The Fabergé Secret Page 12

  ‘They worshipped St Seraphim – and our Tsar,’ Anna added in a reverential tone.

  ‘These were my people who love me with all their heart. That is why as their divine emperor, I must take care of them. I am their Little Father, and they are my children. I alone know what’s best for them.’

  ‘You are anointed by God,’ Alexandra added at which the Tsar nodded.

  ‘You’ll see, Dimitri. God will grant us a son and heir,’ Alix said.

  A tall footman dressed in scarlet and gold livery brought in the evening tea and set it down on the table next to the Tsarina.

  ‘Thank you, Leonid,’ said Alexandra.

  ‘Time for bed, my little bears,’ announced Miss O’Brian, standing at the door to the boudoir. The girls collectively groaned. ‘Just a while longer?’ Tatiana pleaded.

  ‘I forgot to fill my cigarette case,’ the Tsar said testily, starting to rise from his chair.

  ‘Your Majesty, kindly allow me to get them for you,’ the nanny said.

  ‘Thank you. The cigarettes are in the mahogany humidor on my desk in the study,’ Nicky said as he handed Miss O’Brian the case.

  Nicky’s words ‘blanketed me with affection’ stayed with Dimitri as he walked home to his Tsarskoe Selo mansion. This certainly didn’t agree with the opinion of those in his arts circle who kept insisting that all Russians hated the Tsar and the autocracy. And those poor devils in Ilya’s photos probably didn’t have any love for their Tsar either. The terrorists who sent the motorboat into the Standart certainly didn’t. Who were these people would kill at any cost? The members of the circle knew that violence against the Empire was useless – not to mention being morally wrong. Dimitri was still quite shaken by the attempt on the yacht. Not because he’d could have been killed, but because the children would have perished. That thought sent a shiver through him every time.

  He couldn’t believe Nicky could be hated so. But maybe it was true; those pictures didn’t lie. An emperor who allowed so many to live that way was bound to be hated – not by a few terrorists but millions of Russians. But Nicky was a kind, gentle man; not capable of such brutality. The Tsar loved Russia. Dimitri was greatly troubled by all this. His first instinct was to make excuses for his friend, that the ministers of the Court knew all about this. They hid it from the Tsar so they wouldn’t incur his wrath. He would never stand for his ‘children’ to live like animals. The minute Nicky found out about this travesty, he would issue an ukase, an imperial proclamation having the force of law, to stop such a thing. He must bring the matter to his attention – in a subtle manner.

  As Dimitri walked up the marble steps of his home, he was met by Fedor, which meant Lara was here. As he kneeled to rub the borzoi’s head, suddenly a shocking thought occurred to him: Fedor had a better life than millions of Russians.

  NINETEEN

  ‘When a people lose their nation, they disappear. But contrary to that rule, Jews continue to survive all over the world where they’re considered strangers. We’ve survived since the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in AD 70, and that’s why we’re special,’ Baron Jacob Grunberg explained.

  Katya had never really had a conversation with a Jew. There were only a tiny number living in St Petersburg. They were of a special class like the Baron, a very wealthy merchant. These Jews were the elite and were allowed to live outside the Pale. Many Jewish doctors and surgeons, including those at St Igor’s, were also part of this class. One of Katya’s patients was the baron’s niece, and she’d met him while he was visiting her and struck up a conversation.

  Katya was greatly troubled by the discovery about her family. It had sent a bolt of shame through her. It was silly because she was a baptized member of the Russian Orthodox Church. She was as Jewish as the light fixture above her head. But her family’s hidden past scared her. She felt as though she had a Star of David stuck on her back for all to see. She lived in a constant state of fear of being found out by her Christian world – and worse, the government. Jews were hated and persecuted in Russia; the recent pogroms had indiscriminately slaughtered scores of them and no one in Russia gave a damn. It wouldn’t just be her that would suffer but her entire family. Suppose her father’s beloved textile business was taken from him? Would friends abandon her because she had Jewish ancestry? Maybe they would take away her job she loved so much. That thought was unbearable. Then what if Dimitri found out and shunned her?

  Dozens of horrible scenarios raced through her mind each day. She couldn’t keep all this inside any longer and had to talk to someone. The irony was that she was frightened to death but at the same time was intrigued by her Jewish roots and wanted to find out more about them.

  The Baron was a cheerful rotund man in his fifties. He had a walrus mustache, slicked-back black-dyed hair, and gentle brown eyes. Some Jews had been so successful that the Empire bestowed the title of baron upon them. But it was for a very few, because some gentile barons felt insulted.

  The Baron seemed amused about her questions about Judaism. He was puffing away on a large cigar as they sat in the visitors’ lounge.

  ‘Your religion seems to have a strong set of beliefs,’ Katya said.

  ‘But what’s most important is not just believing in those beliefs but acting upon them. Doing good things. So, tell me, why does a young Christian girl want to know so much about us Christ-killers?’ The Baron raised his thick eyebrows and smiled.

  ‘Just intellectual curiosity. Jews are such a force in Russia’s new cultural revival. It’s very impressive to me. I greatly admire them,’ Katya replied in an uncertain voice. ‘And the ones in the medical profession are the best in their fields, like our doctors here at St Igor’s,’ she added hastily.

  ‘You have an enlightened view, my dear. Most, including the Tsar, think we’re parasites and exploiters.’

  Katya frowned. ‘I think the intellectual class of Russia doesn’t see it that way.’

  ‘Ah, it’s wonderful to be young and naive,’ he exclaimed. ‘To have ideals before the harsh reality of life wipes them away.’

  ‘But the intellectuals aren’t Jew-haters.’

  ‘What people say and what people think are two completely different things, my dear. Trust me,’ the Baron said in a jolly voice.

  ‘Then what is the answer to Jew-hating in Russia?’ Katya asked in an almost inaudible voice.

  ‘Men like Theodor Herzl say that a homeland in Palestine is the only answer. But unfortunately, that’s owned by the Ottoman Empire. The United States is actually the land of milk and honey – the new promised land, where a Russian Jew can seek refuge from massacre and persecution. There, they treat men as human beings who can practice their religion without fear. Jews go there, write home how wonderful it is, and more emigrate.’

  ‘But if you’ve been treated in such an unjust way, why haven’t you gone, Baron?’

  The Baron chuckled. ‘My treatment here in St Petersburg is nothing compared to the hardship of my people stuck in the Pale. My wealth insulates me and my family from anti-Semitism. But contrary to popular opinion, not all Jews are rich.’

  ‘Those poor people in Kishinev and Gomel, how can they stay after such a bloodbath?’ asked Katya.

  ‘This is very hard for gentiles to understand, but many generations of Jews were born in Russia and consider themselves Russian first, Jews second. Russia is their homeland. Their ancestors fought and died defending the Motherland against Napoleon, and they won’t be driven out.’

  ‘I never thought of it in those terms,’ Katya said.

  ‘You’re genuinely interested in all this, aren’t you?’ he added in a tone of admiration. ‘All right, here is a quick primer on the Jewish faith. The Torah is like your Bible but just the Old Testament part. The first five books are written in the scrolls they read in the temple every week. But the big difference is that Christians worship Jesus as the Messiah, but Jews are still waiting for their savior to come.’

  ‘And your Sabbath runs from sunset Friday
to sunset Saturday,’ added Katya, to show him she wasn’t entirely ignorant.

  ‘That is called Shabbat. And there are some high holy days, but not nearly the dozens you have for every single saint in the Orthodox Church, plus the patron saint’s day of the Emperor, the Empress, the Dowager Empress, and on and on. With all these feast days and Sundays, there’s a hundred non-working days. No wonder Russia is so backwards. No work ever gets done,’ he said with a laugh. Katya joined in.

  ‘Doctor, please join us at supper tonight so we can continue our discussion.’

  ‘Thank you, but I have an engagement tonight. I’m free on Wednesday.’

  ‘Delighted. We’ll see you at 14 Vernovsky Street at eight.’

  Katya had greatly enjoyed the Baron’s company, and she was determined to learn more about her ancestors’ religion. It was risky to be seen associating openly with Jews; it heightened the possibility of her being found out. But she would show up Wednesday night. An hour later, when she left the hospital, she looked behind her to see if any Okhrana agents were following.

  TWENTY

  Katya unwrapped the paper to find a three-inch-tall black enameled figure of a cat in a sitting position. There were two tiny diamonds for the eyes. It had the marque of Fabergé on the cat’s back leg.

  ‘I remember you said you were fond of cats,’ Dimitri said. ‘It’s a black cat, but I didn’t think you were the superstitious type.’

  ‘This is very special. It’s not the actual gift, but that you remembered that I love cats. It was just an off-the-cuff remark that night at the ball.’

  ‘I thought you’d like it. After all, you’re a cat-lover.’

  ‘So it is. Thank you so much, Dimitri. You’re so thoughtful.’ She held up the figure to admire it. The cat’s diamond eyes sparkled. She tucked it away in her pearl-beaded bag.

  Tonight, they were standing under the cast-iron and glass entry canopy of one of the grand mansions on Plekhanova Avenue, where Katya was taking Dimitri to a party.

  ‘Prince Dimitri and Doctor Golitsyn,’ she announced to the servant, who opened the great bronze and glass doors.

  ‘Yes, Your Highness and Madame Doctor, I will announce you,’ said the tall servant.

  Before he could turn to lead the way, a short slender woman dressed in a gold and blue Japanese kimono rushed up to them. She wore a gold-colored turban and held a long ivory and diamond cigarette holder in her hand as though it was a magic wand.

  ‘Katya, I’m so happy you came. Ah, this must be the architect prince you’ve been telling me about.’

  ‘Prince Dimitri Markhov, may I introduce you to Princess Maria Tenisheva.’

  Dimitri bowed and kissed her hand. He had heard of this eccentric aristocrat who shunned the Imperial Court.

  ‘The Princess is an artist of great talent,’ Katya announced proudly. ‘She has just designed the church and the interiors of her chapel on her estate, Talashkino. In, of course, the Style Moderne.’ Katya directed Dimitri’s attention to the walls of the vast entry hall they stood in. ‘And she’s responsible for the interior decoration of her home.’

  The first thing that caught his attention was the great serpentine stair, which reminded him of a flowering vine ascending upstairs. It didn’t have straight balusters, but curving sinuous wrought-iron work that flowed up under a curved wood railing. It was like it was a living organism not an inanimate object. Along the walls were painted swirling vines with flowers in orange and gold. The hall floor had a stone pattern that mimicked the wall’s design with curving red and white granite.

  ‘I can see that Prince Dimitri is transfixed by my design,’ said the Princess.

  ‘Ah, the Prince is a recent convert. He was committed to the glories of Rome and Greece,’ Katya said, in a mock-scolding tone that made Dimitri laugh. ‘But he’s making good progress.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have to help him, won’t we?’ The Princess took Dimitri by the arm and escorted them to a grand drawing room. It was high-ceilinged and brightly lit; its walls were ablaze with painted, curving organic and botanical forms. At least two dozen men and women were drinking and chatting and servants in powdered wigs flitted about with trays of food and caviar.

  ‘You see, Prince Dimitri, the Style Moderne, or what they call the “Art Nouveau” in Paris, is a complete art form. The furniture, fabrics, rugs, and even the electric lamps are designed to complement the style.’ She was correct; every single object in the room was designed in the same manner. Dimitri was quite impressed a woman from the aristocracy did this. Then to his astonishment, he saw a leopard in a cage near the corner. It just sat there, observing the goings-on. The Princess saw Dimitri’s eyes riveted to it.

  ‘Yes, even my dear Xenia adores the Style Moderne.’ Instead of regular bars, the cage had intertwined wrought-iron vines. Dimitri wondered if Xenia could squeeze out through them.

  ‘Katya, you must take the prince to Fedor Schechtel’s Riabushinsky House in Moscow. Now, there’s a complete work of art.’

  ‘We must,’ Katya said in a gay voice.

  ‘Stepan is a great friend and would be glad to have you as his guests. He’s most proud of his house. Now, let me introduce you to some most stimulating people, Prince Dimitri.’

  Three men talking immediately turned their attention to the Princess. They looked like dandified artistic types that one would never see at Court. Their cravats were of color instead of the accepted black, something that would be seen as scandalous and ridiculed by Lara and her cronies.

  ‘Prince Dimitri, may I introduce Leon Bakst, Konstantin Somov, and this big fellow is Sergei Diaghilev.’

  ‘A great pleasure to know such influential members of the world of art,’ said Dimitri.

  ‘We were just discussing the need for art to touch the Russian heart,’ Diaghilev said enthusiastically.

  ‘Tchaikovsky’s String Concerto Number One was based on a Russian folk tune he heard whistled by a decorator painting the inside of his house one afternoon,’ said Dimitri.

  ‘Marvelous,’ shouted the Princess. ‘Tchaikovsky wanted a Russian music.’

  ‘Dimitri is designing the Tchaikovsky Memorial for the Tsar,’ Katya said proudly. ‘In the Russian spirit, I may add.’

  The group was genuinely impressed by this announcement, some clapped.

  Arm in arm, Dimitri and Katya circulated through the great drawing room, stopping to talk to painters, playwrights, and authors. Other than Bakst, Diaghilev, and Somov, Dimitri had never heard of most of them. But he wasn’t in the least bored. These people believed as Dimitri did, in ‘art for art’s sake,’ and they shared a love of St Petersburg. He met women artists like Elena Polenova, who had illustrated children’s books, some of which he’d read to the Tsar’s daughters at bedtime. He persuaded her to scribble a little sketch of a duck and sign it as a gift for them.

  The party sat down to supper in a large dining room lined with murals depicting nature in abstract patterns; the ceiling had a back-lit stained-glass skylight pulsating with sinuous vine-like leaded glass. Even the place settings of silver plates and cups had a flowing Style Moderne motif. As was the practice of the nobility, a gift was waiting on the plate for the guests. Dimitri found a Fabergé ashtray in gold, white, and green enamel with rubies. Katya received a kovsh, a small traditional Russian oval drinking cup, with a long handle made of gold encrusted with pearls and moonstones by Fabergé.

  The supper was an energetic affair, with Diaghilev leading the conversation. As at the arts circle, the subject of revolution came up; how the arts could transform Russian society and uplift the peasants and workers.

  ‘The workers live like animals,’ exclaimed Somov. ‘One day they’ll rise up, you’ll see.’

  ‘Then it’s the responsibility of the educated intelligentsia to lead them to revolution,’ said Princess Tenisheva, and everyone vigorously agreed. The talk continued on and on through the sumptuous dessert of pastries, frosted cakes, and fruit-flavored ice creams. Servants filled glasses with
champagne, French and Crimean wines, cognac, and sherry. A haze of cigarette smoke hung over the table like a storm cloud.

  The Princess’s house wasn’t on the quay, but from an elaborate wrought-iron balcony one could see a part of the Neva flowing by. Katya and Dimitri stepped out into the cool night, refreshing after the dining room. Katya placed her hands on the railing and leaned forward, deeply inhaling the cold November night air. The moon was full and clear, and its reflection bounced off the river. Dimitri stood next to her.

  Suddenly, Katya shivered.

  ‘Oh, you’re cold. Here, please take my jacket,’ Dimitri insisted. He placed it on her shoulders then vigorously rubbed her back and arms.

  ‘Yes, that feels much better,’ Katya replied, pulling the jacket lapels together across her chest.

  ‘Thank you for bringing me tonight, Katya. I’m having a wonderful time. To think that there are all these incredible artistic minds in this city,’ he said.

  ‘For even such a hide-bound aristocrat, I thought you might enjoy yourself.’

  ‘It’s nothing like this at Court. To even be the tiniest bit different from the norm brings scandal and ridicule raining down on one’s head. I’ve seen it so many times. But these people revel in being different, even if a few come off as blowhards.’

  ‘Ah, you’re referring to Mr Diaghilev,’ Katya said with a chuckle. ‘That was sweet of you to get a drawing for the Tsar’s daughters. You spend a lot of time with his family.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he said. ‘I love the little Grand Duchesses.’

  ‘I like children, too,’ Katya replied, looking into the distance. ‘They’re the favorite part of my practice. It crushes me when some die so young, and I can’t help them.’

  ‘I thought doctors had to divorce their emotions from their professional practice.’

  ‘In that regard, I’m a failure as a doctor,’ Katya replied. She looked up into his eyes with a sad earnest expression that touched him. At that moment, a very wonderful sensation gripped at his heart. Despite being irresistibly drawn to her, he was a married aristocrat and she was a young single woman of the upper middle class. Unlike the women at Court, an open affair with a married man would compromise her reputation and could ruin her life. He was playing with fire and had to be careful. He knew that she also understood the rules of the game.