I and my wife would also be dead,’ Dimitri said with a grave expression. ‘These terrorists are insane.’
Dimitri was still fuming about the bomb. Their lives were saved only by Prince Henry’s tardiness. How one’s life could be snuffed out in a fraction of a second amazed him. The vicious assassination attempt made him even more committed to non-violence.
‘To think that the bomber was a carpenter who’d worked at the Winter Palace for twenty-five years. Is there no loyalty anymore?’ Fabergé bowed and left the study.
Dimitri knew that it wouldn’t be the last attempt. There could be another terrorist inside the palace.
THIRTY-SEVEN
‘The bomb was supposed to go off at 8:10,’ said Blokh crossly. You’re telling me the Imperial Family didn’t go in the dining room because a guest was late?’
Leonid glared at him.
‘The guest of honor – Prince Henry of Bulgaria.’
‘That’s a load of horseshit,’ Blokh said. They were meeting in a secret apartment on Tyushina Street.
‘No, that’s just good manners. One doesn’t sit down to supper unless the guest arrives. I always thought you Jews had good manners. You are Jewish, aren’t you?’
Blokh was getting angrier by the second. ‘Yes, I’m a Jew.’
Leonid frowned and crinkled his brow. ‘So … how come you’re not smart?’
Blokh slammed his fist on the desk. Leonid smiled as the insult got the desired response.
‘I’m as disappointed as you,’ Leonid explained in a patient voice. ‘After all, it was me who assembled the bomb and placed it in the closet of the officers’ lounge in the basement. That took quite a while, and a lot of risk. Normally, the family goes in to supper exactly at eight, like clockwork. I even set the timer for a cushion of ten minutes.’
Blokh held his tongue. Leonid knew he wasn’t going to shout at him, because recruiting him had been quite an achievement. To have an agent planted in the immediate Imperial household was amazing, and Blokh didn’t want to say anything to get him angry and quit. He was too valuable a man to lose – plus Blokh knew full well that Leonid could go to the Okhrana and inform on him.
Blokh sat up straight. ‘We are both committed to the revolution and the overthrow of the Tsar by any means necessary, so we should …’
Leonid held up a hand.
‘Listen, Monsieur University Intellectual, my grandfather was a serf who worked like an animal, then was cheated out of his land at Emancipation. It should have been his for free, but he was made to pay for it over fifty years, and couldn’t because of the famine. He told me before he died that it would have been better to remain a serf because the masters did all the thinking for you. My father and his brothers were treated like shit as paid workers on the estate. I remember the times as a boy I watched my father get flogged by the master, once because he didn’t doff his cap and bow to him. I had to put pieces of wet moss on his back to ease the pain. My mother worked as hard as a man before she dropped dead in the fields. The peasants have suffered the most, so don’t lecture me about the revolution. No more masters.’
Leonid then looked around the room. ‘Say, where’s that other Hebe? Hersch. They didn’t arrest him, did they?’ he asked angrily.
‘He’s probably in Baltimore by now.’
‘Where the hell is that?’
‘In America. He quit the cause and emigrated,’ said Blokh forlornly.
Leonid started laughing. ‘Wasn’t he your best friend? So, he just walked out on you. I bet you were pissed. I thought all you revolutionary Yids stuck together.’
‘So, we will be patient and plan another attempt,’ said Blokh, quick to change the subject.
‘We must be extra-careful,’ Leonid said in a measured tone. ‘The Tsar’s Imperial Police have doubled the number of plainclothes agents inside and out of all the palaces. They’ve been searching all our rooms every week. The Cossack Konvoi Regiment has also doubled its guard. And the Okhrana must have at least one plant in the household, but I haven’t figured out who it is.’
‘And you’re not under suspicion?’ Blokh asked. Maybe he was an Okhrana plant.
‘Of course not. They’ve arrested the bomber. I planted some bomb-making material in Korsof’s room, and they got their man. The old carpenter wasn’t a bad fellow; a pity he’s going to hang.’
‘Some lives have to be sacrificed for the cause, and …’ Blokh chimed in, but Leonid started laughing. He waved his hand in a dismissive way.
‘Fucking intellectuals. You’ll probably be crueler than the masters.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
‘He’s on his way to the Mikhailovsky Theater. He could be there already,’ Grigory said and hung up the telephone receiver.
The Mikhailovsky’s ventilation grilles were much easier to get to than the Alexandrinsky’s. They were eight round openings circling the perimeter of the theater. Dimitri was bent down over one in the left rear. The crowd below were laughing at a play by Molière. He’d been to the performance a few days before and had really enjoyed it. The audience burst out laughing again, and at that moment, he lifted the grille and flung out the pile of flyers he’d set next to the opening. He ran to the center grille, opened it, and threw out another stack of papers. Crouching down low to avoid hitting his head on the timber roof beams, he made it to the final grille. After flinging the pile, he paused a few seconds to see if there was any reaction from below. Just like at the Alexandrinsky, there came a confused murmuring. He smiled, then closed the grille. He stood up but forgot about the beam and bumped his head. Rubbing it, he let out a string of curse words as he ran over to the access stair.
At the bottom of the stair, he was shocked to hear the thunder of many footsteps coming in his direction. He didn’t need to be told who they were, but he was surprised at how many were coming so soon. He made it through the door at the foot of the stair, which let him out on the third balcony level. The footsteps were a lot louder now. Just as the plainclothes police came in view along the red-carpeted horseshoe corridor, he slipped into the balcony and found an empty seat. He could hear the police in the attic above the theater. It was quite dark up there, and they would search every nook and cranny for him. The audience in the balcony were reading the flyers calling for a constitutional government. They also were looking at the source of the noise above them.
Dimitri knew that if he had real guts, he would stay in the seat for the whole performance and leave with the crowd, but he didn’t. Plus, Katya was outside in a carriage waiting for him. He slipped back into the corridor, but when he saw men in identical dark suits and homburgs gathered down the hall, he went back into the balcony. Walking slowly, he
traversed the entire rear aisle of the balcony to get to another door, then slipped out. The corridor was empty, and he made for the side exit stairs. Taking them in leaps and bounds, he suddenly halted when a door at a landing below flung open, and men raced down the stair. When he heard them exit the stairwell, he continued on down. No one was about the rest of the way, and a short corridor at the bottom of the stair would lead him directly to the street. But when he got to the door to the street, he heard men pouring into the stairwell two levels above. Sweat was pouring out of him, as he cracked the door to peek out to see if the police were waiting for him on the sidewalk. There, ten yards to his right on Inzhenernaya Street, was the carriage. A few people were walking along, but Dimitri didn’t think they were policemen. Above him and getting closer by the minute was the crash of footsteps on the wooden stairs. He eased out the door and began walking slowly toward the carriage. After seconds that seemed like months, he stepped inside. Men poured out onto the sidewalk and began running in both directions.
‘Sasha, get moving,’ ordered Katya.
‘No! Don’t move,’ commanded Dimitri.
‘Driver, stay where you are!’ shouted a policeman, running toward the carriage.
The second before the policeman came up to the side of the carriage, Dimitri took Katya in his arms and gave her a long passionate kiss that went on and on. The policeman glanced in at them, then ran down the street.
Dimitri took a breath from the kiss and said, ‘Drive, Sasha.’ Then he continued the kiss and as they rode on, their lips had melted into one another’s. He held her closer and ran his hand through her hair. Katya sighed quietly with pleasure and felt limp as a rag doll.
The kiss didn’t end, but became more passionate as the blocks went by. She felt so wonderful in his arms. The sensation he was experiencing was like floating up and up into a bright blue sky. His heart was soaring.
‘Do you think we’re safe now?’ he murmured.
‘No, we can’t be too sure,’ she replied with a smile. She took his face in her hands and continued the kiss even more passionately.
THIRTY-NINE
‘Don’t you think he’s a beauty?’ the Tsar asked.
Usually, Dimitri agreed with Lara when she said that all newborn infants looked like baby monkeys, but the Tsar’s new son was a beautiful child with blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and golden curls. Nicky was beaming as he held Alexis, his heir, in his arms.
‘See, Dimitri, our prayers at Serov were answered,’ said the Tsarina, joining them by the baby’s crib.
‘He’s like a little angel,’ chimed in Anna Vyrubova.
‘I’m so happy for you both – and for Russia,’ Dimitri replied. He wasn’t just flattering the Imperial Couple; he truly was happy. He knew how Alexandra had longed for a boy to be the heir, and he was elated to hear the news that she had given birth to a son. Throughout Russia, church bells rang, and people down to the lowliest peasant seemed to rejoice. The ongoing tragedy of the war with Japan was forgotten for a while, and there was something to cheer about for a change. Parties across the nation were given in the Tsarevich’s honor. August 12 was another special day on the calendar, along with all the countless feast days on which Russians stopped work to celebrate.
Nicholas and Alexandra were glowing with happiness as they gazed at their son. His four sisters bounded into the nursery, followed by Miss O’Brian.
‘Let me hold him,’ Marie shouted.
‘No, me! You held him this morning,’ snapped Olga.
‘It’s my turn! I want to hold him,’ Tatiana said, stroking the baby’s hair.
The girls all started tugging at Alexis. ‘Careful, girls,’ admonished Miss O’Brian, ‘he’s not a doll.’
‘I’m going to hold him,’ the Tsarina said, taking the child from the Tsar, ‘because it’s time for his bath.’
‘I want to bathe him!’
‘I want to help, too!’
‘The birth of an heir to the throne will cheer up the brave lads fighting in the Far East, Your Majesty,’ Miss O’Brian said. The Tsar nodded.
‘I’m glad I got to see Alexis before I left,’ Dimitri said. He was leaving tomorrow for three weeks in Spała, the Tsar’s estate in Poland. He had designed a tennis complex with pavilions and also an iron bridge over a new artificial lake. The Tsar and his daughters loved to play tennis, even little Anastasia who could barely swing her racket. The construction had begun, and he wanted to be there so it was on the right track. When an architect didn’t keep an eye on the construction of his design, things could go to hell in a hand basket quickly. His able staff would continue the construction drawings on the Tchaikovsky Memorial, so he had nothing to worry about on that account. He had gone over them with the Tsar this morning, and some revisions were made that he would give to his staff before he left. The Tsar’s secret Fabergé gift was under production at the St Petersburg shop, and Monsieur Fabergé hadn’t yet smashed it with a hammer. Dimitri was confident it would come off well, having met with Fabergé four times to finalize the design.
As with the Tchaikovsky Memorial, the Tsar had helped him in the design of the tennis complex, wanting it to incorporate Russian native motifs in the new Russian Style Moderne. Normally, Dimitri hated when a client interfered in the design, but Nicky had some good ideas and not because he was the Tsar of Russia. Nicky preferred the way Fabergé’s Moscow shop incorporated medieval Muscovite imagery in their designs, unlike the more Western designs of the St Petersburg shop, so they borrowed from that. Dimitri had now switched to a new way of designing in the Russian version of the Art Nouveau style, abandoning the classical style unless clients insisted on it. Katya took full responsibility for having swayed him to a new progressive creative style, but Nicky had a lot to do with it too.
Dimitri kissed Alexis on his cheek and bowed to the Imperial Couple. He was pleased that Russia had an heir now, and it wouldn’t be Nicky’s brother, Grand Duke Michael. Michael was a bit of a wastrel, and not too bright. Perhaps Alexis would inherit a rule that was a constitutional monarchy – or not inherit a crown at all, Dimitri thought.
‘Don’t forget to take some snaps of the construction with your Kodak,’ the Tsar said.
Katya insisted on seeing Dimitri off at the train station. It killed them both to be away from each other for three weeks. He had begged her to come with him, but she had a patient who was to undergo a complicated surgery. Standing on the platform, they tried to put on brave faces.
‘Did you see the new Tsarevich yet?’ Katya asked. She wanted to get her mind off his departure, but like everyone else in Russia, she was eager for news about the baby.
‘Yes, he’s such a beautiful child, like out of a fairy tale. The Tsar and Tsarina are in a state of ecstasy. The baby is the center of the family’s life. I’m so happy for them. Even if Nicky is a lousy emperor, he’s a good father.’
‘She must be thrilled to have given birth to an heir after four daughters.’
‘Alexandra is bursting with pride. It seems most of Russia is happy.’
‘They’re entitled to be, after all this bad news from the Far East.’
The comment made his mind snap back to the revolution.
‘But defeat is a certainty, and it will help the cause. People will be angry over the senseless loss of life.’
He then took hold of Katya’s hand.
‘There’s something I want to tell you,’ he said solemnly.
A look of fear spread over Katya’s face, and her blue eyes widened.
‘I don’t think it’s enough to spread these flyers about in theaters and on the streets where workers walk to the factories. I have another idea that will be more effective. I want to pay to print a book of Ilya’s photos, and distribute thousands of copies throughout St Petersburg and Russia. When people, especially the educated, see the pictures, they’ll be moved to action. I’ve told Ilya of my plan. He and I will work on it together in our own secret sub-cell. Only you and Evigenia will know about it.’ Dimitri had bec
ome more cautious after almost being caught at the Mikhailovsky Theater. He didn’t know who had betrayed him.
Katya’s face lit up, and she hugged him tightly. ‘That’s such a wonderful idea, my sweet!’
‘Let’s face facts. I’m rich, so I can give lots of money to the cause.’
‘You’re a splendid fellow, my prince. Before you go, tell me exactly what caviar to feed your horse tonight.’
‘I’ll write it out for you, plus his wines,’ he said while checking his pocket watch.
A voice called out.
‘Well, there you are, you handsome devil. Seems like I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.’
Dimitri turned around and faced Mrs King. She was standing next to a stack of baggage piled on a cart, accompanied by her lady’s maid.
He tried to hide his look of disdain. ‘Hello, Kate, which direction are you headed?’ he asked jovially.
‘Down to Moscow to visit Count Borodin. He’s going to show me the sights,’ answered Mrs King. ‘Where’re you off to, good-looking?’
‘Spała, the Tsar’s hunting lodge in Poland. I’m doing some work for him there and have to check on it.’
‘How long will all that take?’
‘Three weeks or so.’
‘Well, I’ll be back by then, and we can catch up on things,’ Mrs King chirped happily. ‘Too bad we’re not taking the same train, I’ve got a private compartment,’ she added conspiratorially.
‘Mrs King, may I introduce Doctor Katya Golitsyn.’
Katya stepped forward, and the American shook her hand heartily.
‘A real woman doctor, eh? You’re the first one I’ve ever met,’ exclaimed Mrs King. ‘The things you encounter in this fascinating land of yours.’
‘Moscow is a very Russian city compared to St Petersburg, which Peter the Great based on a Western model. The cities don’t like each other,’ said Dimitri, sounding like a tourist guide.
‘Must be like New York and Chicago. Both think they’re better than the other. I plan to go shopping at the Fabergé store in Moscow. I already bought out the St Petersburg branch. And I figured if Consuelo Vanderbilt can get a copy of an Imperial Easter Egg like her “Pink Serpent Egg,” so can I.’ Dimitri knew that rich commoners had Fabergé make them versions of Imperial Easter Eggs.
The Fabergé Secret Page 20