I have not tutored Her Serene Highness from the time that you departed. I am sure you have not heard this since it happened only a few days ago. On the twenty-second of this month, Princess Irina Alexandrovna married Prince Yusupov in the Anichkov Palace. They have already left for their honeymoon in Egypt and Jerusalem.
I am sorry to be the bearer of such news to you, for I recall your affection for the princess. But such is life, for this is the way with royalty; they prefer to marry within their own circles. In no way is this a reflection upon you.
You are a good and honorable man and a true artist as a composer and pianist. I am sure destiny has other plans for you that, in the end, will lead to your passions and much success. I earnestly hope everything turns out for you as you wish. Do not regret anything, for you have the future!
Sincerely,
Madame Lazar
Nasrosoltan could not believe his eyes. No matter how many times he read the letter over and over again, neither the words nor the devastating message it delivered changed. In complete defeat, he fell back into his chair, in stunned silence for what seemed to be an eternity, with dark clouds of despair hanging over his head.
It is precisely at these moments in life, when one is knocked down so viciously by unforeseen events and unexpected endings, that one must make a choice. To either allow the humiliation and betrayal to crush the spirit or to accept fate and move on. A choice between bitterness or forgiveness.
A resentful Nasrosoltan chose bitterness. He took the keepsake love note from Irina out of his vest pocket, where he kept it close to his heart, and viciously tore it up in sheer disappointment. He threw the pieces into the fireplace to burn until there was no trace of the words of love Irina had so boldly borrowed from her favorite saint to declare her feelings.
Once again, Nasrosoltan recalled that day in St. Petersburg when the grand duke first told him the heartbreaking news of Prince Yusupov’s proposal. After reading of Irina’s marriage, he felt the same about love as he did at that precarious moment. He again believed that love was not kind, that it delights in hopelessness, and that love deceives.
While wiping the tears from his eyes and with a painful lump in his throat, a tormented Nasrosoltan wondered how Irina could so easily have trampled underfoot the sweet promises of love she had professed. How could she betray him by offering her heart to another with nary a word to him?
If only he could, Nasrosoltan would have stopped at nothing in the search for alchemy to resurrect this love that had suddenly died. As he experienced the gamut of emotion, from rage to dismay, trying to understand the basis of her rejection, he thought, Who threw you into confusion? Did not what we shared deserve at least a warning of what was to come?
Chapter 31
A Choice Is Made
During the next several months, Nasrosoltan slipped into a dark sadness. He maintained his composure just enough to hide his feelings from his family and friends. He thought of the words the keeper Grigoryan had uttered at Rustam’s gravesite, about such love and how it could never be replaced. It was then, humbled to the dust by adversity, that he accepted the truth that nobody understands another’s sorrow or another’s joy. Just as he had not fathomed the depths of the keeper's misery, believing at the time that his love for Irina was safe.
All his plans of the past months had come crashing down with the news of Irina’s marriage. The one thing he did not wish for was to elicit pity from others for Irina’s betrayal. So Nasrosoltan acted as if it was his decision to call off the relationship without divulging what had really happened. Nasrosoltan played this role so well that no one suspected anything. And even though Salar Moazaz seemed to have his suspicions, he left the matter alone, elated at the outcome.
As the intensity of what could have been receded, Nasrosoltan felt powerless to resist any longer, and he reached an accommodation with his new situation. He determined not to be a victim of love but instead for love to be a servant of his will.
One Friday afternoon in June, Nasrosoltan asked his mother to find him a suitable Persian woman to marry. His request was music to his mother’s ears, and the thought of him settling down and starting a family was her deepest wish. What she did not realize was that this would be a difficult task. Finding what she considered a suitable match had been no problem since she had several young women in the wait.
The complication was Nasrosoltan’s persnickety attitude. Every time they visited one of the families, and the prospective daughter showed herself by serving tea, he would find some fault with either the bride-to-be or her parents. Maybe he was comparing them all to Irina, or perhaps his desire to settle down was just a reaction to Irina’s rebuff.
But the real reason was that Nasrosoltan felt his trust had been violated by women he loved, first by Madame Shamsi and now Irina. This was the emotional self-defense he used to protect himself from further painful feelings. His inability to trust threatened the potential for him ever having a healthy relationship.
The situation got so unpleasant for his exasperated mother that one day she accused Nasrosoltan of being too picky and exclaimed, “My son, I do not think I can be of service to you any longer in finding a wife. You do not accept any of my choices, but the spurious reasons you offer for dismissing them are ridiculous.
“You say one is too short, the other is too tall, one’s hair color is darker than you like, the other’s too light. You say one is too shy, while the other is too conceited. In some cases, you do not even like the parents. You will not be marrying the parents, so why is that an issue?
“I think you have been spoiled by the attention a Russian princess gave to you, and now you think too highly of yourself. I feel embarrassed in front of these respectable families. They can easily find many suitable and willing suitors for their daughters. Still, out of respect for your esteemed father’s reputation and family name, they have considered their daughters for you. Unless you extinguish the spark of your pride and temper your peculiar taste in what you want in a wife, I will no longer introduce you to anyone’s daughter!”
Nasrosoltan tried reasoning with her. “Dearest Mother, if I am to live with someone for the rest of my life, I would rather not be inveigled into an arrangement that I may later regret. I see no fault in wanting someone to be exactly to my liking, instead of realizing years down the road that I have made a mistake that will be hard to recover from.”
He added, “If you do not want to help anymore, that is fine with me. If God wishes that I meet a woman pleasing to me to take as my wife, he will place her right in front of my eyes. No need for you to bother yourself any longer with these outdated traditions anyway.”
His irritated mother replied, “Well then, God be with you; maybe having lived abroad for so many years in your youth, you feel you are more European than Persian. They do things differently than we do, especially concerning family affairs and traditions!” And then, as she was leaving the room, she delivered her final statement with a sigh of frustration: “Har che ghesmat bashe!” (“Whatever fate decides!”)
Even though Khata Khanoom had expressed her refusal to assist her son in his quest for a wife, nonetheless, she discreetly kept her eyes and ears open for someone he may find acceptable. She now had a somewhat better idea of Nasrosoltan’s likes and dislikes through prior trial and error.
A month later, while visiting the khazineh, the public bathhouse, when it was open for women only, she came upon Mrs. Davamolmolk Vaziritabar and her daughter, Hossnieh. Khata Khanoom had not seen the girl since she was but a few years old. She was pleasantly surprised to see that Hossnieh had grown into a beautiful young lady with exquisite features and a sweet disposition. Nasrosoltan’s mother asked whether Hossnieh was spoken for. When Mrs. Davamolmolk replied that she was not, Khata Khanoom got more interested in the daughter and proceeded to inquire in greater detail all the facts she wished to later share with her son.
In the relaxed atmosphere of the khazineh, many things were discussed between the two mo
thers. Besides Hossnieh’s appealing features, which Khata Khanoom felt Nasrosoltan would appreciate, she thought her son would also admire that this young prospect studied English and French. But the most intriguing tidbit that Hossnieh’s mother had revealed was that she had an ear for music and enjoyed playing the violin.
That evening, Khata Khanoom, already having discussed the matter with her husband, broached the subject with Nasrosoltan, but he quickly dismissed any further talk of it.
Nasrosoltan did not even try to hide his annoyance when he replied, “Dearest Mother, I thought you were done searching for a wife for me. Let us not waste this noble family’s time. I do not wish for you to lose face once again. Please do not arrange anything further in this regard!”
His mother replied, “You are correct, my son. I intended to stay out of this affair due to your great expectations and the unique traits you believe the woman of your choice should possess. I am not sure you will ever find any such person—even this girl is probably not going to meet your lofty standards—but since it was by chance that I encountered her at the bathhouse, I thought I should tell you about her.
“She is quite attractive, with many of the features you mentioned you would find agreeable in a wife. She is different than the others I have introduced to you so far. I thought you might like to also know, she speaks English and French and enjoys music, and she even plays the violin.”
Her last sentence caught Nasrosoltan’s ear. His primary instrument was the piano, but he also taught the violin. Since few Persian women played an instrument, let alone one considered European, Nasrosoltan showed an interest in Hossnieh. To the pleasant surprise of Khata Khanoom, he pondered for a moment and then asked that his mother arrange the traditional introductory tea with the family, to decide for himself.
A few weeks later, Nasrosoltan and his parents were invited to the Davamolmolk estate for tea. After the customary greetings and small talk, Hossnieh entered the room carrying a tray of tea, making an offering to his parents and then her own, as tradition dictated, and then finally to Nasrosoltan himself.
When their eyes first met, Nasrosoltan felt differently about Hossnieh than he had with the other women his mother had introduced. There was something about Hossnieh that he found attractive, with her pale skin and golden-brown hair. And he did notice that she had a certain resemblance to Irina.
He said to her, “Hossnieh Khanoom, I understand you play the violin,” and without a hint of any shyness, Hossnieh replied that she did.
Nasrosoltan, not wanting to ask the indelicate, suggested anyway, “If you do not mind, I would very much like to hear you play.”
In most cases, at such an early stage of courtship, this could have been considered a strange request. However, Mr. Davamolmolk was an educated and open-minded man and consented that if Hossnieh was comfortable, she should play something. She eagerly agreed and rushed off to fetch her violin.
Hossnieh soon returned and proceeded to play a composition by the Austrian Franz Gruber, a work called “Stille Nacht,” or “Silent Night.” Nasrosoltan appreciated her talent, but above all, he was curious about the piece she had chosen to perform.
He commended her performance and asked, “How did you come to learn of this song?”
Hossnieh enjoyed his compliment and excitedly replied, “Our Assyrian music teacher at school taught us this piece a few years ago. Ever since then, I have enjoyed practicing and playing it!”
Hossnieh brandished a broad smile and continued without taking a breath, “My instructor would play it for us during Christmas, a day the Assyrians celebrate. I love this holiday with all the joyful singing and music.”
Nasrosoltan was impressed by her composure and appreciated how this feisty young woman spoke so freely, unencumbered by the traditional cultural hindrances that seemed to burden other Persian women of her age.
Even though Nasrosoltan’s heart was shattered by Irina’s betrayal, and he was now only half himself, he recognized the need for a distraction to protect against these recurring feelings of hopelessness. With her sweet spirit, Hossnieh seemed to be the perfect distraction. She was a young and innocent woman who could help him fill the void buried deep within him. Nasrosoltan resolved to outlive the misery and cast aside the endless suffering that bedeviled him. He felt Hossnieh could help him regain the other half of himself he had lost when Irina abruptly left for another.
Soon after their first meeting, Nasrosoltan and Hossnieh were married in Tehran on August 1, 1914. While they celebrated, that same day, Germany declared war on Russia at the onset of World War I.
Nasrosoltan had left a part of his heart in St. Petersburg, and no matter how much he tried to not think of her, Irina’s well-being was always on his mind. It was true that he hated what she had done, abandoning their love without notice, but he found it hard to hate her. He worried for her safety, now that the armed conflict her prescient father, the grand duke, had warned of, had finally arrived at their doorstep.
But just as life got in the way of what could have been with Irina, it also had a way of righting itself by offering Nasrosoltan another route for his happiness. Maybe not the same kind of joy, or to the same depths as he had with Irina, but the satisfaction that comes with the ordinary events of living everyday life. Events such as the birth of his first child, a son named Fatollah, in 1915, and his second son, Ezatollah, in 1917. The birth of Ezatollah coincided with an unfortunate arrival far away in Russia, for after the pain and suffering caused by the advent of World War I, a revolution had now been born as a result.
While Nasrosoltan was exuberant with the news of one birth in Persia, the one in Russia caused him much anxiety. He wondered what would happen to the royal family in the chaos the political upheaval would leave in its wake.
In the summer of 1918, when Nasrosoltan heard the Bolsheviks had executed most of the Romanov family, he was devastated. He could not imagine the thought of Irina being killed in such a barbaric way. He grieved for her, and the same raw emotions, the same loss he had experienced upon hearing she had married another, rose to the surface, taking him back to the place he had no desire to revisit. While he had mourned his misfortune when he lost her heart, he came to realize that in the end, she had lost much more: she had lost her future.
Hossnieh, sensing something was amiss, asked Nasrosoltan several times what troubled him. After initially brushing off her queries, one evening, he finally relented and shared with Hossnieh the story of his time with Princess Irina in St. Petersburg.
Nasrosoltan explained that he and the princess had fallen in love and that the royal family found out about their relationship. He recounted how frightened he had been upon the tsar’s reprimand and how that fear turned to ecstasy when the tsar seemed to have given his blessing. Nasrosoltan then shared with his wife that for reasons he knew not, Irina had betrayed him for the love of another man. He told Hossnieh, “I tried for so long to fathom the secrets in her head, but I believe her action will remain a mystery to me until the day I die.”
He confessed that the reason he was now so dismayed was the news of the murder of the Russian royal family. “I am heartbroken that Irina’s final days were so tragic and frightening for her.”
Hossnieh listened attentively and tried her best to comfort him, even though it was not a pleasing thought that Nasrosoltan still seemed to love another woman, or at least the memory of one.
After relaying this story to Hossnieh and unburdening himself from the secret he had held all these years, Nasrosoltan unexpectedly felt at peace. It was at this moment that the bitterness he felt toward Irina vanished from his heart. What did remain, however, was the feeling of love he always had for her. Now, for the first time in many years, he no longer felt a victim of a lover’s betrayal. He realized that genuine love takes the initiative and forgives with or without apologies for the wrong done to it. It was then that Nasrosoltan finally forgave her, hoping that Irina had not suffered too much in the final moments of her life. Even though
she had died, his love for her had not.
In the next few years, Nasrosoltan and Hossnieh had another boy and two girls in rapid succession. The Minbashians were a happy family, with five children, a house full of music, and festive gatherings with friends and relatives. Many evenings, for their own entertainment, Nasrosoltan sat at the piano, and Hossnieh played the violin, as the children joined in by singing along.
Nasrosoltan also had a series of career successes as he moved up in the Cossack Brigade to the rank of colonel. Later by royal decree, he was appointed deputy director of the conservatory under his father’s directorship.
One day in 1920, as he read the Petrogradskie Vedemosti (The Petrograd Gazette) that an acquaintance at the Russian Embassy had given to him, he noticed an article about the fate of the Romanovs (the name of the city had been changed from St. Petersburg to Petrograd in 1914 after the onset of World War I, to avoid sounding too German).
As he read on with interest, hoping to discover any information on what had exactly happened that fateful day in 1918 to the royal family, he was astonished to read surprising news. Irina and her husband, Felix Yusupov, and Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich were not executed after all and had survived.
The newspaper article reported that the tsar had exiled them when he found out that Yusupov and Grand Duke Dmitri had a role in the monk Rasputin’s assassination. The tsar had not taken kindly to this unauthorized act, asserting that only he had the right to order the death of a citizen of the empire. Ironically, it was this exile that saved Irina’s life, as she and her husband were now spending their days at their new home in France. The tsar also spared the life of the less fortunate Grand Duke Dmitri by exiling him to the Persian front as his punishment. Nasrosoltan rejoiced that Irina had survived the revolution and had not been murdered by the Bolsheviks as he initially believed.
A Hundred Sweet Promises Page 25